by JT Lawrence
“Oh, relax Andy, I’m only pulling your leg. I’m as sober as a judge.”
“Gin or no gin, you are looking very well,” says Judy.
Andrew nods. “You don’t look a day over ninety.”
“Ninety is the new sixty,” says Margaret, flapping her arms. “Give or take a couple of batwings and swollen knuckles.”
Judy recoils. “But Marge! Your arm!”
"Oh, it's nothing. I bruise so easily nowadays."
Andrew frowns. “Let’s see?”
“It’s nothing! Just a little bruise.”
“That is not a LITTLE bruise,” says Judy.
“It was that terrible woman! But I’m okay now. Really. I told you, you didn’t have to come!”
“We wanted to come,” says Judy. “We miss you. The chicken casserole misses you.”
Margaret giggled.
“I just came to get away from the city. And from Judy’s cooking.”
A cheerful bell jingles in the distance.
“Ooh, goodie,” says Margaret, rubbing her hands together. “Tea-time. They have the most talented pastry chef here. You must try the scones. Best scones I’ve tasted in ninety-six years! Puts the chef at Claridge's to shame!"
“Hang on, aren’t you 86?” asks Andrew.
“Hee! Dear Andy, you’re so easy to kid. Too easy. So adorably gullible. Where did I go wrong?”
“He’s just a bit on edge. He’s worried about you, Marge.”
“Pssh. It’s just a small bruise. Besides, Andrew has been on edge since he was born. You’ve never seen a more serious baby. I’m telling you. People used to stop and stare.”
"Have you seen that crazy woman again?"
“Rebecca? Yes.”
“Yes, you saw her again? Do you know her name? Did you call a nurse?"
“She was in my room last night. She told me her name was Rebecca and that I was in HER room. I rang the bell.”
Andrew looks hopeful. “So they caught her?”
“She was very cross with me. Started throwing my things around. Then vanished into thin air before the nurse arrived.”
“This must stop,” says Andrew. “This is unacceptable.”
Judy’s mouth hangs open. “She was cross with YOU? The cheek!”
“Look, you two. Calm down. The woman is clearly a bit, well—”
“Unstable!” exclaims Andrew.
“Upset,” says Margaret.
Judy’s mouth is still open. “Did she hurt you again?”
“No, no, I gave her a wide berth this time. I let her throw her toys, so to speak. She’s harmless, really.”
“That injury on your arm says otherwise!”
“Oh, forget about my arm, for heaven’s sake. I won’t have you molly-coddling me.”
“I just think they need to identify this person and keep her from causing havoc,” says Andrew, and Judy nods. “It’s only right.”
“They got me to look at mug-shots,” says Margaret.
“Mug-shots?” says Judy.
"You know, headshots. It's part of the application process—you need to supply a photograph of yourself so that the staff can learn your name before you arrive."
“And you couldn’t find her?” asks Andrew.
“To be honest, dear, I got so bored I only got through half of the pile.”
Andrew rubs his temples. “So you didn’t finish?”
Margaret gestures at her tan and freshly painted toenails. “I had a salon appointment!”
Andrew sighs. “What are we going to do with you?”
“In more exciting news,” says Margaret. “I’ve met someone!”
“I knew it!” says Judy.
“What do you mean, you knew it? She’s barely been here a week!”
“The new hair, the tan, the sparkle in her eyes …”
“What do you mean, you’ve met someone?” asks Andrew.
“What do you mean, what do I mean? Do I need to go into detail?”
“No!” he practically shouts. “No details required.”
"He's a lovely man—old-world charm and manners. You’ll meet him tonight, at dinner. Bordin is his name. Robert. Wonderful chap, and not bad looking either!” She looks at Judy and drops to a whisper. “We’ve already made it to third base!”
Andrew pretends to block his ears. “This is supposed to be an old age home, not a dating pool!”
“Dearheart, when you get to my age, every game of Bingo is a dating opportunity.”
After tea-time, when the sun gets too hot, they decide to go to Margaret’s room. What they see when they enter makes Judy gasp. “Margaret!”
“What,” says Andrew, “what happened here?”
Margaret's eyes narrow, and she puts her hands on her hips. "Damn that infernal woman!”
“Rebecca did this?”
“Of course she did this!” says Margaret, a slight wobble in her voice. “Who else would have done it?”
“This is ridiculous!” says Andrew. “It has to stop. I’m going to speak to management.”
Andrew storms off and Margaret begins to look through the things strewn on the floor. “The necklace. The pearls. I had them in a small box. I need to find it.”
Judy drops to her knees. “I’ll help you.”
“It’s no use,” says Margaret. “It’s gone!”
Judy isn't accustomed to seeing Margaret upset. "We'll find it, don’t worry.”
“No, we won’t. She’s taken it!”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know it. She said the pearls were hers. She was cross with me for wearing them. She lunged for them. That’s how the necklace broke. Now it’s gone.”
There is a heated conversation taking place in the manager’s office.
“I won’t stand for this!” says Andrew. “Who bullies an 86-year-old woman?”
“Please, Mr. Mead, calm down. Have a seat,” says Bernadette. “We need to discuss this in a calm and rational manner.”
