NORTHUMBERLAND’S MORNINGSIDE TOWERS RESIDENTIAL CARE HOME SCANDAL by Anna Marie Stubbs, health and social care correspondent.
Morningside Towers Residential Care Home has failed the ultimate test of compassion in our society. Presenting to the world a luxurious façade, offering residents chiropody, hairdressing, a swimming pool, and spa facilities, even an on-site cinema for those black-and-white war movies favoured by our senior citizens, whilst behind its closed doors lay unimaginable pain and suffering for its twenty-five elderly residents, left dehydrated by the staff who failed to meet even this most basic of needs, resulting in eight people being admitted to hospital with severe dehydration.
“Older people are not always aware of becoming dehydrated,” said Dr David Catchpole, Specialist Registrar in Geriatrics at the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle. “And if staff are not vigilant about ensuring residents have enough to drink each day, they can become seriously ill, like the residents at Morningside Towers. Overheated rooms are also a factor meaning the body requires more liquid.”
Many older people don’t receive the basic standard of care essential for their wellbeing and over the last five years more than nine hundred and fifty people have been admitted to hospital with dehydration and some two hundred and eighty four with malnutrition, although most of these are from their own homes.
This dreadful incident at Morningside Towers is being investigated by the Care Quality Commission, but it is hoped that it will be a wake-up call for all residential care home managers to be vigilant in providing sufficient food and water, those most basic of life’s requirements to their vulnerable residents who rely on them for the provision of care, sometimes at great financial expense.
“Oh, no, that was the residential care home I wanted for Dad, but couldn’t afford.” Rebecca’s horrified eyes widened as she took in the newspaper story, her heart hammering its opposition to such barbaric treatment of the elderly and most vulnerable members of society. “I beat myself up for months about it! Oh, I’m heartbroken for the poor residents. I hope the regulator does its job properly and holds those responsible to account. No less than a criminal prosecution would satisfy me if I were a relative. ”
The foursome nodded their agreement.
“It just goes to show that external presentation of beauty does not imply internal decency and goodness! Speaking of which, what’s happening with Bradley?” asked Deb, as tears formed along Rebecca’s auburn lashes. “What a reprobate for not attending the funeral.”
“He’s in Dubai. He got the job over there. He and Cheryl are sorting out a luxurious, three-bedroom apartment and ‘interviewing domestic staff’, to do the household chores and to drive Bradley to work and Cheryl to the shops! No mention at all about maintaining contact with Max, only the fantastic salary he will be getting, the huge bonuses on offer if he meets target, the generous share scheme for the staff, and the diamond-white Porsche he’s leasing.”
Rebecca inhaled a breath deep into her lungs. Now was as good a time as any to announce her decision. “I’ve decided to go back home—to Northumberland. I made the decision right after Dad’s funeral, but now that Bradley is relocating to Dubai, it doesn’t matter where Max and I live. Anyway, Emirates have direct flights from Newcastle Airport to Dubai if he wants to visit.”
Her colleagues remained silent.
“Max is unhappy here in London. He’ll have to endure Breakfast Club and Afterschool Club every day of his school life, which he’s adamant he doesn’t want to do. It’s traumatised him, being the last child to be collected from nursery every day. I can’t revisit that upon him at school, too. And it costs a fortune. He’d stopped his sleeve-chewing whilst we were on holiday at Rosemary Cottage—he adored the freedom, the fresh air, the lush green fields, and even the farm animals—but it has started over again now we’re back in the rat race. It’ll be a better life for him. You’d love the village school, Deb. It’s fairy-tale perfect, and only sixty kids!”
She swung her gaze around her friends for their approval of her difficult decision. They remained mute, their jaws hanging, so she continued. “We’ll live in Rosemary Cottage at first. When the probate comes through, I’ll be the registered owner. Once it’s sold I can pay off all my debts and the outstanding care fees to St Oswald’s Lodge. Josh has offered to patch up the roof temporarily as it looks like we’ll be there for the winter. Probate could take about six months.
