Rose’s secret
Ralph had been living in The Golden Horizon Home for Aged Gentlefolk for almost five years. His room was on the first floor and this morning he was sitting in the rocking chair which had been an imaginative and much appreciated birthday present. The Daily Mail on his lap was open at the television page as he pressed the green button on the remote control. It was approaching eleven and the cricket coverage would soon be starting. He used to play the game when he was younger and understood that cricket was a game of tactics.
The footsteps in the corridor were, Ralph assumed, his mid• morning mildly warm coffee being brought to him. But the footsteps didn’t reach his room. They were followed by more footsteps and the voices of strangers. A door opened.
‘There’s something going on in room 14, it sounds like.’
He pressed the ‘mute’ button. Ralph was sure he could hear a couple of women’s voices and a man’s. The door remained ajar for a few minutes, then opened and closed. Voices faded down the corridor. Geoff Boycott was standing in the middle of the pitch, microphone in hand, speculating silently about England’s chances of bowling the Australians out. The footsteps and voices returned. This time the door opened, the voices went in and the door was closed.
Today was to be the day Toby Sainsbury gave up his independence and became a resident in a care home.
Convincing eighty-two year old Toby that he should move into a care home had been easier than Andrea had anticipated. He had lived for many years in Queens Avenue, a most attractive area of Dorchester made up of spacious and individual-looking houses with mature trees and wide pavements. His three daughters, all married with children, lived around the town. Barbara had died many years ago and Toby had coped very well until recent events. A burglary shortly after Christmas had made him a nervous man. He was unhurt by the intruders who smashed the glass in the back door to get in. He had been asleep on the settee at the time and the noise had woken him. Perhaps the burglars had assumed that the house was unoccupied, until Toby began shouting. His voice scared the intruders off, but not before they had taken money from the kitchen table.
Some weeks after the break-in, Toby had fallen in the bathroom. A laceration on his head had needed some stitches at the Accident and Emergency Department. The fall had shaken him, and he realised that he had been lucky not to break any bones. Dr Taylor had visited him at Andrea’s request to give him a general check-up and had found his blood pressure to be higher than it should be. He hadn’t been able to say with any certainty what had caused the fall. It could have been a bit of dizziness due to the blood pressure problems, or just an unfortunate slip.
‘While I’m here, though, it might be a good idea to take some blood for routine testing’ said the doctor.
So, just in case there was something amiss, Dr Taylor had taken blood and urine samples for a general analysis.
Following this fall, Toby’s daughters had taken turns to call on their father each morning to check he was out of bed and had eaten some breakfast. They would call again in the evening to wash up and tidy the living room. This had worked for a while, but they soon found themselves exhausted. Joanne had a young family which took up much of her time. Andrea and Vicky had teenagers who took up even more time. They would have to think of something else.
The blood and urine samples had revealed a mild degree of diabetes, known these days as type 2 diabetes. The surgery nurse had called on Toby to take further blood samples and these had confirmed the diagnosis. The outcome was that Toby would have to take a diabetic tablet each morning and restrict the amount of sugary food he ate. He started to find sugar-free items appearing in his larder following Andrea’s shopping trips. He had never heard of Canderel before. It was following one such shopping trip that his daughter summoned up her courage.
‘Dad - Jo, Vicky and me have been thinking that the time has come for you to think about making plans to move into a care home.’ She thought it best to leave the matter there and allow her father to digest her suggestion. She would return to the subject later in the week. The suggestion had taken the old man by surprise, and he’d been hurt by the directness with which his daughter had spoken. On reflection, though, he knew there was a good deal of sense in what Andrea had said. The house was too large for him. He had hardly been into the garden since the previous autumn. He knew he needed someone to keep an eye on him, to do his laundry and his shopping. His age and health were causing concerns. He was adamant that he didn’t want to become a burden to Andrea, Vicky or Joanne.
The sisters called on their father on the days following the suggestion about the care home, though the subject was never mentioned. They concentrated on the bits of shopping he needed, the washing and ironing of his clothes, the paying of the milkman and the newsagent and the collecting of his pension. But at the end of the week Andrea returned to the subject.
‘Have you had any thoughts about moving into a care home, Dad?’ He had.
