Casting Off

by P. I. Paris

  ‘We can’t dictate who’ll come,’ said Miss Ross. ‘We need to form subcommittees.’ However, before she could say anything further, Angus called out, ‘Enemy ahead!’

  * * *

  It took more than a week of secret conversations, scribbled messages hidden in knitting patterns and snatched meetings of the Escape Committee for Miss Ross and Joan, now officially the two in charge, to be satisfied with the arrangements.

  Every member had been given a specific task. Walter was to devise a way of ‘borrowing’ a key to lock the patio doors, while Angus had to obtain a sufficient quantity of the correct type of glue to seal them. Deirdre and Mrs MacDonald were to gather food and make sure that the little fridge in the lounge was well stocked. Joyce had to smuggle in extra blankets, while each of the others had lists of small items to collect: tea bags, coffee, loo rolls . . .

  ‘We can’t include anyone who is not fully in charge of their faculties,’ said Miss Ross. They were once again in the lounge, Angus keeping lookout at the door.

  ‘What?’ asked Mrs MacDonald.

  ‘Faculties,’ she repeated a little louder. ‘Everyone has to have them.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve had one. When were they given out?’

  ‘Heaven help us,’ whispered Joan.

  ‘We can’t include any resident who is too frail or who doesn’t fully understand what is happening, otherwise we’re effectively kidnapping them, which would give the owners an excuse to break in using force.’

  ‘I think Matron is going to be ever so cross if we cause damage,’ said Dorothy. ‘We might all get a bill to put things right.’

  ‘We’re committed now,’ continued Miss Ross.

  ‘Committed!’ cried Mrs MacDonald in horror.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake! Anyone who doesn’t want to go through with this can pull out. No one will be thought any the less for doing so. It’s a very serious thing we’re intending.’

  Miss Ross surveyed the group, but nobody flinched at her gaze. She was pleased. Their bodies might be a collection of repairs, spare parts and bits that no longer worked efficiently, or in some cases not at all, but there remained a steely determination to fight against a common injustice.

  ‘Right, then. We just have to start putting our plans into action.’

  Sixteen

  For several days, a strange tension hung in the corridors alongside the smells of cooking, disinfectant and flowers. The staff sensed an underlying excitement but couldn’t pin anything down to an individual or event. Matron was like a bloodhound, sniffing around for leads, enquiring more than usual if everything was ‘all right’. She got nowhere, which increased her curiosity to bursting point.

  Matron didn’t miss the odd little nods and knowing smiles that some people gave each other while they were going around. Deirdre could hardly look her in the eye, and one morning Mrs MacDonald had actually turned around and scuttled off in the opposite direction when she had seen her coming. Yesterday, Angus had walked past carrying a knitting pattern! His sudden interest in making items out of wool was definitely strange. She hadn’t run the care home for all these years not to spot when there was something going on.

  As the plans progressed it became clear that the committee would need help from other residents and these were gradually made aware of the plot, apart from those too confused to understand. Everyone wanted to play a part, no matter how small, and it took quite a while to allocate the various tasks in sufficient detail so that people knew exactly what was required.

  Then the morning was upon them. Miss Ross had barely slept, pacing around her room most of the night in her slippers and dressing gown. In the dim glow of the bedside lamp the whole idea had appeared completely mad. How had she become not just involved but the ringleader of such a scheme against authority, against so much that she stood for?

  But it wasn’t everything, because she believed in justice, fair play, friendship and helping others, as well as standing up to bureaucratic bullies. There was one other reason for making the protest, a reason which no one would ever know. And as for the ‘knitting bee’, they were a bit like the POWs in The Great Escape. Metaphorically, at least, their forged papers were all stamped with the same date. It was now or never.

  Breakfast seemed to drag out desperately slowly and as Miss Ross looked around the dining room she caught nervous glances from the others. Walter and Angus, now openly speaking in public, were making forced conversation about something on television the previous night. Meg and Peg looked extremely concerned, while Stella appeared even more stern than usual and Mrs Butterworth knocked over a glass of orange juice as well as a cup of tea.

  Joyce was the only one acting normally, tucking into her usual selection of food as if the day was set to be like any other. Opposite her Joan had a mischievous expression, which was almost as unnerving as those who appeared terrified. Deirdre and Mrs MacDonald had been too scared to leave their bedrooms and Miss Ross cursed them for such unnatural behaviour, which could attract the attention of staff. She doubted that either would stand up to any sort of questioning.

  Eventually people started to leave and wander about. That morning had been chosen because there were no classes in the lounge. During the early stages of the plan there had been various discussions about how to overpower the OTAGO teacher or the old gentleman who played the accordion, but the suggestions had bordered on the absolutely ridiculous until Miss Ross pointed out that it would be easier to simply pick a morning when there was no activity.

  By ten o’clock more than half of the committee were in the lounge. Angus, his pockets bulging, sat at the chessboard as if waiting for Walter. Dorothy, Joan and Miss Ross were knitting while others pretended to sleep, chat or read. The tension was unbearable and indigestion was almost stopping Miss Ross from thinking clearly.

  Anna had tucked up Albert in an armchair and was still chatting to him at quarter past with no sign of leaving. Joyce ate another digestive biscuit. Dorothy put down her knitting and went to the toilet. Joan got up and left the room.

  God, this is desperate.

  Walter had walked past the office three times and he doubted he could do it again without looking like the criminal that he felt inside. The spare key for the patio door hung with several others on a wall by the filing cabinet, but Matron had been talking on the telephone without a break for almost twenty minutes. Joan walked casually up to him.

  ‘What’s the delay?’ she hissed.

