by stan graham
“It is a waste of money but if you want one I will buy it before we get there and sneak it in.” At least he never suggested that we meet up inside.
Yet there she had sat in the restaurant attached to the service station and Peter had said, "Pick anything you like Mum, it's our treat".
I chose a really nice piece of Battered Plaice with Crunchy French-fries, fancy name for chips, Petit Pois which Peter said meant little peas, why they couldn’t just say so I don’t know, and a mild Indian Curry Sauce. Washed down with a lovely cup of tea. A good English meal.
“How about a nice piece of pudding with custard Mum?” Peter asked.
“No I couldn’t manage another thing thank you. Wouldn’t mind another cup of tea if it’s going though.”
“I’ll go and get some, three teas is it?” Looking at Jane.
“Very well but no more stops, we don’t want to get there late. There is supposed to be a welcoming committee waiting for Mum. So everybody make sure they go to the toilet before we leave especially you Peter, we don’t want you holding us up with your weak bladder.”
Janice seemed to make the most of the occasion tucking into a big plate of fish and chips. I preferred home cooking myself, although I was partial to a nice piece of fish and packet of chips with curry sauce and sprinkled with salt and vinegar. She will be moaning about her migraine next. Stress, I was always telling her to calm down but it only seemed to wind her up. "Relax, don't let them bother you", I would say when she went off on one about the neighbours. It would finish up with a row and me accused of taking everyone's side except hers. I guess I was too laid back in my attitude for her. Live and let live had always been my motto. That Jane is a real card isn’t she? Knows how to wind Peter up without even trying. That’s what comes of being a social worker, all bossy.
The Warden of Paradise Lodge, a self important little man in his late fifty early sixties, who appeared to base himself on one of those pompous little men one sees caricatured in films about the war. Pot-bellied and short, with a walrus moustache bustled out to welcome Janice. Shooing her into his office like a sheepdog rounding up his flock, he indicated a hard wooden chair and began his official welcoming speech.
"Good afternoon Mrs Bond, any relation to James? Ha Ha just my little joke. May I call you Janice? My name is Captain Martin Bunder-Smythe, some people like to call me Captain or Martin, but I don't mind what you call me as long as its polite. Janice gave him a glare. "Mrs Bond will do nicely thank you Captain Smythe until we are better acquainted."
"Of course my dear, well we like to keep our residents happy. I am the Warden here at Paradise Lodge and it is my job to see that you settle in and enjoy your time here. We have a number of activities organised for our senior residents. Many of them come over for coffee and a bit of a chat most mornings and then two afternoons a week, Tuesday and Thursday we have a games afternoon where we play Scrabble and Whist. On Fridays an outside caterer comes and many of the residents have a fish lunch. That has to be ordered in advance. Just put your name on the list with your requirements,“
He indicated a list Sellotaped on to a wall that also portrayed several posters and leaflets that Smythe had obtained from the local tourist advice bureau. “We run a happy ship here. I like to keep all the residents occupied, take them out of themselves, provide a stimulating environment. Not mentioning any names some of them can be quite cantankerous, the lady in number 29 doesn't like joining in, but I have managed to get some of the other residents to call on her to bring her across to the centre. All for one and one for all, that's our catchword here. However not everyone wants to jump in at the deep end as it were, so just take your time and get settled in."
He ushered Janice back outside to watch Peter unload. He had left pretty sharply when I had suggested he might like to help.
"Perhaps you could give Peter a hand with managing my cooker."
"Sorry my dear, I would love to but I'm not allowed, bad back, and the insurance doesn't cover that sort of thing. Shame that you people never bothered to employ a proper removal service. Now I must press on, as I have to supervise the workmen. We are having a few repairs done to the roofs after the storm last week."
I was just glad I had taken my Rescue Remedy before we arrived otherwise I might have had a few words to say to him. It’s funny how some people like to see you down. “Misery likes company,” Arthur had always said. Well as I said to him, “You would know, wouldn’t you.” He took umbrage at that but it’s true.
About a week after Arthur died that Mrs Trundle said to me. “So you are on your own now, just like me.”
“Mrs Trundle,” I had said. “Mr Arthur died, he didn’t just run away like yours.”
“You’ll see with all your airs and graces, you are just like the rest of us.”
“Mrs T, I will never be like you.”
I never took to that man, Smythe. Met lots of officers like him when I did my
two years National Service in the catering corps. Really up themselves with their plummy voices, false laughs and double barrelled names. They can be really vicious bastards underneath a veneer of civilisation. Pity they never brought it back mind, National Service that is, it made a man out of me. I was never a misery and I strongly object to any insinuation that I was.
Far from supervising the workmen Janice had spotted him with some of the residents pricing up her furniture. Well she had nothing to be ashamed of. All her pieces were solid wood not like the chipboard flat pack rubbish that seemed so popular nowadays. Mother had always drummed into her the importance of getting good quality furniture.
