But Jane had been laughing, so Alice had been forced to admit that she was perhaps being a mite unreasonable. ‘Yes, I’m a contrary devil, aren’t I?’ she had agreed. ‘Nothing’s ever right, but things have changed so much, Jane, and not often for the best.’
‘Hospital treatment has changed,’ Jane had told her. ‘That’s why I think you should have that operation while you can. You can’t afford to wait much longer, timewise, I mean. Or you could even afford to have it done privately.’ But Alice had refused to budge. Now, as she looked around her room at Evergreen she realized she had been stubborn and pig-headed about a lot of things. This was a pleasant room and it was beginning to feel almost like home. The owners had certainly done all they could to give an individual feel to each room. She had been in Flora’s room, and hers was similar in many ways, but with a different style and colour scheme.
Alice’s room looked out on to a pleasant garden at the back of the house. The curtains at the double-glazed windows were a Laura Ashley design, patterned with spring flowers in shades of green and yellow, and there was a matching duvet cover on the bed. It was a fair-sized room with a green carpet, a wardrobe and dressing table in light wood, and a small television set on a corner cupboard. There was a comfortable chair with plump yellow cushions and an upright chair as well, and two framed prints on the wall of paintings by Monet, floral scenes to match the decor.
Opening off the room was a cubicle containing the toilet, washbasin and a low bath with grab handles and a handheld shower. Alice was glad about the bath. She could still get in and out of a bath, provided it was low enough, and she much preferred that to a shower.
Flora’s room had more of an autumnal feel, although it was equally attractive with curtains of a William Morris design in brown and orange, a rust-coloured carpet and prints of paintings by Constable.
Alice decided to make herself a mug of hot chocolate to drink in bed. Another bonus was the provision of a kettle and a beaker, also tea bags, sachets of coffee and drinking chocolate and packets of biscuits, just the same as you would get in a hotel. Alice had been very surprised to find this facility here, in what she had originally thought of as a home for old people. She had found out, however, that a kettle was only provided for those guests who were capable of using it without any chance of an accident. There were several who were incapable, but, by and large, Evergreen’s guests were still quite active and mobile.
Alice undressed and had a wash, then settled herself in bed with the mug of chocolate on her bedside table. There was a reading lamp provided, too, also an alarm bell to ring if assistance was needed during the night. She was contented, much more so than she had imagined she could ever be, away from her home in a place full of strangers. But that was one of the best things about her stay there, the people were not strangers any more. She could even class some of them as friends.
She opened her book, intending to have a good read before she went to sleep, as she did every night at home. It was the latest Ruth Rendell book, one of her murder mysteries involving Inspector Wexford. She loved watching them on TV as well; George Baker personified him so brilliantly. She had also brought a Barbara Vine book – Ruth Rendell’s alter-ego – usually more creepy and psychological, and another mystery by P.D. James.
She had thought that she would spend a good deal of her time reading, as she did at home. She did little else at home, reading avidly, or watching the television. Her TV viewing habits had changed since she had been living with Jane. At one time she would have scorned the ‘soaps’, but now she was a great fan of Coronation Street and Emmerdale. She enjoyed Midsomer Murders too, and Foyle’s War. That was possibly her favourite of all; a contradiction, really, as she had often said she had seen enough of the war to last her a lifetime. But this was more about the Home Front, not the war that had been raging in Europe, and the characters were so convincing.
She had become engrossed in this make-believe world but, when all was said and done, it was not real life and, however well it was portrayed, it was just a form of escapism. The TV programmes and the books she enjoyed had become a substitute for her lack of friends and human companionship. She hardly ever conversed with anyone, apart from Jane. She spoke briefly to people at church and to shop assistants, to her doctor – on rare occasions, to the milkman, maybe, or the postman. Her life had become sterile and empty, but she hadn’t realized it until she had spent a few days at Evergreen.
