Room 46 And Short Story Collection
By Helen McKenna
© Copyright Helen McKenna 2015
Queensland, Australia
The right of Helen McKenna to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, re-sold or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without written permission from the publisher.
Cover design by Younique Creation
ISBN: 9780994479440
Website: www.helenmckenna.com.au
Email: [email protected]
Contents
Room 46
Prologue
Marion
Grace
Two Years Later
Grace
Edith
Marion
Grace
Edith
Marion
Epilogue
Short Story Collection
The Perfect Proposal
Stalked!
The Group
Pseudo
About The Author
For Belle-Marie,
Who taught me there is no age barrier to friendship
Room 46
Prologue
It took several attempts to force her eyes open.
Edith couldn’t understand why it was proving so difficult. Blinking was an instinctive action so how could something so simple take so much effort? But then again she had never felt this weak in her life.
When she finally convinced her eyelids to lift Edith immediately realised why her brain had resisted. The lights in the room were far too bright, and the nurse’s uniform so white it gave her an instant headache. The signs on the wall seemed to be in a foreign language. And the voices she could hear were also alien; she couldn’t comprehend a single word.
Joe. Where was Joe?
Using all her strength she tried to vocalise her husband’s name but the sound simply wouldn’t come. She couldn’t even move her lips into the right position to speak.
He must be somewhere close by. She had just been speaking to him, hadn’t she? Yes she had, and he had told her to hang on and that she was going to be all right. But if she had spoken only moments ago, why couldn’t she now? It couldn’t have been a dream, surely? It was too real, too vivid.
It took a moment for the horrible memories to filter back. Then the realisation hit. Joe was dead. And she was all alone in some strange hospital literally feeling the last vestiges of life drain from her broken body.
Edith wanted to hang on like Joe had asked her to but she didn’t have the strength. Despite doing her best to stay awake, her eyes fluttered closed without the nurse even realising they had been open, and she drifted back into the void.
Marion
People were always surprised when Marion said she loved her job. She wasn’t sure why a cleaner couldn’t be as fulfilled by their work as say a teacher or an engineer, but if popular opinion was anything to go by then apparently you couldn’t. It seemed that everyone thought you only went into cleaning as a last resort and got out as soon as something better turned up. But that was certainly not the case for Marion.
Over the years she had worked in many different places – office buildings, educational institutions, hospitals and even in a prison at one time – but Rosehill Gardens was her favourite. Even though her friends had warned it might make her depressed Marion found the opposite to be true. She learned so much from the residents and loved the joy she could bring to them by such simple things as dusting bookshelves and mopping the floor.
The best thing about Rosehill was being paid by the room and not the hour, leaving each individual to choose the pace at which they worked. Marion had been cleaning long enough to do the job very efficiently but had also worked out the perfect pace to appear busy but still have a great chat in each room. Her only previous complaint about her career as a cleaner had been the lack of human contact given that most cleaners appeared when the workers left. Being a sociable person, she couldn’t believe her luck when she landed the Rosehill gig and found out conversation was actually encouraged.
Marion tried to explain her system to the other cleaners on the roster but none of them could see the sense in it. Zindzi the uni student preferred to creep in early and get the job done before any of the residents were awake. An overachiever all her life, she had two other part time jobs and held the record for the fastest average time per room.
A former bodybuilder who still hit the gym every day, Matheus took pride in being imposing and boasted that almost all the residents he cleaned for found a reason to leave their room whenever he appeared with his trolley. His appearance alone was enough to discourage conversation.
And then there was Hazel who had such a gloomy outlook on life that she barely saw the point in cleaning at all when things would only get dirty again. Privately, Marion suspected that the residents just put up with her barely acceptable surface cleans rather than have to deal with the negative energy she exuded any longer than absolutely necessary.
In the end Marion gave up on all attempts to convert others to her system and went about her business in her own way. A stellar performance review after her probation period convinced her that she was doing a great job.
Marion’s spinster great aunt had been the one to bestow upon her what she considered to be one of life’s great pearls of wisdom. Picking up on Marion’s frustration that her mother wouldn’t let her make her own choices, Auntie Flo had invited her out for tea in a fancy hotel one afternoon in a time before there was a coffee shop on every corner.
‘You remind me of myself,’ Auntie Flo confided, as she sipped her tea with her little finger properly extended.
Doing her best not to look offended, Marion snuck a glance at the elegant woman sitting opposite, who was as straight laced as they came and frowned upon any kind of misbehaviour. As a teenager living in the free-wheeling seventies it was not a comparison Marion welcomed.
Still, she had been taught to respect her elders and managed a polite smile. ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘In what way?’
‘You like to think outside the square and move to the beat of your own drum.’
Marion had to agree this was true.
