by Ruth Hay
* * *
Jannice looked around the kitchen with a satisfied smile. It had been a grand occasion. There was a comfortable feeling about the group and the good food and wine helped. She replaced the place mats in their drawer and gave the countertops a quick wipe although she knew Eve had already done this before she left. She could not remember the last time she had sat at a table with five other women; certainly not in the little kitchen in her East London terrace home. There was not space for more than three at that scratched and worn table with the wobbly legs. She spared a thought for the young couple who had bought the house with most of its contents, declaring these old things were exactly what they wanted to re-create the homely atmosphere of their childhood home life in the countryside outside Stratford.
She was still amazed at the way the purchase had come about: a brother and sister bearing the O’Connor name, finding her house from the newspaper article about the incredible trousseau in the attic wardrobe. The sale of those beautifully preserved, never-worn clothes, had made it possible for Jannice to allow the young people to take over her home at a very reasonable cost.
She knew she would have to be careful with her money if she wanted to remain in Harmony House. So far she had not bought anything other than a mattress for her room. It looked absurd lying against the wall but she had resisted all efforts to lend her other furnishings. This was one of the reasons why she intended to qualify as a support nurse. A wage would give her financial security but after decades caring for her parents in their later years, she really needed to expand her horizons and, as Vilma often said, “Live a little, Jannice, before it’s too late!” This training program would be a first step. Furniture could wait.
Vilma.
What in God’s Holy Name would she have done without Vilma Smith? To be sure she did not look like an angel with her lovely figure, her immaculate clothes and the modern hairstyle, but if ever an angel had been sent to rescue a woman in distress it was Vilma Smith. Without her help and guidance, Jannice could never have claimed a spot in the co-housing project. It was a miracle as far as she was concerned. And to discover a true friend in her rescuer was more than she could ever have hoped for.
Some days she wondered if her mother and father had rewarded her daily care for them in their last decades by sending Vilma her way from heaven above. If so, Vilma was an asset to Harmony House as well as to their only daughter. Even Hilary, who was no fool, admired and praised the younger woman for her help. She was such a positive spirit and was always ready with a grand idea to make their communal life just a little bit better. It went far beyond her willingness to drive any of them to a doctor or dentist appointment or to give advice about wardrobe issues. Her latest idea to bring a dog into their home was not a selfish one. Although animals were never allowed in her Old East family home, Jannice had school friends whose animals were a beloved part of their family. A house without a cat or dog was said to be only a house; not a home, and here she was, at last, with the chance to share pets.
It was, truly, as if she were starting her life all over again and nothing was impossible any more.
* * *
Honor Pace bypassed the elevator and took the long route back to her basement apartment, as she thought of it. She was using her legs as much as possible. Her physiotherapist had given her a series of exercises and admonished her to move whenever possible. The implication was that she would never have broken her hip if she had taken regular exercise instead of planting herself in front of her computer for endless hours every day.
The overweight factor in this had not been specifically mentioned but Honor was aware that her body needed to slim down if another hip replacement was to be avoided. She followed Mavis out of the kitchen and along the corridor to the front entrance where Mavis wished her good night and went off toward her tower bedroom suite. Honor exited through the front door and took a moment to breathe the cool evening air spiced with the scent of new-mown grass. The gardener, the handsome Andy Patterson, had completed his weekly tasks earlier in the day and the lawn looked immaculate once more.
She made her way slowly along the curved porch watching out for chairs and tables that might be a hazard, until she came to the side door that led down three steps to her basement. This was the tricky part and she stood on the small wooden platform making sure her balance was perfect before closing the door behind her and sliding the bolts into place for the night. Only then did she face forward and, grasping the wooden railing, slowly descend to floor level where she assessed her progress.
Not bad. A little tentative still, but I couldn’t have done this much, two months ago.
She was grateful for the alternative route by elevator that had made her accommodation in the lower level of the house possible. She knew she would need that alternative for safety for some months if not years, but with it had come the best living space she had known since leaving home so long ago.
Her office set up was in the centre of the room from where she could look out to the patio and the garden, now a riot of colour thanks to Mavis’ and Andy’s efforts. It was only a step or two from there to her private bedroom and washroom tucked into a corner next to the elevator. On the opposite corner were the storage sections behind a double-doored entrance, and an insulated room dedicated to electricals, furnace, and laundry. Everything any person could want was here.
She did not object to the comings and goings of her housemates as they did their washing or accessed their storage bins. She relished the company and enjoyed the excuse for a break in her work. An added benefit was that she became the recipient of all the news, as anyone who entered the basement from garden, elevator, or side door, stopped to chat for a moment and relay their recent activities.
