Murder-De-Sac

by Jim Bennett

'Yeah that's fine. I normally have Wednesdays off anyway'.

  Julie continued to play his guitar while she cooked their food. She took the flowers that she had rescued from Mr Peg and put them in a vase. When she placed them on the table in the hall, she noticed that her hands were still stained.

  'How do you know Harry then?' Julie said, putting the sandwich in front of her young guest. Jack swung backwards on his chair and grabbed another bottle of wine from the fridge. He opened it and topped up Julie's glass without asking.

  'I met him at a Full Moon Party in Phuket. Great guy. Really got what it was all about, you know?'

  Jack covered his fish fingers with tomato ketchup, before sliding the bottle over to her. Julie smiled at him, but didn't pick it up.

  'He needed to get away from all this', he said, gesturing to the room around him 'to realise that it's bullshit'.

  'What does that mean? He's not going to come home?'

  'He's already home', Jack said excitedly. 'That's my point. Your generation told us that this is what it's all about. The mortgage and the dog and the three sticky children who give you fuck all back. But it's not, is it? It's about the world you make for yourself.

  He asked this as if he wanted a response. Julie didn't think it was fair that she was being asked to answer on behalf of everyone born before 1970. She wanted to argue, but when you put it like that, it did all seem a bit pointless. She couldn't remember what she had wanted from life when she was young. She was sure this wasn't it.

  'I'm used to not having him in the house now', Julie said, changing the subject. 'It feels very strange to be eating dinner with someone else here'. It was for this reason that she had abstained from condiments. She couldn't even imagine how ridiculous she already looked to this polished face of youth, let alone if she had red sauce dribbling down her chin.

  'Don't you have a boyfriend Mrs Giles?' Jack had finished his sandwich in three hungry bites. He was now running one hand through his long, brown curls. The other was tipping his wine glass back and forth on the kitchen table.

  She felt herself flushing again. 'None of your business young man'. He stared at her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. He was used to making women feel like they were the only one who was important in the world, Julie was sure of it. 'It's a bit unusual for someone of your age to get steady work as a musician'.

  'Well', he said, offering a coy smile. 'I'm not technically employed as a musician. The manager said I could fill in when there's a gap in the line up though'.

  'What are you going to do the rest of the time?'

  'You know, bar work, clean the bathrooms. Earning my stripes. All the greats do it'. There was definitely something artificial to his enthusiasm. Julie thought that he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else that this was an exciting opportunity.

  'And that's worth moving away from home for?'

  He shrugged his shoulders grandly in an affectation of nonchalance. 'There isn’t much to do in Merseyside'.

  'Couldn't you clean toilets in Liverpool? You might have ended up scrubbing the same bowl that John Lennon did back in the day'.

  Jack didn't rise to it. 'What can I say? The music takes you where it's going to take you. You'll have to come down and watch me play'.

  'Why not?' Julie said, immediately regretting it. She was starting to feel tipsy. The sandwich was so dry that she had been washing it down with the tepid wine. She pushed her chair away from the table and stumbled as she got to her feet.

  'I should make the bed up for you before it gets too late'. She didn't feel too drunk, just happy.

  Julie hadn't cleaned any sheets in a good long while. After much rummaging, she managed to find a fresh duvet set. It featured whatever animated character Harry had been obsessed with at the age of seven and had a suspect grey patch on the bottom right hand corner of the sheet. Julie contemplated putting a quick wash on and getting something nicer for her guest. She reminded herself that Jack had spent the last few months sleeping god knows where probably in a drug induced haze, so it was unlikely to be an issue.

  Julie dropped the second pillow on the bed and made an effort to straighten the edges of the duvet. When she stood up again, her mood had changed entirely. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the pressures of entertaining. All she knew was that she felt wearier than she had in a long time, and that she wanted to go to sleep immediately. She planned to say goodnight to Jack and then head straight off to bed. However, she was surprised to find him standing in the open door watching her.

