Over two hours before Timmy came up with the tray. But after I’d been to his room on my round.
I kneeled on the floor to clean it all up, picked up the chicken breast, the coleslaw, the bread roll and shoved them back into each individual section of the tray. Then I went over to the bin, stamped on the pedal and emptied it inside, tapping its back against the metal edge until all the food fell out. This is how we made a start on fixing the room. We called his daughter immediately, of course, but she was tied up. We didn’t really get to speak to her. She’d put her phone through to her PA. Legally, we aren’t allowed to share medical information on the phone with anyone who isn’t a close relative, but we made an exception given the urgency of the matter. We were told by the assistant that Miss Hancock had been in a meeting in Noho for three hours. It didn’t look anywhere close to finishing. Even if we’d caught it in real time, she would still have missed her father’s passing. Nothing to be done. This made the circumstances of his death seem less unfortunate. Mona and I agreed on this point.
The doctor said he saw no problem in moving Mr Hancock. He’d send us a copy of the Cause of Death certificate digitally, he said. The two of us needed to compose Mr Hancock, but someone had to look after the rest of the patients and Timmy was still recovering in the staff kitchen. Besides, he was only a cleaner; we needed someone with the necessary expertise.
‘Will you call Alanna in?’ said Mona. ‘We need some help sorting out this mess.’
‘Alanna?’ I replied. ‘She isn’t likely to be the most efficient. Why else would she take herself off the rota without saying?’
‘Come on, Ruth, you want us to help you or what? I don’t think you’re in a position to be particular,’ Mona said, though I hadn’t considered I might be in need of help.
‘It’s just I don’t have her mobile number,’ I said.
Mona snapped open her phone and handed it to me without a word and I went down the corridor to make the call. The signal was better there and I needed to get away from the room for a moment. All that blood had started to get to me. The mobile rang a few times before Alanna picked up, her voice doughy with sleep.
‘Yes?’
‘Alanna? We need you at work. We are hugely understaffed.’
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s irresponsible.’
‘Ruth? Is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s Ruth.’
‘Ruth … Listen …’
‘No. You listen, Alanna. You need to come now.’
‘Come now?’
‘There’s been an accident.’
‘An accident?’ She was alert now.
That was a slip-up. We would never refer to it as an accident again. At Mr Hancock’s age, anything can be ‘natural causes’.
The girls arrived. They must’ve really rushed because they were wearing no make-up. They looked both younger and more tired. Just in time: Miss Hancock was due to arrive in less than an hour, and we needed the care home to look its best. Half of the patients were still waiting for lunch, and it was nearly 2 p.m.
Mona and I had bleached the blood from the floor, and the room, disinfected, was back to normal. The man’s body lay under a white bed sheet. The girls seemed underwhelmed by the lack of action.
‘So it’s about Mr Hancock,’ said Bex.
‘Can we see him?’ asked Emmy.
‘Later, babe,’ said Alanna. ‘I’m sure everyone will get a chance to say goodbye to Mr Hancock.’
Bex looked up. ‘No thanks.’ She frowned.
Mona waved her hand in irritation. ‘This is not the time, girls. This is about the worst time you could’ve picked.’
‘We need some help, OK?’ I said. ‘To look after the other patients.’
Alanna said: ‘OK.’
‘Then go make yourselves look nice,’ I said.
SOME KIND OF PUDDING
The Girls
Now
‘Like, we always got on with her really well. She’s a few years older so sometimes she wouldn’t come out so much. Maybe, not often. But always in the care home she was good. Like, good with the old people. What do you call it? Always has a good word for everyone? The Samaritans? That was Jesus, right? Yeah, a bit like that.’
‘She’s the kind of person who’s like that. She’s always bringing in nice stuff from home, or if someone brings her sweets or chocolates, she shares, or even on her birthday if she gets any, she always shares with the rest of us, even when Mrs O’Toole’s daughters bring the Godivas in at Christmas. Mrs O’Toole can’t eat them because they’re bad for her, so she’s like, “I’m giving these to Ruth, she’s the only one I can trust to teach you guys how to share.” Good job for us girls because we can be piglets, we can.’