“I’m going to volunteer my services at St Oswald one day a week whilst Max is at school. Help the residents with their meals, read the newspapers to them, walk them around the garden that Dad loved so much. Hopefully, I’ll find a part-time job to keep food on the table.
“I’m handing in my resignation next Monday. I only have to give a month’s notice. We’ll move when Max breaks for half term.”
“Not until after the wedding, I hope!” Deb exclaimed.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Deb,” she said and burst into tears.
* * *
“Come on, come on. We’ve only got an hour. So many shoes, so little time,” sighed Deb, as she dragged Rebecca into their favourite designer shoe emporium on Sloane Street. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows welcomed in bright sunlight to bounce its shafts onto the crystal-drop chandeliers and the mirrored cubes presenting each shoe as a piece of sculpture in its own right. The presentation of each handbag reached gallery standard, each surface pristine and sparkling. Rebecca adored the cool palate of deep cream, warm pinks, and peaches, and she particularly coveted the ivory, silk Louis-style armchairs they were courteously whisked and seated in by a pencil-thin assistant. Rebecca thought of Max, his sticky fingers wiggling, and heaved a sigh of relief he hadn’t accompanied them.
They’d grabbed a few surreptitious minutes before their lunch break to consult the little green oracle’s ‘Wishes with Friends’ section, sub-section ‘Amassing a Designer Shoe Collection’, but as they were in one of the world’s leading shoe emporiums already, they had no need of any advice. Every handcrafted shoe was the epitome of quality and impeccable taste.
“Wow, these are my favourite,” Rebecca exclaimed, reverently lifting an exquisite example of wedding footwear for closer inspection. “Look, Deb, ivory satin, peep-toe pumps, four-inch heel, scattered with Swarovski crystals. They really are to die for.”
She stroked the shoes as if they were a beloved pet. The price tag made sure they were way outside her wildest dreams. She lingered on her inevitable next thought, but easily brushed the inclusion of the shoes on her wish list from her mind. No more list addiction for her.
“These little beauties are shouting my name, Becky,” Deb said. “Ivory bridal sandals adorned with fine glitter and real French Chantilly lace, five-inch heel—stunning. They’re a real work of art in my opinion. When the wedding’s over, I’m going to display them in a glass case on my dressing table.” She grimaced at the price tag. “Same price as a work of art!”
Deb’s pretty face was wreathed in smiles as she floated back to the office clutching her bridal shoes in their beribboned pale pink box, her bank balance considerably lighter.
* * *
As Rebecca watched the office clock edge its way slowly to five o’clock—her mind more on what she would prepare for her and Max’s dinner that evening than her clients’ pressing legal issues—her landline buzzed.
“Rebecca Matthews, how can I help?”
“Hi, Becky, I’m so sorry to hear about your father.” Sam’s dulcet tones raised the corners of Rebecca’s lips.
“Thanks, Sam. It’s good of you to call. I got your message on my voicemail.”
“I know how much your dad meant to you and Max. If there is anything Angus and I can do, please, ask. Ben and I attended the Junior Golf Academy last week. Ben hated being there without Max, so I’ve bought six sessions for Max. Don’t say no. Ben begged. Please take them. I’d like to do this for Max.”
Rebecca gulped down her raising emotions. Tears were always so close to the surfa
ce at the moment that any expression of kindness sent them falling.
“Thanks. He’d love to go. Look, Sam, can I apologise for the misunderstanding between Lucinda and your company’s legal work? It was my entire fault. I should have been honest with you both from the beginning. I should have explained your company’s requirements to Lucinda, but I also should have anticipated that Baringer & Co is no different from most other London City law firms, with their lamentable lack of family friendly policies and obsession with the bottom line.”
“I don’t blame you in the slightest, Becky. I was horrified by her attitude despite knowing your father was so ill and how distressed you were. What kind of work would you produce, sat at your desk under such circumstances? More likely to make a negligent cock-up, if you ask me, and the consequences of that would be dire in your line of work. She and her ilk are so short-sighted. Companies with such stringent policies lose all their quality staff to more progressive firms, I’ve found. It’s what causes me to strive even harder to make my company a shining example of twenty-first century working practices. See you next week at the golf club?”