A trembling skeletal left hand reached from a blue armchair towards a framed photograph perched upon a chest of drawers, Lucy’s own chest of drawers that she had brought into the home with her. The hand seemed to be finding the frame too heavy to pick up. It dragged the frame slowly towards the old lady until it lost its grip and the picture fell into her lap.
‘My dear Doug’ said Lucy softly. ‘My dear Doug. If you could only see me now. I wonder what you would say to me, my dear Doug. What would you say?’
Lucy stared at the photo. For several long moments she stared at it. Once again she sought to bring the man’s portrait up to her face. Inch by inch, trembling all the while, Doug came closer to her. She kissed him and the trembling photo slowly sank back into her lap.
* * * * * *
‘My dear girl, must it be now?’
‘Yes, Mrs Jenkins, if you don’t mind.’
Mrs Primrose Jenkins and Miss Zoe Mitchell sat on either side of the office desk. One sat in a dark red leather upholstered chair, the other on a grey plastic chair. The one was secure and certain about her future, the other was feeling insecure and uncertain about hers.
‘Now, what is it that’s so important?’
‘I think I might be pregnant.’
‘You only think you are?’
‘Well, I’m late with my period and when I done a test it was positive.’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘And I just know I’m pregnant.’
‘Well, if you girls will play with…’
She didn’t finish the sentence, and there was a long pause while Mrs Jenkins put some papers in an envelope. Zoe was nervous. She wondered if she was supposed to say something else. Eventually, Primrose Jenkins, married with no children, asked Zoe a question.
‘I don’t know at the moment. I’ll have to let you know.’
‘You’ll have to put this in writing, my dear. And you must let me know the expected date of delivery.’
‘I will, as soon as I know.’
‘Very well. Is that all?’
‘Yes, I think so. Thank you.’
Zoe closed the office door behind her and made for the back door, her cigarettes and lighter in hand.
* * * * * *
‘Anna, Lucy looks upset. Do you think you could have a look at her? I asked her if she was feeling unwell, but she said it was nothing. But she isn’t right, I don’t think.’
‘OK, I’ll go up in a minute, Dot.’
Dot was already disappearing back to the laundry. Lucy was about eighty. She was a shrunken and shrivelled old woman who weighed about five stone and whose skin seemed barely to cover her bones. A stroke had completely paralysed her down her right side. She was a frail scrap of a thing who took a lot of looking after, but she seemed to endear herself to people. She seemed to be the sort of person someone went into care work to look after. Anna went upstairs and along the corridor.
‘Hi Ralph!’ she called as she passed.
She arrived at Lucy’s room and went straight in. Lucy was still sat with the photo in her lap. The truth was that she hadn’t the strength to put it back on the dressing table.
In a sudden flash of remembrance, Anna recalled having a conversation with someone about Lucy some time ago. Apparently the same upset had occurred at what must have been the same time last year. Was that a year ago, already? There was a folded-up wheelchair behind the door, and Anna unfolded it and sat in it, manoeuvring it to be close to Lucy.
‘Is it the anniversary, Luce?’ Lucy nodded.
‘Is it the anniversary today?’
Lucy nodded. Anna held the old lady’s hand in hers, very gently. It was cold. She picked up the photo.
‘Was he a good man, Lucy?’
‘He was a good man,’ Lucy replied softly, putting an emphasis on the word ‘good’. ‘He was a good man to everybody.’
Several of the staff could remember meeting Douglas Anderson, though not Anna. He had been Lucy’s second husband. What had become of the first, Lucy would take to the grave with her. She never mentioned him. Lucy and Doug had been happily married for many years. Her stroke had occurred about four years ago and was the reason for her admission to the home. She had been severely disabled by it, losing the use of her right arm and leg, with the result that Doug had been unable to cope with her needs at home.
The two of them had never been apart for any length of time before and this enforced separation caused both of them considerable grief. In effect, it ended their marital relationship. They were no longer husband and wife, as most of us understand the expression, but patient and visitor. And Doug had been a regular visitor to his beloved Lucy. Three times each week he would arrive, on the bus or by taxi. Christine would bring her father in each Friday afternoon, because she finished work at lunchtime on Fridays.
Lucy had been unprepared for her husband’s sudden death exactly three years ago, the sixth of August. Apparently he had collapsed and died in the garden.
