Enid took a long time to get ready on the morning that she was going into the nursing home. Alfred wondered if this was a demonstration of reluctance or merely that every day she needed longer to prepare herself before breakfast. Their social worker—they had their own social worker now—had explained patiently that she was to have a few days’ holiday in a very nice home. Enid had never said much about it and he wasn’t sure if she really understood.
She no longer wandered around much during the night and had gone from ringing Kate constantly to hardly ever calling her. The old barber didn’t know what to make of these changes in behaviour, whether they signified a new phase in the condition. He didn’t sleep much better, even without having to track her down during the early hours.
The only item she wanted to take was a small green elephant, which was about two inches high and made of pottery. Kate had bought it as a present when she was four using her own money, which had made it a treasured gift. The ornament had been given pride of place on the mantelpiece ever since, even though it clashed with almost everything else on display.
Alfred had been forced to select the clothes and items his wife might need for her five-day stay. It had all fitted into two small suitcases, which were ready at the front door as they waited in the hallway for the taxi. It was no longer safe for him to take her in the car in case she became agitated.
He felt apprehensive, the sort of feeling he had when one of them had to go into hospital for an operation and the other would be leaving them behind once they had unpacked. Enid hadn’t spoken since they had got up and didn’t speak while they drove to the nursing home. The taxi driver was very kind. He had taken enough people to the building over the years to know that if there were any suitcases then one person was remaining.
The two of them stood in the reception area, feeling lost. She took hold of his right arm, the first sign that morning of acknowledging him in any way. He patted her hand. It was only moments later when they saw a figure striding towards them, a human version of the Flying Dutchman at full throttle.
‘Hello, Enid. I’m Matron. You’ve timed your visit well. I was just about to make a pot of tea. Shall we have a cup together?’
She held out her arm. Alfred’s wife hesitated for a moment then gently slid hers out of his. He appreciated this was probably a ploy of the matron’s and whenever a new resident arrived it would be time for a cuppa. It was meant to reassure and he thought all the more of her for the gesture.
But as the two women walked slowly away he felt a tiny part of his heart breaking. For sixty years it had been his arm that Enid had held on to, it was by his side that they had faced life’s challenges together. They had always been a team. It was as though she had let go of him in more than just a physical sense. He was cast adrift and the ocean was vast, cold and threatening.
They walked slowly along the empty corridor, the matron chatting away, talking about the garden and how a group of children from a local school were giving a small concert after lunch. Alfred was about to reach down for the cases and follow when a man he had not noticed, a porter or nurse of some sort, appeared by his side.
‘Here you are, mate, I’ll take those,’ said the man cheerily. ‘You don’t want to let them get too far ahead otherwise Matron will eat all the best cakes.’
* *
Much later that afternoon Alfred sat alone in the little kitchen at home. Kate had wanted to help get her mother into the nursing home, but he’d insisted they would be alright so instead she was coming the next day to clean and tidy. The house wasn’t quite as it should be, despite the assistance from various people.
Alfred had never felt so lost. He kept reminding himself that Enid would be back by the end of the week and he should make the most of the short break to rest, and enjoy time with his daughter. But as he sat at the table, none of these thoughts helped. He just wanted back the woman he loved, the way she used to be.
Kate arrived shortly after nine o’clock and the two of them set about the rooms like demented demons, as if through physical activity they could find some inner peace. It worked, to a degree. His daughter made a salad for lunch and then told him to sit in the armchair while she sorted out washing.
There were some items that just never got done, like his old yellow scarf. Alfred was worried it might run and spoil other clothes and it was hardly worth doing by itself. He kept forgetting to check with someone who would know about such things and so for weeks it had lain at the bottom of the coat stand, dirty and unused.
How many months had it been since Enid had greeted him at the front door on his return from the barber’s shop, taking his scarf and gloves and putting them carefully on the peg that she always put them on? How many thousands of times had she done that over the years? Occasionally, she would announce with fierce determination, ‘Goodness, you can’t possibly keep wearing those old gloves. I’m going to buy you some new ones tomorrow.’ It was pointless to argue. How he loved her.
He hadn’t sold the shop, only closed it down ‘until further notice’. Well, he suspected that regular customers had heard about his situation by now. He wondered where they had all gone, if they were enjoying having their hair washed by a pretty young girl at one of the nearby unisex salons. Apparently, they gave customers a head massage as well. What would his old boss make of that?
If you included his time in training, he had recently passed his sixtieth anniversary as a barber. Alfred had tried to make a little celebration of the occasion. Enid had been pleased and it had been a nice evening, albeit that they had simply stayed at home.
Where had those years gone?
Despite spending so many decades cutting men’s hair, it seemed that all this had taken place so long ago and represented only a minute fraction of his life. Memories were fading in his mind: the happy family times; the birth of the grandchildren; christenings; special parties; the joy of just being together. The images that invaded his thoughts these days were those of recent events: Enid being lost in the street; crying non-stop because she had forgotten something or couldn’t make him understand; images of her fist coming towards his face.
Kate stayed that night and the following morning the two of them went to the nursing home. Just like the previous occasion, Matron appeared within a few moments of them arriving in reception. They went to her office.
‘How’s my mother?’
‘She’s been fine. She loved the children’s concert yesterday and spent a lot of time walking around the garden. She knows a lot about plants.’
‘She hasn’t been upset?’ asked Alfred.
‘No, not once.’
‘I see,’ he said, not quite certain what to make of this information.
‘You know, we often find that when people become aggressive, because of a dementia-type illness, that it is those they love most, and are the closest to, who get the brunt of their anger,’ said the matron. ‘That’s how life is normally amongst families and it doesn’t alter because someone has Alzheimer’s.
‘It’s very difficult, but please don’t have any negative feelings about this side of your wife’s behaviour. You may find that she is not aggressive here, but may become so again once she returns home. We try very hard to spot and eliminate the triggers that lead to frustration, which in turn can result in agitation. Obviously, our staff have a lot of experience in this and if we learn anything during the next few days that may be useful we’ll certainly let you know.’
The three of them talked for a while before hunting out Enid who was sitting in the lounge, listening to another resident talking excitedly about her various grandchildren. The woman politely excused herself as they walked over.
‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Oh.’
‘Hello, love,’ said Alfred, kneeling awkwardly by her legs so that he could take hold of one of her hands. ‘How are you feeling today?’
‘Have you been in the shop?’ she said, patting him on the head as if he was one of the ‘pat dogs’ that were brought around regularly by local volunteers.
‘Later,’ he replied, having learnt not to say the business was shut as this tended to upset her. ‘I wanted to see you first. Are you eating well?’
‘Yes, it’s nice. But it’s not home.’
‘We’ll have you back on Saturday. That’s only a few days away. Kate’s been helping me spruce up the place.’
‘That lady has grandchildren. We’ve got grandchildren.’
‘We have, and they both send their love, Mum.’
‘I’ve forgotten their names.’
‘You’ve having me on,’ said Alfred, trying to make light of the comment. ‘You know it’s Peter and Laura.’
‘They’ve written you a card, Mum.’
Enid took it, smiling, but not seeming able to read the words. Kate told her the message, which she knew by heart. They chatted amicably until the matron appeared at the time they had secretly agreed earlier. She had explained that it was often a good idea for a resident to be distracted when visitors were leaving so that they didn’t think they were going as well. This often prevented potential distress. So Alfred and Kate left, but they felt like thieves in the night for not saying goodbye.