“Yes, see you then. Thanks again, Sam. Max will be so excited when I tell him, and I have some news for you, too.”
“Sounds intriguing!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The last Friday of September dawned bleak and cold. London was at its most unattractive in the grey, slicing rain, its world famous architecture austere and gloomy, its inhabitants morose.
Max and Rebecca edged slowly forward in the mass exodus repeated every Friday at six, the snail’s pace reduced even further by the lashing rain and the increased volume of traffic, people desperately trying to get away for the weekend to more pleasant spots. This would be the last tortuous journey she and Max would have to endure before their permanent relocation to Northumberland after Deb’s wedding at the end of October.
“I’m excited about visiting Poppy and Josh, Mum. Can we go to the farm again and feed the animals?” Max had perked up as soon as he had scampered into the back seat, preferring the long, boring journey to killing time at Afterschool Club.
“Josh and his dad are busy with their farm, but we’ll pop up tomorrow with some homemade scones for them, eh?”
She didn’t want to intrude on the Charltons. She had no idea if Josh had a girlfriend or a partner, she’d never thought to ask, but it didn’t prevent her from spending the next few minutes imagining what the person would be like. Would she be dark-haired or fair? A sophisticated, glamorous city lover or a country girl? Had he known her since childhood or was she someone he had met at college? She pondered on the reasons why she should find her contemplation of Josh’s fictional relationships so uncomfortable.
“What about dog biscuits for Poppy, too?” Max broke into her reverie. “She might not like your homemade scones!” Charming honesty of children.
“Yes, no problem, we’ll treat Poppy to some dog biscuits.”
What a change around. Max was still wary of the dogs he encountered on their street in Hammersmith and in the park during the weekends, but had no fear of Poppy, Josh’s black-and-white, trainee sheepdog.
The journey was one of the longest Rebecca had ever endured. Because of the deluge of rain, there had been a numbers of serious traffic accidents on the M1 and the A1. They’d broken the journey at the usual service station to change Max into his pjs two hours later than usual. Now they were stationary at Scotch Corner, another hour’s drive from Newcastle. The rain still pelted at the window, the rhythm of the windscreen wipers lulling Max to sleep.
At last, they arrived at Rosemary Cottage. Even in the driving rain, Rebecca immediately noticed the garden’s transformation. The ubiquitous weeds and impenetrable evergreen bushes had been tamed, the front garden, a reproduction of chocolate-box perfection, reflected in the silvery glow of the full moon. It was how she had encountered Rosemary Cottage when she first viewed it and been drawn under its mesmerising spell.
As she pushed open the paint-blistered door, dumping her old, brown leather holdall onto the parquet flooring of the hall, the cottage felt warm and inviting. She rushed back into the rain to collect a still-sleeping Max in her arms, depositing him gently on the fern-green chintz sofa, covered him with the matching mohair blanket, tucking in the sides, and planting a kiss on his sleeping face.
She opened the door of the kitchen and the rosy warmth seeped into her aching limbs. The Aga was lit! She spotted a card propped against the pale blue and white milk jug containing sprigs of freshly cut rosemary, its scent delicately fragrancing the air. She pulled the card from the thick cream envelope knowing instantly who had orchestrated such a warm welcome.
Claudia told me you’d be here this weekend with Max. Hope you’re not too irritated about the garden. Me and two mates from the rugby club enjoyed the hard graft and several gallons of Guinness last Saturday. It’s exactly how Mum used to do it! Dad still had a key—didn’t mean to trespass on your privacy—just lit the Aga. Regards,
Josh.
XXX
His handwriting was large and bold, printed and clear. Three kisses!
The cottage wrapped its warm arms around Rebecca and Max as they snuggled together on the soft sofa eternally grateful for the kindness of friends and neighbours—the community her father had spoken so eloquently about.
* * *
“Anyone home?” The question was launched from the garden below Rebecca’s bedroom window, accompanied by a welcoming corresponding bark from Poppy.