"Husbands may come and go but quality bits and pieces will last you a lifetime." She had spoke from experience, her husband Paul, Janice’s father, having gone off with his fancy woman Teresa the barmaid from the Black Ox many years earlier or so the tale was told, when Janice was ten years old. Some of the stuff had outlasted her mother’s lifetime and Janice had inherited a few good pieces when Mother had died. I was especially proud of that Welsh Dresser. They don't make furniture like that any more. I had seen the very same piece in Lord Lichfield’s house in Staffordshire when Arthur had taken me there for a day out years ago, before life had taken it's toil and pleasures such as days out became a thing of the past. I remember it had been just after Jane was born. We had wrapped her up in the cutest pink shawl. The sun had been shining; it always seemed to shine in them days I remember. We had been lucky enough to see his Lordship during our visit; he had smiled at me. Arthur said he was some sort of photographer, as if I didn't know. I also knew he was a cousin to the queen, bless her. Of course he’s dead now.
She's still got that bloody awful Welsh Dresser, a nasty black thing with a
shiny patina from years of polishing, all fancy carving on the cupboards and drawers, it was horrible when her mother got it for a wedding present from an Aunt who had obviously disliked her. I never liked it. Bit of decent minimalist stuff from IKEA, that was more my style. I had forgotten about that day at Shugborough Hall. Made Janice's day that did seeing his Lordship. That was in the springtime as well.
Peter and Jane struggled to get the cooker up the flight of stairs.
"You would think they could have installed a lift" puffed Peter “don’t know why you don’t scrap this and buy a microwave.”
Pippa Chiefly from across the landing had been the first to come calling while Peter and Jane had still been there, hadn't even let me get moved in. The doorbell rang. A small frail grey-haired woman in a floor length floral nightdress and a blue woollen man's cardigan stood there.
"I just thought I should introduce myself. I'm Pippa and I live across the landing from you. I'm sure we will be great friends. It's been such a worry living on this floor level with nobody opposite. I was wondering if that big strong man of yours could take a look at my washing machine, as it has been leaking over my floor,” she had said.
Pushing herself forward, I don't like people like that. Luckily Peter felt the same way and had
a quick look and told her she needed a new water hose but that she would need an engineer to fit it.
"I'll get Dave to get me one and fit it,” she had said after a moments thought.
Peter and Jane stayed a few hours to make sure I was settled and then started making motions towards leaving. "Have to be going soon Mum, it's a long drive back."
"Stay a little longer, Jane, I'll pay so you and Peter can stay overnight at a hotel. I don't like the idea of you travelling all that way and you must both be tired."
"Love to Mum but I've got to get into work early tomorrow or I would" Jane replied.
"Those people take advantage of you."
"I know Mum, there’s no rest for the wicked" she laughed.
“Besides we have to get the van back to the car hire firm,” said Peter.
“Oh yes I never thought of that. Do drive carefully Peter.”
“Yes mum, and you take care of yourself. I will give you a ring to let you know we got back home safely.”
“Bye.”
“Bye now, see you soon.” Both parties were fully aware that was a lie.
“She looks so lost and forlorn just standing there waving us off Peter.”
“Give her a few days and she will settle in. You will just have to harden your heart you can’t keep adopting all these stray dogs.”
“Will you kindly stop referring to my clients as stray dogs. Besides she is our mother. I wonder about you sometimes, you seem to be completely callous over some things.”
It was gone midnight before I got a call from Jane to say they had got home safely. Peter had taken the motorway. If I had known they were going to do that I would have been even more worried. Five hours with only one stop for a break, irresponsible I call it; In the meantime I had listened to the sound of a row going on in the flat beneath me. Seemed to go on for hours what with slamming doors and raised voices. Must remember that they can hear every noise I make also. I certainly hope this is not going to be a regular occurrence.
At least I wasn’t asleep when Jane called. I knew I wouldn’t be, probably won’t sleep at all tonight. Make myself another cup of tea. Well I am really here; it is just beginning to sink in. Totally on my own at last I wipe a tear from my cheek. Grow up woman this is no time to start feeling sorry for yourself. I suppose I might as well start putting things away and deciding where everything can go. There hasn’t been any noise from the flat below for at least an hour so they must have exhausted themselves. It was certainly thoughtful of Jane to have come down a few days previously and sweep the place through before arranging to supervise the carpet fitters laying all the new carpets, they muffled some of the noise. It amazes me that she manages to get the time off but I suppose she is a person with some influence on the council.
My Janice doesn't fit in easily, I have always tried to help but there is a limit to what I can do, especially now that I haven’t got a physical body. I will try to encourage her to join in with the other residents but she has always tended to just ignore me when it doesn’t suit her. Can't say as I blame her but I do worry. No man is an island and all that. I blame it on her mum; she always had airs and graces. Never did think I was good enough for her daughter. Had to accept me in the end though when she found out her precious daughter was in the club. Her dad was all right but took a back seat and told me "Just let her get on with it lad. It'll turn out all right in the long run."