  'All done are we?' He stood with one leg crossed over the other, leaning one elbow on the door frame. He still held his empty wine glass in one hand as he smiled at her coquettishly.

  'There's clean towels in the cupboard', Julie said, going to leave. She made a mental note to check that there were in fact clean towels on the cupboard. Jack didn't move out of her way when she approached the door.

  'Are you sure I wouldn't be more comfortable with you?' Julie hadn't realised how close they were standing to one another until just then. 'Maybe I could keep you company?' Jack was a fair few inches taller than her, but she could still feel his warm breath on her neck.

  She paused for a few seconds before responding. When she thought about it later, Julie wondered if she had seriously considered the request, or whether her wine soaked brain was so stunned by the situation that it had taken a few moments to process the information.

  'I think you'd be better off in here', Julie said, regaining her senses for at least the moment. She turned sideways and pushed herself up against the opposite door frame to pass him, afraid that he would be repulsed by her bulk.

  'Maybe another time', he called to her as she walked away from him.

  'Goodnight Jack', Julie said, not turning around. She waited until the light in the hall went off before she went to brush her teeth.

  Chapter Four

  If there hadn't been a sign announcing that the building was a care home, you still would have easily been able to guess that it had something to do with the NHS. That or another bureaucratic giant. It had obviously been beautiful once. No doubt there had been a gravel drive complete with a member of the Household to greet you as you arrived. Great granite pillars still adorned the facade, with ivy creeping up them picturesquely. In its day, it must have been incredibly imposing, something terribly impressive to behold. Now the illusion was almost instantly shattered by the watery green paint that someone had slopped on the front doors at some point in the last fifty years. Laminated notices were stuck in most of the front facing windows, reminding guests to wash their hands and that prior approval was needed to take residents out of the grounds.

  'Alright Tracy?' Julie said as she entered. She took a box of chocolates from her carrier bag and placed it on the reception desk.

  'Julie, you shit', Tracy said, already ripping the top of the box off. 'You know I'm doing Atkins'.

  'You can have a day off though, can't you?' Although as Tracy was already cramming a second truffle into her mouth, she clearly hadn’t needed much persuasion.

  'You're too good to us, you know. There's no need to do all this. Betty's one of the good ones. Not like her in the room next door. Bloody nightmare'.

  Julie folded the carrier bag neatly into four squares and put it in her handbag. 'Got to keep the head of the care staff onside. I promised Greg I'd look after his mum'.

  Tracy stared at her, waiting for her to continue speaking. Out of respect, she even managed to refrain from inhaling orange creams for a few moments. Because of this, her most recent selection was starting to melt between her fingers. Julie had surprised herself, not having intended to share anything so personal. They knew about Greg's death, of course, but she had told some paper pusher in an unseen office somewhere. She had never actually announced that her husband had died. There was something much more real about it when you could see the reaction on the face of the person who you were telling. What were you supposed to say when someone told you th
at their husband was dead? It was uncomfortable for everyone involved. It was much easier to operate in the grey areas of language, and not to make things more awkward than they needed to be.

  When it became clear that Julie wasn't going to keep talking, Tracy leaned over the desk. The health care provider wiped her fingers on the back of her trousers and put her hand on Julie's arm. The magazine that had been resting open on her lap fell to the floor with a small clatter.

  'Don't you worry sweetheart. She's in good hands here'.

  In an attempt to bring the conversation round to a breezier topic, Julie nodded towards the poster advertising a summer fete that was pinned to the notice board behind the desk. ‘That’s a nice idea', she said as Tracy craned her head around to see what she was talking about. ‘Get them all outside and moving'.

  ‘It’s going to be a fucking shit show. Betty and her like will be fine. Happy to sit in their chairs most of the time. Her who caused all the trouble last night, running off, that’s who I’m worried about'.

  Julie gave her a small smile of gratitude. 'Who was it? Doreen?'