‘He loved his garden, did my Doug.’
His death had seriously affected his wife, who wept and wouldn’t eat properly for many days afterwards. She was desperate to attend his funeral, but Colin, her son by her first marriage, had decided she was too frail to cope with such an event. She had been made to feel abandoned and was to this day very sad and bitter towards her son. She had lost all enthusiasm for life. ‘I’ve been robbed of any need to live’ she would whisper.
So she sat in her blue plastic covered armchair, her catheter bag half full beside her and the photo of Doug in her lap.
‘Yes, he was a very good man.’
‘Today’s Thursday’ thought Anna. ‘Christine will be in tomorrow. Best to leave Lucy on her own with her treasured memories. No need to contact the family.’
Colin lived somewhere in the Midlands, as far as Anna knew. He might have visited Lucy at some point, but such a visit would have been a rarity. He had fallen out with his mother a long time ago, probably over her marriage to Doug. Neither of them seemed willing to repair the breach in their relationship. Colin had not even visited his mother when Doug had died, to the very vocal disgust of some of the staff. He had communicated the funeral arrangements to Christine, having her tell Lucy that they would not be taking her to her husband’s funeral. Christine also resented Colin for his treatment of the old lady. Anna sat with her precious little Lucy for several minutes. She put her arm around the old lady and kissed her on the forehead.
‘I’m sure he was a very good man’ she said.
* * * * * *
The front door bell rang. As Amy reached the foyer she could see Evangeline Jacobs, ‘Darset born and Darset bred’, standing at the door with three carrier bags in one hand and a large box under the other arm. The double lock was slipped back and Evangeline made her entry.
‘Thank you, Amy.’
‘You’re welcome. You look loaded! Are they heavy? Do you want me to carry something? Shall I carry one of the bags?’
‘Bless you, child! Aye, take a couple of they bags. That’s right!’ The two of them set off down the corridor.
‘Are these things for your mum’s room, then?’
‘Oh no, my lover, these aren’t for our Winifred. They’s for the summer show. I promised Primrose a couple of my paintings for the raffle. And in that box there’s some jams from last autumn. You may as well ‘ave some of they, too. They keeps well enough.’
They stood outside the manager’s office and Evangeline took the bags from Amy and put them on the floor. She knocked on the door, and without waiting for a reply went straight in.
‘Weird woman!’ said Amy to herself.
In fact Evangeline was an industrious and talented woman who earned her living by painting other people’s pets, from prize-winning bulls and rosette-adorned pedigree dogs to scruffy family pets. And she made wines, pickles and jams.
* * * * * *
The preparations for the home’s Summer Fayre were gathering pace. Room 18, barren of any occupants, had been set aside for storing clothing, books, china, still more clothing and what could only be described as junk. Items were sorted and priced as time allowed. Several black bin-bags of clothing judged to be ‘beyond’ were disposed of by Trevor, the handyman. Adrienne had pulled the two huge hardboard signs from under the fire escape stairs and dusted them. Trevor had then tied them to the railings along the front of the home, having updated the date from last year. So now the whole neighbourhood could make plans to support The Golden Treasures Care Home Summer Fayre.
* * * * * *
Dave glanced up from the catalogue he was looking at. A smart• looking man dressed in a suit and a bow tie had knocked on the door of his room and was walking in.
‘Hello!’ the smartly-dressed man was saying. He was putting a briefcase down on the floor. Now he had picked up a chair and was sitting almost opposite him. Dave thought it best to say nothing. He didn’t trust these people. He knew that he recognised the visitor, but he couldn’t remember who he was.
‘Hello, Dad. Are you talking to me today?’ said the stranger.
* * * * * *
Old Rose’s well-kept secret came to light in a most unexpected way. Nobody at The Happy Memories Home for Weary Pilgrims was remotely aware of any aspect of her early life. This was the case with many of the residents. Staff only caught a glimpse of their childhood, adolescence or early adult years if they chose to talk about their past or if relatives or friends mentioned something. As might be imagined, some were only too happy to tell of the hardships of their younger days, of living through the war, of ration books, of the time when they had had to make their own entertainment.