How he would know seeing as he had left his wife to move in with his fancy woman years before is a mystery to me but he seemed to be right. Janice told me that there was no love lost between her mum and her dad but that he had always been there for her. It had turned out okay on the whole; we had two lovely children even if they were born the wrong way round. The girl Jane is our first-born. Still I never held that against her. Cute kid even at an early age she was full of herself. I sometimes forgot she was a girl. Wonder nowadays if that was a mistake being as she has never married. Couldn’t find a man to match her dad she used to say.
Apart from Pippa Chiefly opposite, there are two flats downstairs. Number 38 directly below is occupied by a couple, Nigel and Sue Greystone. The following morning Sue Greystone stopped me on my way out to explore the local shops.
"I do hope we didn't disturb you last night. Nigel and I had a slight ding dong about him going down to the pub."
"No, I didn't hear a thing."
"Oh good. I'm Sue Greystone allow me to welcome you to Winston House, I'm sure we are going to get on together very well. If there’s anything you need don’t hesitate to ask. Have you come far?"
"Thank you, yes quite a way, Stripford, it's in the Midlands."
"Quite a distance then, have you got relations down here?"
"No."
"We are from London. I expect you can tell by our accent. We moved down here to be near our daughter Yvonne and our grandchildren. She lives in Bournemouth. Works in a hotel there. The Grandee, she's a receptionist. Her husband is a lorry driver so he works away from home most of the week, that’s why she likes us near at hand."
"Very interesting. My son is an accountant for a large store and my daughter is a social worker and is very well regarded."
"Oh that’s how you managed to get a flat here then. Can’t be doing with Social Workers myself, interfering busybodies."
" If you will excuse me, things to do."
"Oh right well don’t let me stop you. Bye."
Opposite them at number 37 was Margery Adams a retired schoolteacher who I had yet to meet.
Passing the communal lounge a few days later I had glanced in.
A big room with a pink carpet and light blue walls. A large television flickered in one corner where three ladies sat watching a cookery programme. In the adjacent corner there was a table with an electric kettle and a few white mugs. No ladylike porcelain then I thought, more like a works canteen. A couple of dozen high-backed terracotta covered fabric chairs with wooden arms sprawled themselves about around the sides of the room. Some trestle like tables, pine with green imitation leather inlays, completed the picture. Hardly the most welcoming of places.
Apart from Captain Smythe and Mr Tontine the gnome, who were playing cards and were hard to distinguish from the other old women. I can only assume that he didn't realise that he was only kept on hand in case something needed doing that Smythe didn't fancy, such as running errands or lifting things, it was mainly women. I was to observe that occasionally under protest the odd husband was sprinkled into the mixture for appearances sake.
Husbands are not expected to nor do they appear to play a prominent part except when dragged along by an exasperated wife. "If I got to go then you got to go, I'm not having you going off enjoying yourself." But generally they were not encouraged.
All those gossiping old biddies. I would only go so they couldn't talk about me. That glimpse had been enough and I avoided the place whenever I could.
Finishing her snack Janice pursed her mouth and wiped it. Looked at the tissue to see whether it retained any foreign bodies before placing it in a blue plastic bucket by her side. She moved over to the window and adjusted the curtain. Just enough that she could see out to the courtyard but not enough that she could be seen. She had heard Dave, Mr Tontine saying to another resident about that nosy new cow spying out the windows from behind her curtains. Well nobody was going to say that about her and get away with it. She would get him sooner or later; just you wait and see.
“How can he say such things about me, I have never ever been introduced to him or spoken to him. He just doesn’t know me.”
This place is so depressing. Full of old people waiting for something to happen. Some days a black mood settles over me and I could burst into tears. Of course I don’t allow myself to but sometimes I wish that god would take me.
I think I might start a diary of my life here so that others who consider this type of move will see what it entails.
Marvellous stuff lace, Jan had always been nosy. "Just interested in people Arthur"
she used to say. Give her her due though, she didn't gossip, except to me. Yak, yak, yak. An she wasn't spiteful, not like some of the old biddies here. I soon learnt to turn a deaf ear to it and she chose to pretend that I listened intently to every pearl of wisdom that dropped from her lips. Women do like to talk. I do wish she would cheer herself up a bit, it really gets me down with all her weeping and such.
I have bought myself a page to a day diary for £2 from a man who has a stall
in the town selling stationary. They call it a market but it’s only about four stalls. It’s red leather looking, about the size of a small paperback and has a page to a day. I offered him a pound as it is several months into the year and they are just wasted pages but he wouldn’t have it. Now shall I give it a name or just address it as dear diary? I don’t think I will fill it in every day. I could never remember to do that but perhaps I might just note the memorable bits of my life.
Yesterday was Mothers Day and I got a nice bunch of flowers from Peter and Jane as well as a phone call wishing me a happy day.
Wednesday lunchtime about a week after I arrived I was just sitting down for my lunch, poached egg on two slices of toast and a cup of tea when I heard this piercing screech. I thought a war had started. It was just like the air raid sirens during the war. I nearly had a heart attack, I spilt my tea and run downstairs and out into the courtyard snatching up my handbag and coat on the way. Everything appeared quiet and normal. Smythe was passing the entrance to Nelson House.