“Calm down? My mother is being victimised, and you haven't done a thing to stop it!"
"You have the right to be upset, but I don't think you understand the situation."
“What is there to understand?” he demands. “You have a rogue madwoman going through your other resident’s things! Attacking them!”
“No,” says Bernadette.
”Rebecca! My mother said her name is Rebecca.”
“No one has been ‘attacked’.”
“Have you seen the bruise on my mother’s arm?”
“I have. It is unfortunate.”
“‘Unfortunate’?” says Andrew, gesturing wildly. “My God.”
“There is no resident here by the name of Rebecca.”
"What are you saying? Is it someone off the street? That's even worse!"
“I’ve called Dr. Mhlekwa. He’ll be here in a moment.”
"Unless that doctor tells me that you have this person in hand, I don't see how his presence will help our discussion.”
“Please,” says Bernadette. “Sit? We have something to show you.”
There is a light knock on the door. Bernadette sighs in relief and lets the psychologist in. “Doctor,” she says. “Thank you for coming. This is Andrew Mead, you spoke on the phone.”
“Of course, good morning, Mr. Mead.”
“It hasn’t been very good, I can assure you.”
“My apologies,” says Dr. Mhlekwa. “It was a poor choice of words.” He sets up his laptop on his desk. “Now, you may find this upsetting.”
“I don’t understand—”
“We can talk after the video,” says the doctor, and clicks ‘play’.
The video is of Margaret Mead's private room. Clothes and objects are being thrown around the room, and she is shouting and pleading. Her necklace breaks and the pearls scatter all over the floor. Despite her struggling, she is alone.
Andrew watches it twice and then drops his face into his hands. “Oh my God.”
“I’m sorry,” says
Dr. Mhlekwa. “I know this must be very difficult for you.”
Andrew is speechless.
“You’ve had a shock, Mr. Mead. Please, take your time.”
“I just … I don’t understand.”
"Now, let us not panic," says the psychologist. "One delusional episode does not mean—"
“But it wasn’t just one episode, was it? It’s been three times now. But I still don’t understand. She was 100% compos mentis a week ago—before she came here! What have you done to her?”
“There is no way to know that for sure.”
"She had a clean bill of health, and you know it! And tell me this: if there was no-one else in the room when she had these ‘episodes,’ then how did she get that bruise on her arm?”
“She fell back against the dresser when she broke the necklace. Watch here—”
“No, no,” Andrew shakes his head. “I don’t want to watch it again.”
Doctor Mhlekwa clears his throat. “There are steps we can take.”
“Steps?”
“To ensure she doesn’t hurt herself,” says Bernadette. “Or anyone else.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to … process this. What could have caused it?”
“Dementia becomes common at a certain age,” says the doctor. “Especially in women.”
“Dementia?”
“We can watch her closely, monitor her behaviour. We will only intervene if we have to.”
“It’s a good thing she is here with us, Mr. Mead,” says Bernadette. “We’ll be able to take good care of her. The residents agree to round-the-clock supervision when they sign their application.”
“You mean, this? Cameras in their rooms?”
“Yes, it’s for their safety. The reason we pulled this footage was to identify the interloper in her room.”
“Margaret gave us no other indication that she was in distress,” says Dr. Mhlekwa. "There is another video clip from this morning."
“I don’t want to see it,” Andrew says.
“She takes a small box—it looks like a cigar box of sorts—and she hides it under her mattress.”
Andrew walks stiffly back to his mother's room and stops at the doorway when he gets there.
“Love!” says Judy, just packing away the last of the clothes that had been on the floor. “You were gone for ages. Are you okay?”
Margaret is sitting in a chair, looking fragile. Her mascara has run down her cheeks. “Did they find her? The woman? I’d like to have a word with her.”
“Mom,” says Andrew gently. “What’s under the mattress?”
“Under the mattress?” she says. “What do you mean?”
“Do you mind if I look?”
“What are you on about?” says Judy. “What does the mattress have to do with anything?"
Andrew lifts the mattress and finds the box of pearls.
“My pearls!” exclaims Margaret.
Judy frowns. “How did you know they were there?”
“Mom,” says Andrew in a quiet voice. “Do you remember putting them here?”
Margaret shakes her head. “No, it was the lady. Rebecca. She took them.”
“She didn’t take them.”
Margaret stops. “Oh. Of course.”
“What’s going on?” asks Judy.
“You must have put them here, Mom.”
“Yes,” says Margaret uncertainly. “Yes, I must have. I must have hidden them from her.”
“You don’t remember?” asks Judy.
“Now that Andy is saying so, I … I think I remember doing it.”
"Mom, there is no Rebecca. No strange lady is visiting your room."
Margaret’s body stiffens. “What are you saying? Of course there is! She keeps harassing me!”
"Please, Andy, you're upsetting her!"
“Let’s … let’s talk outside,” he says to Judy.
Margaret marches up to her son. "You will NOT talk outside. I will not be discussed as if I am a child! Talk to me! Tell me what is going on!"
“Mom, please. They showed me a video. There is no Rebecca. There is no other woman.”