She read a page or two of her book – she was only halfway through it although she had been here for a week – but she found that her mind was wandering … That had been a jolly good game of chess tonight, with Henry. She knew, though, that however much she said it, she was unlikely to beat him. Henry was a ‘whizz’ at the game. That seemed to be the term they used nowadays.
He was very good company, too, and she enjoyed talking to him. She had made up her mind at first, in her usual forthright way, that this was a man she was going to dislike. He was so argumentative, always so sure that he was right. Then she had come to see that he was very much like herself. And the twinkle in his eyes when he was arguing that black was white, showed that he didn’t mean the half of it.
To her surprise she found that he kept coming to talk to her, actually seeking her out as though he enjoyed her company, and they didn’t always argue. Then he had asked her if she played chess – there was no one in the home who could give him a decent game – and this had become a shared interest for them.
She found herself smiling as she thought about Henry. Never since she lost Joe had she found anyone – let alone a man – with whom she was so compatible. But then she hadn’t wanted to meet anyone; she had missed Joe so much and knew there would never be anyone else to compare with him. Pull yourself together, Alice! she told herself sternly now. Having silly thoughts about a man, at your age! She wasn’t falling for him. Of course not, the very idea was ridiculous! All the same it was very encouraging to feel that someone, especially a man, should want to be with her.
She had learned, during their many conversations that week, that Henry Collins had been a joiner by trade. He had retired, of course, many years ago.
‘I left school when I was fifteen,’ he told her, ‘I had to because my parents needed me to go out to work and earn some money. There were four of us; me and my brother and two sisters, and I was the eldest. It was just after the war started, 1940, and my dad had been injured. He’d lost a leg early on in the war, so he was never able to work again. Anyway, I was lucky enough to get apprenticed to a good trade, and I’ve done all right; had my own business in the end, and my eldest son took it over when I retired.’
Alice knew that although he had left school at an early age he had a keen brain and had done what he could to further his education.
‘I didn’t have the chances like you had, Alice,’ he had said. ‘No sixth form and college and all that for me, but I was determined to do what I could to make up for it.’
He had attended night school to obtain the qualifications for his carpentry and, years later, he had studied French and learnt to speak the language quite fluently as he and his wife had used to travel abroad each year.
Henry was five years younger than Alice. He had just celebrated his eightieth birthday, but didn’t look anything like his age. His hair was grey, of course, a silvery grey and he had not lost any of it. He was tall and upstanding, with no sign of a stoop, and he walked without the aid of a stick, something that Alice found very galling when compared with herself. This, above everything else, made her feel her age.
‘You’ve no sign of arthritis then, Henry?’ she had asked him. ‘You’re lucky if you haven’t.’
‘At my age, you mean? No, that’s something I seem to have escaped, thank goodness. I can walk nearly as well now as I could when I was thirty. Not that I was ever a great walker, fell walking and all that. But I used to cycle, and I played a fair game of cricket, and bowls as well. I still have a game of bowls now and again. Jack goes with me sometimes to
the green down the road, and there are one or two fellows there who play with us.’
Alice had been surprised at the number of residents at the home who still got out and about to follow their various interests. Flora had told her about her own activities, and there were others of them who were just as active. There were some, though, who preferred to stay put and do very little. They were the ones who were more difficult to get to know.
‘The least you do, the least you want to do,’ Flora had remarked. It was true that the least active folk among them tended to become insular and preoccupied with themselves and their problems and ailments.
‘Thank God there’s nowt very much wrong with me,’ Henry had said. ‘A bit of chest trouble; I get bronchitis in the winter and I have to keep an eye on my blood pressure. Apart from that I’m as fit as a fiddle.’
‘Then may I ask, what are you doing here?’ Alice had enquired in her usual outspoken way, ‘Why did you decide to come and live with a lot of old folk?’