Smiling then waving, Rebecca tightened her fluffy ivory velvet robe around her narrow waist. Her body and her head ached from the long drive north hunched over the car steering wheel, her eyes screwed in high concentration, wipers flashing across her vision.
She dressed quickly before scampering down the stairs to drag open the heavy oak door.
Joshua stared at the transformed Rebecca for a few moments as he struggled to find his voice. She lifted her tumbling auburn curls from her face, cheeks blushed pink with pleasure, looking relaxed in her faded jeans and emerald cardigan. “Just called to make sure you’re okay about the garden. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I realise it is a bit of an intrusion into your privacy.” He twisted his tweed cap in his large farmer’s hands.
“The garden’s stunning, Josh, exactly as it was when I first viewed the cottage. Thank you so much.” Rebecca beamed as she swung her eyes around the pretty cottage garden. “You and your friends must have slaved all weekend. It was such a jungle. I can see all the botanical gems that were buried under those weeds. Max and I intend to repay you with a mound of homemade scones and a box of dog biscuits. Come in for a coffee?”
She followed Josh’s sapphire-blue eyes as he glanced at her attire and added, “Dreadful journey up here last night in the lashing rain. Didn’t arrive until two this morning. Max is still zonked.”
“Tea for me, if you have it,” he suggested, settling his huge frame at the kitchen table, his cheeks reddening as he moved the jug containing the sprigs of rosemary out of his direct line of sight. Poppy made a beeline for the warmest place in the cottage next to the still-warm Aga, grunting with satisfaction.
“Josh! Yes! Can we come and visit the animals at the farm? Now?” Max bounded in. Their voices must have woken him.
“Not yet, Max sweetheart. Breakfast first. Porridge?”
“Yak, no. Chocolate Krispies!”
“Okay.” She laughed, pouring two mugs of dark, steaming tea from the big green teapot and then preparing Max’s breakfast.
“I’ve got a proposition to make, Becky.”
Why did her heart flutter suddenly? What did that mean? She stood with her back to him, milk poised over the cereal bowl.
“There’s no pressure, say no if you want, but think about it first. Remember I told you Dad had got planning permission to build four houses over in the lower field and to convert two of the old barns? Well, the two barns are almost completed now—just about to market them
in fact. I wonder if I could engage your services with the interior design side of things? I think it would give them an edge, suggesting to potential buyers how they could look. It’s a tough market out there, as you are aware, a bit more than a slop of magnolia paint is called for.”
Rebecca watched as Josh fiddled with the herbs in the vase on the kitchen table as he spoke, unable to meet her gaze, the waft of sweet rosemary floating up to tickle her nostrils.
“I’m not instructing that conniving idiot Jeremy Goldacre to conduct the sale. He’s been ’round to see Dad, mentioning Dad’s friendship with Geoffrey Goldacre, and that he expects we’ll be using their services when they are ready to market. Dad deflected the decision, but I’m adamant, Becky. Chap’s dishonourable and that’s taboo in my book.”
At last, Josh met Rebecca’s eyes across the scrubbed pine table.
“What do you say? I know you’re undertaking a design course in London. I’m happy for you to do it on the weekends you come up to Northumberland and Max can help, too! Can’t do any worse than me and Dad.” He chuckled. “Haven’t got a creative bone in our bodies for the finer details. Though I have to confess, I’m thoroughly enjoying the project management side of the conversions and can’t wait to get stuck in with the new builds.”
“I’d love to have a go at the interior design, Josh. And I might as well tell you now. Max and I are relocating here permanently at the end of October. I’ve handed in my resignation at Baringer & Co—I finish in three weeks’ time, just before Deb and Fergus’s wedding, so Max can complete his half term. I’ve lots of ideas for the barns. Thanks for the opportunity.” She smiled into his gentle eyes, but he looked quickly away, disappointing Rebecca.
“Phew, what a relief! We’ll pay the going rate, whatever that is.”
The Wish List Addiction Page 16