⋆
‘Well, listen to me, dear, you have to listen. I’ve lived a whole lifetime before you were even born. And I’ve known girls like Ruth before. She’s the kind of girl I would’ve taken out for a stiff Martini and a serious life chat. One olive, am I right, Constable? That’s perfect, good man. I knew one like her when I lived out in Florida. Her husband died in a boating accident. On his own private yacht, can you believe it? Well, if I’m honest, I didn’t think it the worst way to go. But I’m a romantic. In any case the man was a brute. What did you say you wanted to ask me, Constable?’
‘I have never in my life met such an incompetent nurse. Appalling customer service. And the money I pay them.’
‘Yeah, we knew she’d broken up with her partner. Not straight away, no, she didn’t say. Yes, we are close. But she’s pretty private even when she opens up, if that makes sense. It was hard to figure out what had happened at first, though in hindsight it all makes sense and it feels like any of us could’ve easily guessed it, if only we’d put our minds to it. She didn’t have very many people in her life. There must have been a subtle change in her, but I think she was trying her best to conceal it. She’s good at that – doing stuff without being noticed. Sometimes you forget she’s even there until you notice that most of the work has been done. She works really hard. She’s a good nurse. She can take a lot. But after a while she looked so skinny it was impossible not to see that something was up.’
‘He had this disgusting joke that he played on the younger nurses. We’d all been through it so we had decided we wouldn’t warn Bex and Emmy when they started working with us. It was a bit of a rite of passage for the new girls. We’d all gone through it. We’re in it together, you know? He’d ask you to put his glass of water on the other side of the bed, so you had to bend over and then he’d sneak in a peck. It was nothing really. Just an old man desperate for attention.’
‘Sometimes I found her sitting in the office, doing nothing, just staring at something: her can of Coke, the dark tea in her mug, the black computer screen. She didn’t really see these things. She would be so lost in her thoughts she wouldn’t hear you come in the door.’
‘She was always tidying tidying tidying, doing all the jobs before anyone else could get there to do them. You couldn’t figure out how she stayed standing. And I felt so bad for her, because I’ve been through stuff like that when I was younger. So I said to the girls, we should do something for Ruth – we should come up with some kind of plan to stop her from killing herself. They weren’t so keen at first but it was easy to get them on board. The girls love projects.’
‘You know that bastard kissed me once? On the mouth.’
‘Alanna had the idea. She’s really, really clever, you know?’
‘It must’ve been the last week of January, she’d been acting weird for a while. I remember it was already dark outside. It was the end of the day and we were putting the meds in their little paper cups – you know the ones? Like the ones you get with a burger, for ketchup and mayo. And then we were meant to start the evening rounds. And I wasn’t saying anything. I wanted to ask her what was up but I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to scare her off. So I’m just flicking pills out of these blister packs and holding them
up in my hand for her to choose from, and on the fifth or sixth round of doing this, she goes, “Mona, I’m so sad,” and she starts crying.’
‘Honestly, in my whole career as a personal shopper I have never met someone so awkward. It makes you feel good our service is free of charge. If you look at it that way, I mean, Topshop is an actual charity.’
‘Paul was on board with it from the start. He loves it when I do good things. It’s one of his favourite things about me, that I’m the kind of person who does that, so it seemed right to be doing a good deed by asking Ruth to be my maid of honour at the wedding. A good omen. And well … it might have helped that I asked him while we were in bed and I was doing a little something.’
‘This whole place would fall apart without my Ruth. Little Ruth is a powerhouse. Does as much as two of those kids in a day. Probably in an hour! And she has time for everyone in here. She is kind to everyone – even that horrible man on the third floor. That man and his daughter, I swear to God, I’ve never seen anything like it. He spits his pills back out, if you can believe it. For the sake of it. He needs his meds, all right, that man.’