  'No, Doreen died last Tuesday', Tracy announced, returning to her chocolate. 'Found her in a puddle of her own piss next to the bathroom door. It's this new one. Keeps wandering off'.

  'That's got to be tricky'.

  'You're telling me', Tracy said, sounding aggrieved. 'Only two of us on the night shift now. One for the desk and one on the rounds. If she gets out of her room, it's a fucking nightmare. Thought about locking her in a few times, but you know, health and safety'.

  Tracy had looked up from her chocolate at that last comment, gauging Julie's reaction.

  'Nothing that you can't handle, I'm sure. Is Betty in the day room?'

  'Yes my love. Being no trouble at all'.

  Julie wondered whether Tracy would lobotomise residents on arrival if she had her way. With a small wave, she left her sitting on reception to polish off the rest of the chocolate. Before she turned the corner, Julie saw Tracy retrieve her magazine and return to its glossy pages.

  Someone in the recent past had made an effort to make the day room slightly less depressing than the rest of the home. The enterprise hadn’t been very successful. There were pockets of activity spread around the room where some token effort had been made to engage the more lucid residents in the hopes that it would help to slow the collapse of their consciousness in its entirety. Two younger workers were sat with one old person apiece letting them smear messy streaks of paint across the craft paper in front of them. The gentleman closest to Julie obviously had no interest whatsoever in the project. His carer had therefore taken to dipping his fingers into the paint for him and then dragging his hand across the page for him. After every second motion or so, she would coo something along the lines of 'there', or 'isn't that pretty?' While he may not have been compos mentis enough to strike her across the face, there was definitely a spark of something behind his eyes that suggested that he wanted to.

  Elsewhere, a group of residents sat around the television watching inane daytime programming. The woman sat in the far corner chattered over the dialogue in such a way that you would be forgiven for thinking the characters were in the room with you. None of the others seemed to mind. She was just another welcome distraction to the general beige aspect of the room.

  Julie found Betty sat by herself staring out of the window with her hands crossed on her lap, the very picture of gentile submission.

  'Hello Betty', she said, kissing her on the cheek.

  'Oh hello dear. Are you new?'

  Julie sat on the seat facing Betty. 'I don't work here Betty. I'm Greg's wife. Do you remember? We got married in 1994'.

  'Of course I remember', Betty said, a little defensively. Her eyes remained vacant, so Julie didn't press the issue. 'Where's Greg? Parking the car, is he?'

  'He's not coming today, Betty'. The first few times that they had ran through this pantomime, Julie had needed to remind Betty that Greg was dead. Each time Betty reacted with such horror and incredulity that Julie had to give it up. Either she continued to suffer through Betty's renewed grief every time they met, or she would stop coming altogether. Eventually she decided on the former. Her mother in law received no benefit from being routinely reminded of her son's death anyway. She convinced herself it was a kindness, better for both of their sakes.

  'That's not like my Greg', Betty said, sounding affronted.

  'He's got to work today. He'll definitely come next week'.

  Her face lit up, as it always did when Julie mentioned Greg's job. 'He's a good boy. Always working hard for you and Henry. Where is my grandson?' She craned her neck to look at the other side of the room.

  'He's away at the moment. Travelling'.

  'He could have said goodbye before he went'. She looked more hurt than she was entitled to given that she had just called her only grandson 'Henry'.

  Julie wanted to tell Betty that her son spent an entire day with her before he left. That Harry had started to look so much like her late husband when they had first met that Betty had spent their entire last visit calling him 'my little boy'. When the two of them had gone to leave, Betty had wept and clung to Harry with such severity that two orderlies had to restrain her.

  That was one of the problems with Alzheimers. It was a decade long argument where you were always right but could never explain to the other party why.

  'What have you been doing today Betty?' Julie asked, changing the subject. Betty refused to make eye contact. Instead she looked out the window in a sulk. Julie knew she would only have to wait a short time until Betty forgot what it was that she was upset about and continued the conversation, yet she found the whole song and dance tedious.