‘The key to going against the status quo without upsetting people is to make them think that whatever you want to do is their idea. Then they won’t put up barriers to stop you reaching your goal.’
Marion laughed. ‘I don’t think Mum will ever believe that me buying a crochet bikini or being allowed to smoke in the house is her idea.’
Surprisingly Auntie Flo laughed too. ‘Well, no, it doesn’t work in every case,’ she agreed. ‘But for most situations if you think about it first and put some subtle ground work in you’ll be surprised just how many things go your way.’
Auntie Flo’s words had proven to be true. Desperate to escape her parents’ dream of a job in a bank Marion had instead applied for a cleaning job at the airport. Having oh so casually mentioned many weeks earlier how airline employees got free flights, her mother had beamed at the news.
‘Didn’t I tell you Marion that you have to start from the ground up? Once you get your foot in the door you’ll be able to get any job you want out there!’
Marion didn’t bother to explain that she already had the job she wanted but it bought her the time to get established and prove she was happy in her work. By then her mother had turned her attention to her younger sister and never questioned Marion’s career choice again.
As her life progressed she continued to use the technique and more often th
an not she got what she wanted. Nobody could believe it when free spirited Gary presented her with an engagement ring at a time when marriage was distinctly unfashionable. Nor could they fathom how Marion convinced him to exchange his somewhat dubious career as a used car salesman for an apprenticeship as a mechanic.
The most delicate negotiations to date had concerned her daughter Ellie. Terrified at the prospect of the teenager spending her gap year roaming around Europe without so much as a pre-paid train ticket, Marion had managed to convince Ellie to restructure her plans to include several Contiki tours interspersed with an Au Pair job in Cambridge.
After that had come off Gary had stared at her in amazement. ‘I’m really not sure how you did that,’ he stated somewhat suspiciously and for a moment Marion had panicked, scared that he might start second guessing their life together. ‘I’m glad you did though,’ he added, relief evident in his tone.
* * * * *
Assistant Manager Sylvia Jenkins was running late the morning Marion came across the official paperwork on her desk at Rosehill Gardens. Scanning the file Marion’s eyes grew wide and in that moment she knew it was up to her to make sure this proposal came to fruition. She had heard Sylvia debating the issue on the phone the week before and knew she was in two minds about taking it on.
‘There’s so much paperwork,’ she had said to her friend Libby, who worked at Centrelink. ‘And I’d feel bad if it didn’t work out. It’s a big responsibility and you know me, I’d rather not do it at all than do it half-heartedly.’
By the time Sylvia arrived Marion had the office spic and span and a mug of steaming hot chai tea ready on the desk. People were always more receptive to ideas when they weren’t flustered. She reassured Sylvia that the clock on the wall was three minutes fast and insisted she take a moment to get settled before she started her busy day.
‘Thanks Marion I think I might,’ Sylvia agreed, picking up her mug and taking a welcoming sip.
As Marion packed up her gear she told Sylvia about the report she had just heard on the radio about the new welfare rules. ‘They were interviewing a young lass about a special program she’d been in,’ Marion mentioned casually as she arranged the contents of her cleaning cart just so. ‘Reborn or re-grow or something…’
‘Rejoin,’ Sylvia murmured.
‘Yes, that’s it. Anyway she said how it had literally transformed her life! She couldn’t say enough good things about it.’
‘Hmmm that’s interesting,’ Sylvia said, turning her chair to look out the window.
Although pretending not to notice, as she backed out the door Marion saw Sylvia pick up the paperwork and look at it thoughtfully.
Grace
As nursing homes went it was a nice one, far better than Grace had expected. Radiating from a central entrance hub the low set brick building expanded symmetrically east and west and was surrounded by eucalypts, bottlebrush trees and a colourful display of gerberas and impatiens. A simple but striking water feature in the centre of the main garden bubbled softly over smooth pebbles as a chorus of birdsong sounded in the background like a nature CD.
Locking her ancient Hyundai Excel with the key Grace took a deep breath and made her way across the car park. It didn’t take long to find the front office and once she introduced herself Grace was ushered into a nearby office by the sharp featured woman on reception. ‘Sylvia will be with you in a moment,’ she announced briskly.
Grace nodded and took a seat, not really caring how long Sylvia took. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do with her morning.
As it happened she didn’t need to wait long. Dressed in tailored slacks and a pale pink linen shirt, Sylvia was much younger than Grace had anticipated, probably only ten years older than she was. Anxiety gripped Grace. What would this professional woman think of her? Would she question why she was volunteering in a nursing home instead of working in a normal job like other people her age?
‘Hello, Grace is it?’
‘Yes that’s right,’ Grace murmured eyes downcast.
