Mary

Ada Greene, one of their most senior residents, was feeling a bit perkier after the doctor’s visit earlier that morning and Mary was pleased. Ada had been looking very frail lately and had seemed more tired than usual since her one hundredth birthday the month before. Mary heated up the soup and had a chat about the possibility of Ada moving into a room in the local rest home. Another resident had recently transferred out of town to be closer to her family and Mary, who was friendly with the manager, knew the available room had a lovely view of the garden and morning sun. Ada had been re- luctant in the past to give up her independence. “I’ve man- aged on my own for almost fifty years. That’s half a century,” she said, as she always did. But she agreed to go with Mary to have a look when she was feeling better. Ada gave her a small list of things she needed and Mary offered to pick up her prescription from the chemist. It was near the barber’s

and she was due to take Klaus for his monthly trim and beard tidy that afternoon.

Mary popped in to see Jerry on her way back to the main building to pick up the van. He was sitting on his front step polishing his brown brogues.

“I’m taking Klaus out for a haircut,” she called. “Thought maybe you might like to join us?”

“I went last week,” he said. “Are you saying I’m looking a bit scruffy?” His eyes twinkled.

“I’d never call you scruffy, Jerry. You’re one of the most dapper men in the village.”

“Anyway, I’m off to see Lois. She’s been having some kind of trouble with her Christmas tree lights and asked me to take a look. Not that I’m an electrician or anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s kind of you.” Mary hadn’t noticed anything wrong with Lois’s lights when she’d been there earlier in the week. “Well, she’s a lovely lady, always looking out for me. There will probably be a cup of tea and some baking for my efforts.” He pulled himself up slowly and brushed off his trousers. “I think she misses her wee grandchildren a lot. We’ve got to look out for each other, us oldies.” He picked up his toolbox and Mary gave him a wave and headed across the lawn to the

There was hammering coming from inside the garage when she arrived at Klaus’s house. Mary rang the bell several times and was about to head around the back when he finally opened the front door.

“I’m here to take you to the barber. I thought we could stop somewhere and get afternoon tea afterwards.”

“The barber?”

“Yes, you were going to write it on your calendar.” “I don’t need to go to the barber.”

Mary eyed his hair which had started to curl onto his col- lar, and his beard which was definitely getting woolly. Klaus was usually so pedantic about this.

“I told you I don’t need a haircut,” Klaus said belligerent- ly. “I wouldn’t mind going for afternoon tea though. Could we get some of those mince tarts?”

“Of course,” she agreed. “As long as you don’t mind tagging along on some errands I need to run. Shall we have a look and see if there’s anything you need at the supermarket?”

Klaus led the way into the kitchen. He smelt of sawdust and furniture oil. For some reason it made her think of Bright’s sandalwood aftershave.

While Klaus looked to see if he needed any groceries, Mary eyed his calendar. It was one she’d made for him earlier in the year to make it easier to remember dates and events.

There was nothing there about the barber’s visit but he defi- nitely had some strange entries. ‘Bird whistles’ was yester- day. ‘Check the list again’, ‘Buy more wrapping paper’ and ‘Make a map’ were yet to do, apparently.

She dropped Klaus at home with the two extra mince tarts he’d insisted he was saving ‘for later’ and then called in to Ada with her antibiotics and groceries before returning the van to the main building. There was a yellow work truck with an outline of an eye and ‘Eye Spy Security’ in black parked in the front car park. Two men in company polo shirts were loading equipment back into the car. Bright had got onto that quickly, she thought. Unusually so, considering he didn’t seem to like spending money unnecessarily. Could it be the thought of having to field complaints about missing under- wear from the residents that had spurred him into action?

The decorations from previous Christmases were stored in large plastic tubs in the rec room storage cupboards. Mary decided to pull them out and sort through what they had. Bright came in as she was detangling the third set of lights, which she could have sworn she’d looped so carefully the year before.

“I took your dad out,” she told him, plugging the lights in to check they were working. They were. No need to get Jerry in to save the day. “We were meant to be going to the barber but he refused. He’s usually so particular about having his hair and beard tidied.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.” The furrow she was be- coming used to seeing appeared in his brow again. “What with losing the keys to the garage and being secretive. I’m wondering whether he’s taken a bit of a downward turn.”

“Well, he must have found the keys. He was in the garage when I called in and was putting them into his pocket. The car was still outside though.”

“You probably will notice things about your dad that are different from before,” Mary said gently. She thought of the strange list of things on the calendar. “Independence is so important and it’s normal to resist help, especially at this stage. But he has a lot of love and support here.”

“And he’s lucky to have you. You obviously have a very close relationship. That can make it hard, when he’s not the dad you used to know.”

Bright blinked and stared out the window, his frown deep- ening. “I appreciate everything you do,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure. He’s still a gentleman, your dad.” Mary laughed. “Still insisted on paying for afternoon tea for

us both. Though why he thought we needed six mince tarts between us, I’ve no idea.”

“Bloody hell, the greedy bugger. He definitely doesn’t need that.” Bright gave a little chuckle and Mary noticed the way his eyes crinkled.

“Do you mind if I take the van tomorrow to pick up a Christmas tree?” she asked. “I usually go and get a nice one from a tree farm out of town. It’s the only place that grows them big enough to fill the living area.”

“Sure. I imagine you’re the only one who uses it anyway.” Mary thought she’d strike while he seemed to be in a good mood. “It’s a bit of a mission, getting it into the van by my- self. I don’t suppose you could come with me and give me a

Bright eyed her up and down dubiously, as though tak- ing in her small stature and imagining her single-handedly hauling a hulking pine tree on her shoulder.

“I could do that. I’ve got to check on my other business in the morning and then I have a few things to sort here, so maybe around eleven?”

Although Tony, the owner of the Christmas tree farm, wouldn’t, she thought. He prided himself on helping every- one to get their trees into cars and trailers and securely and safely tied down for the trip home.

Shirley Temple stopped believing in Santa at six, when her mother took her to see him at the mall and he asked for her autograph.