‘At first she wouldn’t even sit down. I insisted. I don’t know why I did, I just had to start somewhere, so I just kept saying: Calm down, darling, have a seat, tell me what happened. Eventually I kind of just picked her up under her armpits and physically lifted her to sit on the counter. That’s when she really started sobbing, like she needed to make herself comfortable enough before she could really let go. “He’s gone, he’s gone,” she kept saying, and though I asked her to tell me when it had happened, where, she wouldn’t say, so I hugged her. Her sadness seeped right through my clothes. It chilled my bones: I can’t explain it – it was a big, huge sadness. It was frightening.’
‘She likes me to tell her tales of the sea. She says, Miss Phyllis, tell me a story, as if she were a child. She’s never been to America and she says that the first time she does she’d like to go like I did, on a ship. She’s a romantic, like myself, so I understand her well. So I say, dear girl, it is beautiful to see the Statue of Liberty as it approaches, but don’t forget about all the puking. I could feel the ground rolling under my feet for days afterwards. I say, if you can fly, fly, don’t you think, Constable? I say to her, my dear Ruth, why do you always have to do things the hard way?’
‘She stares.’
‘Honestly, I couldn’t even believe she’d been with that sleazebag for ten years in the first place. That horrible man – so full of himself! Always putting her down. I’d been feeling so sorry for her! I think this is all for the best.’
‘I’ll say no one expected her to turn up like that. Like, she wasn’t even writing in the group chat when we were discussing our outfits. Like, I knew what the other girls were wearing. I mean, she looked gooood. A little much maybe? Catwoman-type thing, quite classic, but that V drop down the front, I don’t know. I mean, don’t forget this is someone else’s hen-do. If I were Alanna, I would’ve been a bit pissed about it. But she said thank God she’d put in the effort and she would expect no less from her maid of honour. She’s properly nice, you know, Alanna? Proper angel.’
‘I mean, all Emmy’s saying, right, is that we weren’t going to a strip club.’
‘I honestly was so proud of her. I thought she was going to wear these tailored trousers she’d texted me about. The girls get protective but personally I want my maid of honour to look her best. Ruth was doing mighty fine. No chance of her stealing my scene anyway, or that’s what I thought. Although making out with the bartender was a bit cheeky, wasn’t it? That was funny!’
‘Well, I can’t say I know her very well. She doesn’t really come here for lunch with the others, only alone in the morning. Packed-lunch-type of girl. She comes in early though, before work, and she always looks half asleep. She stands next to the hot water dispenser. Sometimes I have to call her several times to hand her the cup. She takes her coffee black. Lots of sugar.’
‘In the afternoon, I make us all coffee. She takes no milk, but I stir some into her cup anyway, for protein, then I pretend that I’ve made a mistake. I say, “Don’t you dare get rid of it, it’s perfectly good coffee.” I watch her as she drinks it.’
⋆
‘Listen, no one liked him anyway. What does it even matter? It could’ve been any day. That man had lived everything that he had to live.’
‘Me and her go way back, you know? We’ve got history.’
‘I’d love to take her with me to the piano bar. I’d buy her a stiff drink and we could have a game of pool with the soldiers. I fancy a little Martini, extra dry. A little toast to no one else but us: independent women. But I’m never allowed to go to the piano bar in this stupid hotel, Constable.’
‘There’s a place in this home that I like best of all. It’s out the back, where the wooden decking descends gently into the garden and the trees that line each side lean inwards, giving it the look of an old, green theatre. It is really quite beautiful, out there. When the evening’s sweet and all the patients have been put to bed, I come out to sit on the steps. I bring with me a piece of candy. I unwrap it, and hold it under my tongue, firmly, as the sugar melts.’