‘Age is an attitude of mind, Alice,’ he replied. ‘You are just as old as you want to be. You can be young at heart even at our age if you take an interest in what’s going on around you. I know I’m a bit crotchety and I like to argue, but I’ve always been like that. I don’t know how my wife put up with me. She was a very patient lady, one in a million, my Esther.’
Not very much like me then! thought Alice to herself. And it had struck home to her what Henry had said about age being an attitude of mind. She was realizing that she had allowed herself to become old in her mind – set in her ways – even though she still prided herself on looking younger than she was.
‘She looked after me too well,’ Henry went on, and I missed her so much when I lost her. Not because of what she did for me, being a good housewife an’ all that, but the house seemed so empty without Esther. I didn’t know how I would ever stand being there on my own. I stuck it for about eighteen months, then I found this place and thought I’d give it a try, and I’ve never looked back.’
‘Wasn’t it a big wrench, though, leaving your home – all your possessions and everything?’ Alice asked.
‘In a way I suppose it was. It felt strange at first, but I reckon that sort of thing might be worse for a woman than a man. It was Esther who made the house into a home; she was the one who was interested in furniture and colour schemes and what-have-you. She was a real homemaker, and it was never the same after she’d gone. And apart from all that I was never much good in the kitchen.’ He laughed. ‘I could make a cup of tea and boil an egg – although they’re damned tricky things to get right – and put bread into the toaster. Apart from that I was pretty useless.’
‘So what did you do when you were left on your own?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I managed the best way I could. Meals for one from Marks and Spencer or Sainsbury’s that I could put in the microwave, or I went to the local chippy. My son asked me round for a meal now and again, him and his wife … I told you he’s been married twice, didn’t I? The last one was a rotten cook, though; happen that was part of the problem, I don’t know.
‘But I could never have gone to live with Barry – he’s too much like me – not that he’s ever suggested it. It doesn’t always work out, does it, living with a son or daughter?’
Alice had learnt that Henry’s daughter lived in the south of England, and he had another son who had emigrated to New Zealand, so he was pretty much on his own.
‘No, perhaps not,’ Alice had replied. ‘It isn’t ideal living with Jane, but I knew it was the best thing to do at the time. And I must admit she’s made me feel that it’s my home just as much as hers. I took a lot of my own belongings with me. I suppose she might miss me if I wasn’t there … I don’t mean if I died – if I was to leave.’
‘Why?’ asked Henry. ‘Are you thinking of coming and living here permanently?’
‘No,’ she answered decidedly. ‘No, of course I’m not …’
Eighteen
The guests at Gasthaus Grunder awoke on the Monday morning – their last day in Germany – to grey skies and lowering clouds. There was no sign of the sun that had blessed them all week, and it was already starting to rain.
Jane opened the shutters, then felt her heart plummet as she looked at the dismal scene. She was already feeling downcast following the revelations from Dave the previous evening. They had not fallen out about his disclosures, but she felt very let down and disappointed in Dave, whom she had thought of as such an honest and straightforward man. But they had agreed that they would spend their last day – that was the last day apart from the journey home – together, and try not to think too much about what the future might hold for them.
She made a cup of tea, which always brought her round and made her feel more able to face the day ahead. She was like her mother in that respect. Alice said she only felt half alive before she had drunk her first cup of tea.
Jane found herself thinking almost fondly about her mother now. It would be good to see her again, although it had been great to have these ten days away from her. She would ring her later today and see how she was faring at Evergreen, and assure her that she would pick her up on Thursday to take her home. She could imagine her mother saying, ‘About time too!’ or some such remark, although Jane had a sneaking feeling that she might have enjoyed her stay at the home rather more than she had let on.
The two of them would then have to settle down again to their life together. Perhaps it had been just an impossible dream to imagine that it could be otherwise. How could she go off and live her own life when her mother was so dependent on her? Dave still seemed convinced that there was a way round it, but Jane was trying to become reconciled to the fact that this last week had been a lovely idyll, a memory – lots of memories – to look back on with pleasure and nostalgia when she was back in her normal routine.