  'Nice outside, isn't it?' Julie inched forwards in her chair to try and impede Betty's eyeline. She didn't have much luck. She sat back in the saggy brown chair and let her head fall backwards.

  Her eyes had only been closed for a few seconds when she heard a burst of raised voices from the other side of the room.

  'What if she'd broken her neck?' a very tall man was shouting into the face of his squat counterpart. 'Would you be telling me to let her wander then?'

  The little man was holding up his hands in submission. 'Alright fella, calm down'. He was looking around anxiously now, assessing who could have overheard.

  'Don't tell me to calm down, you bloody gold digger. I bet you'd love it if she wandered off and didn't come back'.

  'Now hold on, mate. That's beyond the pale, that is'. The further he was antagonised, the more pronounced his Australian accent became.

  Julie tried not to look at the scene developing in front of her until she realised that everyone else in the room was staring unashamedly. First and foremost among the spectators was Betty. Her temper forgotten, she was now standing up to get a better look at the unfolding conflict.

  The two men were standing over a much older woman sitting sedately in an armchair. As the fight between the two men reached fever pitch, tears had begun to roll down her face.

  'You don't know what's best for her', the tall man shouted. 'Who the fuck are you to her anyway?'

  'I'm her husband', the little man said, really raising his voice for the first time.

  'No you're not'.

  'I'm as good as. I love her'.

  'There's not enough of her left to love. Why don't you just move on to your next mark?'

  The smaller man looked properly mad now, his face flushing angrily. His big bauble of a nose approached the colour of beetroot. He moved to take a step closer towards his combatant when Tracy burst into the room.

  'What the hell is this?' Tracy roared. Not only had all of the residents now turned their attention to the scrum in its entirety, a few members of staff had abandoned their duties elsewhere to watch the spectacle unfold. Julie gave up all pretence of pretending she wasn't watching and turned in her seat to get the best view possible. Only then did she realise that she recognised the tall man; it was her new collea
gue, Mike.

  With the arrival of this figure of authority, both men immediately checked themselves and managed to rediscover their inside voices.

  'I was trying to explain to this man…', Mike started.

  'This man? Who do you think you are, mate?' the other man interrupted. 'She's my bloody wife'.

  Mike pulled his head back ready to launch into another spirited explanation of how the old lady wasn't in fact his wife, but before he could, Tracy intervened.

  'Mr Spencer', she said, addressing Mike. 'This isn't helping. If you hadn't noticed, you've driven your Aunty Jean to tears'. Mike looked at her confused for a moment, before following her gaze to the old lady in the chair.

  As soon as Mike comprehended the state that his aunt was in, he dropped to his knees and went to take her hand. Unfortunately for him, the other man was too quick.

  'I think you've done enough', he said with a nasty bite in his voice. 'You should go'.

  Mike went to protest, but Tracy interrupted him. 'Please, Mr Spencer', she said in an official tone that Julie wasn't used to hearing. 'You're upsetting the other residents'. This didn't seem fair. The old dears assembled in the day room looked like they were having the time of their lives. Whatever the truth may have been, Mike gave the short man one last piercing look before exiting in a rage.

  Now that the excitement was over Betty returned to her seat. 'What do you think about that then?' Julie said, attempting to engage her mother in law in conversation once again. Betty was having none of it. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten her grump as originally thought. She had merely suspended it for the show. Now that it was over, she turned her head to once again stare out of the window with an impressive resignation.

  Julie expected that Betty probably couldn't remember what it was that had upset her in the first place. However, when you are entering the winter of your life, any sort of sensation is better than none, so she clung to it for as long as she could.

  Taking inventory of the rapidly perishing inhabitants of the room, Julie came to the conclusion that life was too short. She gave Betty a kiss goodbye and went to find Mike.