A Girl
A Year Later
Alarm goes off. 5:14 a.m. A day in the life. Hit snooze button once. +8 minutes. Hit snooze button twice. +16 minutes overall. Actual wake-up time: 5:30 a.m. Fifteen minutes allocated to peeing, shower with a temperature of 36°C, towelling. Towel around chest, tuck in, toe my way to the dark kitchen. Pros of the early shift? Making breakfast with no clothes on. Cons of the early shift? Noise pollution must be kept to a minimum. Toast. Two slices. One with butter, one with smooth peanut butter. Instant coffee. One small mug, one sugar, a splash of whole milk. Exercise shoulders with twenty inward rolls, twenty outwards. Breakfast while standing. Return to bathroom to complete morning routine. Clothes on the chair ready to go from the evening before. Wear uniform trousers but not the shirt. Regulation shoes: flats, black, strapped. The 149 leaves at 6:20 a.m. Sit at the back on the lower level for extra legroom.
Wait for keyholder at back entry. A day in the life. In winter, stand next to bakery exhaust pipe. In summer, stand well away from bakery exhaust pipe. It is winter. Keyholder arrives: 6:45 a.m. It’s Malick. Malick is nice. Ten minutes allocated to changing into full uniform. Unlock locker. Blue polo shirt. Girl scout tri-coloured neckerchief. Clip magnetic nametag on pocket. Ponytail. Company visor. Why a visor? Reconvene in staff room. Time for one more hot drink, but no time to make a hot drink. Drink coffee if someone has made coffee while you were getting changed. Malick has poured a mug for you. He is nice. Jenny, Polina, Mercè and Kev are in staff room. Anya is late. It’s the first time this week so it’s OK with Malick. All march to safe to retrieve floats. No change is left in tills overnight. Occupy till at the back of shop floor. Pour change into correct slots: £2, £1, 50p, et cetera. Pull clear plastic bags out of dispenser box and shake open. Arrange to end side of conveyor belt.
‘Ready, guys?’ says Boris, the security guy. Inserts code and unlocks sliding doors.
First to come in are the office savvies. A day in the life. More choice from the meal deals early in the morning. They often buy fruit, like apples or bananas, rarely crisps. Save snacks for an afternoon spur of the moment. Keeps life exciting. Three items for £3.50. Beep. Beep. Beep. Usually take a bag. Don’t bring their own. We charge 5p now. They don’t mind. They don’t care one bit about the environment. Sometimes they say ‘hi’. Suits. Suits. Suits. Mostly men who tell the other men in the office early in the morning is the best time to buy a meal deal. Women come between 8 and 9 a.m. Mothers, car keys in hand, kids dropped at kindergarten, on their way to work or back to the chores. Baby-care items and health foods. Sometimes a baby perched on the hip. Always rushing. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. No more than ten items: no preferential basket queue required anyway at this time in the morning.
9 a.m. is when the unpredictable customers arrive. Now all of
us are fully awake. This is when we keep tabs, anecdotes to share during the first break, 10:30 a.m. Today: a security man from the building site near by, with his safety jacket inside out, buying a six-pack of Peperami Hot; a slightly dishevelled, noble-looking old lady buying a microwaveable hamburger with bun and an orange Lucozade; a child with a mullet who asks me if I can call his mum on the interphone; and two very cute twelve-year-old twins with matching plaits but beads in different shades of pink and blue, clearly bunking off school and going to get in trouble. Mercè has already had security over to expel a drunk man buying a discounted six-pack of Strongbow. She’s going to win this round.
In the break, Mercè relates her encounter with the homeless man. ‘I thought he kills me, you know?’ He was at least seventy years old and in a bad state. She, Kev and I return to the tills so the others can have their breaks. It’s a long stretch until lunch, which is rush hour, customers fighting over the ready-meal aisle. This is the boring time, the store almost empty. Kev timed the morning slot many times. We get one customer every ten minutes between 10:30 a.m. and 1 p.m. Kev is very shy and obsessed with numbers and planes. One day, he’ll be an excellent aeronautical engineer, but right now he’s eighteen and working here to save money for college. Take my nail file from the drawer under my till and get to work on this cuticle that gives me trouble. Cashier’s thumb. A day in the life. Serve three more businessmen. They are late for work, so I hurry for them. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep. Then this girl. Busy with her trolley. Hesitates at the till, picks up a packet of razors from the rack, puts them back. Makes eye contact. Says good morning. Small voice and face.
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