With Old Rose, little was known about her past, since she hardly ever spoke about it. She didn’t speak much about anything. She was a plump old lady. Very plump and very old. She suffered considerable discomfort from a worsening arthritis in her arms and legs. She sat all day in front of the TV that was always on in the lower lounge. She was quite anonymous. She was got up in the mornings, toileted during the day and put to bed in the evenings. In between these activities she refused to eat her meals properly, preferring to eat numerous snacks brought in for her by friends from the nearby Bethel Baptist church.
Apparently Rose had never married, so there were no children or grandchildren. In fact there appeared to be no family at all. On arriving at the home she gave as her next of kin one of the Baptist Church elders. He would, she insisted, take care of all her affairs when her end came.
Anna was taken aback one morning when Old Rose made a request.
‘If it’s not going to cause too much trouble, since today is my bath day, I would like the girl Zoe to bath me.’
Sure enough, when Anna checked, it was Rose’s bath day. But the old lady was not known for relishing the prospect of a bath. Moving from armchair to wheelchair and from wheelchair to bath hoist made her worn-out bones creak and was clearly painful. On the other hand, Rose did say that once in the water the warmth eased the discomfort a little. So a puzzled Zoe wheeled Old Rose into the bathroom, the bath already half full. The young carer carefully and painstakingly undressed the old lady, helped her shuffle on to the bath hoist, swung her around and lowered her into the warm water. She washed her all over and let her soak in the warmth for a few minutes. During all of this they exchanged some polite words and then Zoe hoisted Rose out of the water. Suspended on the hoist in mid-air, she was delicately dried and powdered and the top half of her dressed. She was then lowered to the floor and Zoe completed the drying and dressing.
All of this exertion made Rose breathless. She spoke in short sentences, catching her breath in the hot and talcum powdered air of the bathroom.
‘Now, my dear,’ said Rose, ‘Are you young Zoe?’
‘Yes, I’m Zoe,’ replied Zoe.
‘Well, my dear, I’ve something important to say to you, some advice as you might say.’
‘Have you? What’s that?’
‘Look, sit down for a moment, my dear.’
Zoe was about to pick up a hairbrush, but on hearing the tone of Rose’s voice she put it down and sat on the chair.
‘Now, I’ve something to tell you, my dear, that’s for your ears only. Do you promise me that you’ll not tell another soul?’
The old lady stared at Zoe, who nodded.
‘I understand that you are…’ she hesitated, ‘with child, my dear. Is this so?’
Another nod. Old Rose continued in short, breathless sentences.
‘I was once in the same predicament as you, my dear. With child and without a husband. But, as sure as I sit here I have never seen that child, my child, from the day I gave birth to him to this very day.’ She paused for breath again.
‘I was in service, my dear, to a very well-to-do, well-off family’ she continued. ‘I was about your age, Zoe my dear, about sixteen, and I lived in the attic of the family’s mansion house. In a room set aside for servants. Well, the master of the house, the lord of the manor so to speak, a man about the age of my own father, had his way with me, if I may put it like that, on one occasion. Only the one occasion, mind you. I don’t want you to think I was a loose young woman, my dear. I’m convinced that he behaved as he did because he believed me to be young and naïve, which I was of course.
‘Well, when he discovered I was expecting his child he had me sent away to serve in another large house far away for me to have the baby there. Can you believe that? But the worst part was that after I had given birth the baby was taken away from me. Snatched away! Just like that! As if it didn’t belong to me! It was a boy. Whether he was taken to an orphanage or adopted by someone, I don’t know to this very day.’
Zoe leaned over and tore off some toilet tissue. She handed it to Rose, who wiped tears from her eyes.
‘Of course, you have to understand that I was so young in those days, added to which a servant girl didn’t have much say about anything.’
‘No.’
Old Rose leaned forward and placed a bent and arthritic hand on
Zoe’s knee, as if to emphasize the gravity of what she was about to say.
‘Now, my dear, what I most wanted to say to you, the point of me telling you this, is this. You make sure that you look after that baby of yours when it arrives. The best gift you can give to your infant is to be a good and caring mother, a loving mother. A devoted mother. Being a mother was something that was denied to me. Sad, but there it is. Promise me that you’ll do all you can to be a good mother to that baby of yours.’
‘I promise!’
‘And mind you don’t tell a soul what I’ve just told you.’
‘Oh, no. No, I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul!’ whispered a gob• smacked Zoe.