She washed and dressed, putting on a cardigan because the day felt chilly, something she had not needed to do since the start of the holiday. Dave was already seated at the breakfast table, and he greeted her cheerily, ready to carry on as though everything was hunky-dory.
‘It’s a miserable sort of day,’ she commented, but Dave was determined to be cheerful. ‘It’ll probably clear up later,’ he said. ‘We can’t let it spoil our last day here. We’ve done very well so far, and a drop of rain won’t hurt us. It isn’t as if we’re not used to it back home.’
They helped themselves to cereal and fruit at the breakfast bar. Then Mavis and Arthur arrived, both of them looking happy to be together again. In reply to Jane’s question he said that he was feeling fine, and was glad to know that his condition was not as bad as he had feared. He was looking forward to being home again, when they had got through the long journey back.
Shirley and Ellen were the last to arrive at the table. ‘Our last breakfast together,’ said Ellen. ‘It’s rather sad, isn’t it?’
‘It isn’t our last breakfast,’ Shirley told her. ‘We’ll be here tomorrow morning, then we’ll have a breakfast in Calais on Wednesday before we cross the Channel.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ said Ellen, ‘but I mean it’s the last real day of our holiday. We’ll be travelling for the next two days, and we’ll be having our breakfast at some unearthly time tomorrow morning. What time did Mike say we were setting off?’
‘Eight o’clock,’ said Shirley. ‘Cases packed and ready to load by seven. Yes, I agree it’s damned early, but there’s a heck of a distance to cover from here to Calais.’
They were doing the return trip to France in one day instead of the two more leisurely days they had taken on the outward journey.
‘So, what are we all going to do on our last day?’ Shirley asked the others. ‘Have you anything planned?’
Jane and Dave looked at one another uncertainly. It was Dave who answered.
‘Take a bus into Freiburg, I should think; that’s the nearest place. I know we’ve already been there, but there’s a lot to see.’
‘And shops
to go into if it keeps raining,’ said Jane.
‘Oh, it’ll stop, you’ll see,’ answered Dave, a shade impatiently. ‘We’ve got to look on the bright side of life, like it says in that song.’
‘My mother used to say, “Rain before seven, fine before eleven,”’ said Arthur. He turned to look out of the window. ‘It’s still pouring down, but I think it might be getting a bit lighter.’
Mavis turned to look out as well. ‘Is there a little patch of blue?’ she said. ‘No … I can’t see one, but it might clear up. My mother used to say that if there’s enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers it will be a fine day.’
Arthur laughed out loud. ‘It looks as though your sailor will be without his pants at the moment, love. But never mind, eh? I don’t mind if we have to spend the day here. We can get some lunch here at the hotel.’
‘Yes, I think Arthur and I will have a quiet day here,’ agreed Mavis. ‘We’re just relieved that everything has turned out so well for Arthur. What about you two?’ She was speaking to Ellen and Shirley. ‘How are you going to spend your last day here?’
Shirley grinned mischievously. ‘Well now, Ellen and I have got a date, haven’t we, Ellen?’ she said, rather to her friend’s discomfiture.
Ellen blushed and looked warily at Shirley. ‘I wouldn’t say that we could call it a date. We’re not exactly teenagers, are we?’
‘It doesn’t matter how young or how old we are,’ Shirley replied. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Ellen. What would you call it then, if it’s not a date?’ She laughed as she turned to explain to the others. ‘We sat with Trevor and Malcolm in the bar last night – you know, those two brothers. Yes, of course you know, how silly of me. They helped to push Arthur along in the wheelchair, didn’t they? Well, they’ve asked Ellen and me to have lunch with them today. We’ll probably go into Freiburg. I expect most of us will end up there. It’s no big deal, but Ellen’s getting all of a fluster about it.’
First Impressions Page 21