Her bedroom lacked windows but that was a small inconvenience compensated for by the ready access to the folding wall of windows, now closed and locked for the night, but opened up first thing in the morning so she could go back to bed, open her private door, and enjoy the early sounds of birdsong while watching the sunlight move across the garden beds bringing the colours to life again.
It was all so different from her cramped, lonely apartment in the highrise building. Gone were the long corridors full of stale air and old cooking aromas, the disturbing noises of other tenants above and below, and the feeling of being confined. Here, everything was new without the evidence of former occupants. Now she could make a cup of coffee in her office area and walk outside in her dressing gown and sit there waiting for Mavis to come and claim her garden. This was the signal to dress and get to work. Watching over the finances of these women, like the proverbial hawk, was her only way to express her gratitude for their kindness in including her in their co-housing project at the very last moment. She had not been this comfortable, or this happy, for many years. Each night she sent aloft a prayer that her peaceful, secret, safe, life could continue uninterrupted. She took comfort from the fact that no one in what little remained of her family, knew where she now resided.
Honor pulled on, and strapped tightly, the support for her right hand that kept her fingers properly aligned. It was a small price to pay for the ability to continue her business. She would look into hot wax treatments the next time her fingers swelled from arthritis. The thought occurred that the nice Eve woman might be persuaded to do some keyboard work for her. She seemed to be interested in helping and she was knowledgeable about accounting.
* * *
Vilma ran up the violet stairs from the foyer with a song in her heart. The dog project was approved.
In anticipation she had already invested in a luxury dog bed with removable lining, a set of designer dog feeding bowls, three matched leads and collars as well as a harness recommended by the helpful assistant at the Global Pet store. She had looked online at animal shelters between London and St. Thomas and left her information at all the Humane Society branches, but no dog had captured her heart so far. The London Free Press, to which she subscribed for its local news, was another sour
ce. The photos of the sad-looking dogs and cats featured there, were sometimes most appealing but she was beginning to think it would require a face-to-face encounter to give her that feeling of immediate connection.
She had much experience, too much, of falling in love with men and she had learned not to trust that particular feeling, but animals were different. They had no ability to deceive. What they felt was obvious and they responded to a calm mind and a welcoming smile. It was as if animals could see inside a person. Vilma Smith had often wished she had that capability but in time she had learned to trust her own instincts and ignore signals or promises to the contrary. It was how she warmed immediately to Jannice O’Connor despite, or because of, her downtrodden appearance and manner. She knew here was a genuine person with a good heart, deserving of a better life that the one she had always known. That instinctive impulse to help Jannice had led to a close relationship, first as mentor, and later almost like mother and daughter. It was with some pride she now watched her protégé become more independent. Caring for elderly or handicapped people was not the most exciting course Vilma would have chosen for Jannice, but it was a start. At least she would have the confidence that she was in an area she understood well. Vilma would stay in the background and look for some way to encourage more ambitious decisions for the younger woman.
Meantime, there was the search for the perfect dog companion. She would go the rounds again tomorrow and see what she could find. After all, her bed-sitting room had been designed with ample space for a dog to roam around in and the gardens were ideal for a dog.
She smiled as she looked around her. Everything was ready. Everything was hers and hers alone. She need never rely on a man again. Happy thought!
* * *
Eve Barton had chosen the room next to the elevator. It was a silent-running machine and it never interrupted her peaceful space. Quick access to the kitchen was her reason for selecting this room and she found no need to change her mind. The fact was that she would have been quite content with an empty garage location if that was all she could get. Anywhere at all away from her former home with Dobrinski was desirable to her. Knowing that Mavis and Hilary were a few steps away at the other side of the house was her security. They had saved her life before, and doubtless they would do so again, if required. She trusted them utterly.
Of course she had the divorce to endure before she would be completely safe from the husband who had persecuted her for so many years, but he was in custody behind stone walls and he was in no position to contest the divorce. One day soon, she would be free to live her life.
What was that life to be, she wondered?
For now, she was content to assume the role of ‘Kitchen Queen’. It was the only way she could think of to thank her benefactors for their generosity. She also intended to keep an eye on Honor’s handling of finances. It was always best to have two sets of eyes on crucial investments and monthly bills. Honor had her own business to run in addition to overseeing the Harmony House affairs. Eve found her old skills were becoming reactivated again and Honor had been a good advisor about the new technologies that made accounting much easier to follow nowadays.
Looking around her room she saw evidence of Hilary’s generosity. She had given Eve carte blanche to take whatever she needed from the Camden Corners house. She had given great thought to this. Basically she had nothing of her own. She brought nothing from her previous home and wanted no reminders of her existence there. Vilma and Hilary had supplied her with some clothing, including a range of hats and scarves which she would wear until the scars on her head had healed completely.