Judy freezes. “What?”
"There was!" shouts Margaret. "She was right here! She's got this long grey hair, and she's always wearing the same stinking yellow dress! She keeps looking through my things and getting angry with me for sleeping in her bed!”
Andrew’s face crumples. “Oh, Mom.”
"I know! I know what you're thinking. That I've gone mad. But I haven't! She was here. She was as real as you two are now."
Andrew sits down and steeples his fingers. He takes a deep breath.
“Mom. Is it happening again?”
Margaret wipes her melted mascara away. “Is what happening again?”
“The … visions?”
“Andy!” says Judy. “You told me that Marge has no psychological history.”
“That’s because I don’t!” shouts Margaret.
“You know what I’m talking about, Mom.”
“You mean the sparrows?”
“Yes,” says Andrew. “I mean the sparrows.”
“They were not ‘visions’—they were real, and you know it! You saw them!”
Judy crosses her arms. “Will someone please tell me what is going on?”
“After Dad died,” says Andrew. “There were—”
“He sent me little sparrows. He kept on sending me sparrows. You know, Edith Piaf? The Little Sparrow? Paris? The little birds would pop up everywhere. He was trying to tell me something.”
“That was what you thought. That was why we were worried about you.”
Margaret ignores her son and turns to Judy. “So many little creatures. They were beautiful, really.”
“That is spooky,” says Judy. “ And romantic.”
“It became macabre,” says Andrew, pulling his face as if there were a bad smell in the room. "Sparrows don't live forever. We used to find their tiny carcasses everywhere. It became … sinister."
“Hogwash!” says Margaret. “There wasn’t anything sinister about it. They were beautiful, not spooky. They only died because, well, sparrows are just dumb creatures that fly into windows. They can’t help it. He stopped sending them once I finally got the message.”
“What was the message?”
“That he missed me. Loved me. That he was still there, somewhere. That death is not the end.”
Andrew and Judy are awoken from a deep sleep by a phone ringing.
“What time is it?” asks Andrew.
“Midnight,” says Judy.
Andrew answers the call.
“Mr. Mead,” says Bernadette’s urgent voice. “You need to come immediately.”
Andrew jolts upright in the strange bed. “What’s happened? Tell me what’s happened. Is she okay?”
“There’s been an accident. Please get here as soon as you can. Come to the hospital wing.”
“Mom!” exclaims Andrew. “What happened?”
His mother lies in a hospital bed, clearly disoriented, and in pain.
“Marge!” says Judy, taking her hand.
“Thank God you’re here. I want to go home. I don’t want to be here anymore. Please take me home.”
“Of course,” says Andrew. “We’ll go right now.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible,” says Bernadette.
"Of course it's damn well possible. She is my mother, and I will take her—"
“Her hip,” says Bernadette. “It’s fractured. She’s going to need surgery.”
"It's these people," says Margaret. "There are just too many people here. I just get pushed and pulled in all directions.”
“How did you fall?” asks Andrew.
“I didn’t ‘fall’! I didn’t ‘fall’!”
“Did the woman come back, Margaret?” asks Judy.
Andrew grits his teeth. “Don’t start that again!”
“Did she push you, Marge?”
“Judy! That’s enough!�
��
“She pushed me out of my bed. I was sleeping, and she came and just pushed me onto the floor. Said I had to get out of her bed."
Bernadette looks worried. “I think I should call Dr Mhlekwa.”
“There are just too many people here. I thought it would be a quiet, peaceful place. They keep touching me, pulling at me.”
"We gave her painkillers and a sedative. She was agitated."
“I saw her photo, on the wall,” says Margaret.
"The photo of Rebecca?"
“Will you please—” says Andrew, his fury lighting up his face.
“Stop telling me what to say!” says Judy. “I believe her!”
“You ‘believe’ her? There’s nothing to ‘believe’! She’s delusional!”
“Please,” whispers Bernadette. “Let’s not upset her further.”
“I believe that she believes what she saw.”
“What the hell kind of thing is that to say? My mother is lying here with a smashed up face and a broken hip, and you're talking about believing in fairies!"
“Exactly, Andrew! It’s your MOTHER. Not some crazy old lady. YOUR MOTHER! And she is trying to tell us something!”
“Shall we go and talk in my office?” asks Bernadette.
“No! Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here with all these people.”
“We’ll stay, Marge,” says Judy. “We’re here.”
“The photo in the corridor. She’s there.”
“And who are the other people, Marge? Who are all these people grabbing you?”
“They live here. They just want to talk, but they get pushy.”
“What do they want to talk about?”
“The usual. Their families. Their kids. They always want me to send messages to their families.”
“Messages?”
“As if they don’t know how to use a phone.”
Margaret passes out.
“Mom? Mom?”
“Let her sleep,” says Bernadette. “They’ll be taking her into surgery now.”
Judy turns to leave.
Andrew’s still cross with her. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think? I’m going to look at the photos in the corridor.”
"Let's all go together," says Bernadette. "We can go to my office. I'll order some tea."
Andrew stands aside for the women to walk ahead of him. “We may need something stronger.”