Sylvia held out her hand. ‘Welcome to Rosehill Gardens. I’m Sylvia Jenkins, Assistant Manager and volunteer co-ordinator.’
Grace returned the handshake and managed a strained smile.
Settling herself at the desk Sylvia flipped open a manila file and sorted through the paperwork inside. Grace could see a referral letter from Centrelink as well as a report from the Mental Health Accessibility Centre. Heat flushed her neck and cheeks, then prickled her scalp. Wasn’t anything private anymore? Her past experiences should be confidential, not shared with random strangers who knew nothing about her.
‘Right then,’ Sylvia began, her eyes still on the paperwork in front of her. ‘I see you’re on the Rejoin Program?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’ Grace studied Sylvia’s face for the usual signs of pity or scorn that sometimes greeted this information, but saw neither. Apparently she was one of those bleeding heart types who genuinely believed in such programs, or she just didn’t care. Grace wasn’t sure which she preferred. It didn’t matter what anybody said, mental health issues still carried a stigma that was impossible to escape, especially if you wanted to keep collecting a disability pension. Everybody was applauding the federal minister’s shake-up of the welfare rules but all they could see were the cost savings. They just didn’t understand that some people – like her – would never be able to hold down a normal job. She had no choice but to go through the motions of completing the program even knowing as she did that it was a complete waste of time.
‘Okay Grace, this all looks in order,’ Sylvia said, writing some notes in the file before snapping it closed and sliding it across to the left edge of the desk. Lacing her fingers together she sat up straight and looked over at her newest volunteer in a way that Grace couldn’t quite decipher. Kindness? Curiosity?
Grace met her eyes briefly before shifting her gaze back down to the desktop.
‘Tell me, why did you choose a nursing home for your placement?’
Grace hesitated. She didn’t imagine Sylvia would want to hear that it seemed like the easiest choice from the options offered to her. Really, how hard could it be to sit and talk to a bedridden person? It had to be much less confronting than interacting with the public in an op shop or having to deal with hordes of kids in a day care centre.
‘Uh, I understand the concept of loneliness,’ she said finally. ‘I know lots of nursing home residents are alone so I thought having someone to talk to might help.’
Sylvia nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay then, that’s good, very good. I’m sure you’ll be able to make a big contribution here at Rosehill Gardens.’
With the paperwork sorted out, Sylvia escorted Grace past the main dining area and sitting room, chatting easily as they walked. ‘It really is a lovely facility,’ she said, nodding and smiling at a nurse as she hurried past and stepping aside to let a tiny, birdlike woman hunched over a walking frame shuffle across the hallway into the library.
Grace nodded. It did seem to be a nice place. Although fairly basic in design, it was a modern building that was well maintained. It was also free from that overwhelming stench of disinfectant she remembered from the place her Great Aunt Mavis used to live.
Heading off down one of the main hallways, Grace tried not to stare as they walked past the open doorways of residents’ rooms. She shuddered a little as she caught a glimpse of a shrivelled looking man trying to reposition his wheelchair so he could see the TV better. Both his legs were amputated below the knee. He seemed so small, so insignificant. Grace shuddered again, realising that this could well be her fate in another fifty or sixty years, alone in a nursing home with no family or friends to visit.
Realising she was getting worked up, Grace focused on her breathing. In and out, she repeated to herself, in and out.
They rounded another corner and Sylvia led Grace into a small alcove near the nurses’ station. ‘Righto, we’ve got you visiting Edith. She’s an amazing woman with a g
reat spirit despite all her health problems. She inspires the staff here every day by just being herself.’
‘Really?’ Grace’s case worker had given her a brief rundown on Edith and while Grace realised she wasn’t a typical nursing home patient, she hadn’t expected her to be the star of the place.
‘Absolutely. Edith and her husband Joe were on a trip around Australia when they were involved in a horrific car accident. Joe died at the scene but Edith survived against all odds. She spent six months in hospital and another five months in rehab. Having just re-learned how to walk, she was preparing to finally go home when a dormant blood clot caused a major stroke that paralysed her entire left side. Sadly there was no other option but full time care.’
‘Oh. That’s so sad.’
‘Yes, sadder than average, that’s for sure. You can’t keep Edith down though. Until a few weeks ago she was talking about getting back on the grey nomad trail.’
‘Grey nomad trail?’ Grace said. ‘But isn’t she …?’
Sylvia nodded. ‘Yes it was a bit of a pipe dream. And sadly she has suffered a fairly major setback since then.’
‘Setback?’
‘Yes, Edith suffered another stroke six weeks ago. Devastatingly this one has knocked out her speech, which has been a huge upheaval not just for her but for us as well. We all loved talking to Edith,’ she murmured fondly, her eyes misting over just for second. ‘She was one of those people who could really carry a great conversation.’
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