She could have taken the twin beds from Hilary’s house but the very thought of the last time she had lain helplessly in one of them and watched in terror as Mavis, semi-conscious, had been thrown onto the other bed beside her, had negated that option immediately. She took only a small table from the living room and some pillows Hilary did not want. She needed a clean break from the past and that meant things around her with no bad associations.
Her inheritance from a distant relative had been secured in an investment portfolio of Hilary’s and it had managed to earn a surplus in the months it had resided there. She took out that money and bought a brand new double bed suite from a discount store, one of many springing up in the city. The modest bed had a matching padded headboard, two side tables and a dresser. The salesman threw in a mirror and two lamps and gave her a choice of any of the huge selection of paintings and wall hangings displayed around the store, if she agreed to select her new bedding from the adjacent store department. She suspected this ploy was to secure her purchase since her bed suite was one of the less impressive ones they carried. It was smaller in scale and of a lighter wood finish, as distinct from the more popular, massive, dark-grained sets that she thought would have overwhelmed any regular house. Suitable, perhaps, for a medieval castle.
She quickly chose the bedding package in a gentle floral design on a pale grey background. Everything matched perfectly and she found a set of drapes in the same neutral tones in the nearby drapery section.
It had taken much longer to choose a painting. She ignored the scenes of the Eiffel Tower, New York skyline and Niagara Falls and passed over the plethora of flower paintings. None of these had been done by artists. They appeared to be machine produced and tacked onto boards. Her view of Mavis’ garden far surpassed any of these efforts.
In a far corner, away from the more-travelled aisles, she spotted a three-dimensional decoration that was different from everything else on show. It was made of wood and consisted of a large oval inside which were shelves where small-scale models of painted plants and books were displayed along with a few tasteful jugs and small plates. It reminded her of Vilma’s much larger wall furniture and had the quirky look of that, while allowing a few items of Eve’s choice to be added.
At once she knew what was still missing and set out to find the salesman who was hovering nearby nervously waiting to secure this substantial purchase which would send his weekly total into the safe zone. He happily tracked down the ideal upholstered chair with footstool that completed Eve’s vision of her room and swiftly totalled up all her discounts, adding the tax and securing any warrantees for which she was eligible. He promised swift delivery and after her new bank credit card was accepted, escorted her to the store exit and called her a taxi, waving joyously as she departed.
Eve was happy, except for one thing. These essential purchases, added to the initial sum contributed to the co-housing project left little for the monthly expenses each member of Harmony House was required to cover. She knew Hilary and Honor would soon be aware of the possible discrepancy.
She would need to earn some money for her future security.
Chapter 3
Desmond Dempster found himself in a difficult position. His mother, previously easily swayed by him, had been abrupt and dismissive during their last conversation when he hinted at his need for cash from the sale of the old family home in London. He had few alternatives at his disposal and the wolves were circling.
The Toronto job market was fiercely competitive. Like many another man of his age, he lived in fear of down-sizing or being replaced by a younger man or woman. The recent business announcement that London Life, now Great-West Life, once a stalwart of the insurance industry, had been forced to dismiss hundreds of workers in favour of more technology to suit their clients who wanted access to their own accounts rather than going through an agent, was a clarion call to others in related businesses. Online everything was the wave of the future. There was no doubt about that. Hive workers, like one Desmond Dempster, whose acquaintance with burgeoning technologies was limited to a need-to-know basis, were on their way out.
He could not afford to live in his shared condominium without a substantial monthly income.
He lacked the entrepreneurial instincts of a younger person who had grown up in the ever-changing world of low employment levels. His job was the backbone of his entire life.
It was all he knew and he was soon to be relegated to dinosaur status.
The impotent rage he felt became centred on his mother’s lack of concern for his situation. How dare she sell the family home without his permission? How could she turn down his plea for financial help?
His dear father, Mark Dempster, had he still lived, would surely support his need for a loan. How could his mother reject her only son?
What was this nonsense about co-housing? He had done some fast research on this idea and thought it was highly unlikely to find compatible persons to share such an intimate thing as living together in close quarters. He knew, from his own attempts to live with a roommate, that it was almost impossible to assess compatibility until you had actually committed to the arrangement and that was far too late. His present companion in the condo’s second bedroom was the best yet, although his late nights and suspicious friends, added to his propensity for leaving the shower wet and his dishes unwashed, made his tenancy doubtful. The frustration of knowing he dared not arbitrarily dismiss the guy in case he could not speedily be replaced, was another factor in his present unease.
He felt his heart pounding at the implications of all this uncertainty. The one light at the end of this dark tunnel might be if his mother’s living arrangement fell apart fairly soon. Had she not mentioned something about a guest suite? It would be advisable for him to nip down to London one weekend and avail himself of this ‘suite’ just to get a sense of the lie of the land and see for himself what the chances of disintegration were.