  ‘Matron’s still on the phone.’

  ‘We’ve got less than fifteen minutes before the diversions start!’

  ‘I know,’ said Walter miserably. ‘What are we going to do?’

  As if the word ‘diversions’ was a magic spell, Mrs Campbell materialised from around the corner, steering her Zimmer for the toilet along the corridor. She slowed down, which was almost the same as stopping. Joan answered her enquiring glance with a tiny nod, imperceptible if you weren’t seeking it, and Mrs Campbell increased her pace to a level that, for her, must have felt like breaking the sound barrier. Walter hoped the old woman didn’t reach such a velocity that bits of her started to fly off. Then the first of the alarms sounded.

  ‘Christ, that’s too early,’ said Joan.

  In the lounge, everyone, except Anna, stopped what they were doing and stared at Miss Ross.

  It all has to happen now. Don’t wait for ten-thirty. Do it now.

  On the upstairs landing, Mr Sutherland was helped onto the floor by a couple of other residents. As soon as he was lying in a position that gave the appearance of him having collapsed, they hurried off in different directions to fetch members of staff.

  A similar ploy was being carried out in the dining room, where Betty Wilson, reliving with delight the many years spent enjoying amateur dramatics (her Cleopatra was apparently still talked about), was now sprawled half underneath a table. A couple of chairs had been positioned carefully on their sides for extra effect.

  Her accomplice, rather carried away in t
he heat of the moment, pushed a pile of plates off the table, which resulted in such an almighty crash that Betty cried out in surprise before remembering that she was meant to be unconscious.

  Mrs Campbell steered herself into the allocated toilet, where she locked the door and manoeuvred herself onto the seat. She sat looking at the thin red cord hanging from the ceiling. Not for the first time over the last few days Mrs Campbell marvelled at how rebellious she was about to be, how terribly naughty.

  Slowly, she reached out her hand. The alarm joined bells ringing outside almost every toilet in the building, as well as several external doors. The loud crash from the dining room had Matron rushing out of her office and down the corridor.

  ‘Go on, Walter,’ cried Joan before heading off in the opposite direction.

  Several people in the lounge had stood up in response to the various noises. Anna left to investigate what was going on. Joan rushed in and for a moment the Escape Committee looked at each other, stunned into inaction. Joyce was the first to react.

  ‘Come on, come on, we can’t stop now!’

  Tubes of superglue emerged from various pockets about Angus’s body and he thrust them all at Miss Ross before getting down on the floor by the piano. Walter burst in, out of breath and waving a key as if it was a winning lottery ticket.

  ‘I’ve got it!’

  ‘I can’t undo these clips,’ called Angus.

  Joan and Miss Ross led their team to the patio doors, while the two men struggled to free the wheels of the piano. Dorothy walked slowly over, still clutching her knitting.

  ‘I always used to find it’s more effective to kick the clip with your foot,’ she offered. Seconds later the piano was mobile.

  ‘This is heavier than I thought,’ said Angus. ‘We need help here!’

  Joyce led the remaining committee members, who joined Dorothy and the two men. They each took hold of or leant against part of the piano and slowly the instrument was shoved bit by bit across the carpet and into the corridor.

  The quiet care home, where lives rumbled along week after week with nothing too exciting happening, was suddenly a place echoing with noise and frantic confusion. Shouts and running feet could be heard in other parts of the building, while several of the alarms continued to ring. The atmosphere was electric and they all felt themselves being swept up in the drama that was unfolding, the drama that they themselves had put in motion.

  ‘Where are Deirdre and Mrs MacDonald? Dorothy! Mind what you’re doing with those needles.’

  ‘Sorry, Walter.’

  ‘They’re meant to be bringing the food,’ said Angus. Everyone was panting and people had to raise their voices to be heard. ‘We’ll have to block the doors, even if they’re not here.’

  ‘Wait! Wait!’ cried Joan, running down the corridor after them.

  ‘We can’t,’ shouted Walter. ‘There’s no time.’

  ‘Albert’s still in the armchair.’

  They looked at each other in horror, as the piano slowed to a halt.

  ‘Damn, damn!’ cried Walter, heading back to the room. ‘We’ve got to get him out.’

  Albert looked up in surprise as the two men took an arm each and tried to lift him out of his chair.

  ‘Is it supper time? I can hear the gong.’

  ‘That’s right, mate,’ said Walter. ‘You don’t want to be late. It’s your favourite.’

  ‘Haggis! Lovely. I knew a girl once called Haggis.’

  ‘Please try to stand,’ said Angus.

  The male carers lifted and moved residents as if they were almost weightless, but it was so much more difficult now that they were attempting it and particularly with their ‘target’ deciding not to help. Joan appeared, immediately assessing what had to be done. She stood in front of Albert and took hold of the lapels on his jacket.

  ‘On three,’ she said. ‘One . . . two . . . three!’

  The old man was hauled to his feet.

  ‘Come on, you don’t want to keep a tasty girl like Haggis waiting,’ said Walter.

  ‘Ah, Haggis,’ he said, letting himself be manhandled by the three accomplices. ‘Haggis has a sister, you know.’ They squeezed past the piano and committee members, who were standing around unsure what to do. ‘She’s a Swede. Hee, hee, hee.’ Albert, still laughing, was deposited safely on a chair beyond the door, just as Deirdre and Mrs MacDonald arrived, each struggling to balance several large tins.

  ‘Where have you been?’ said Walter.

  ‘It’s madness everywhere,’ said Deirdre. ‘There are people running and shouting. We had to be so careful.’

  ‘Come on, there’s not a moment to lose,’ said Joan.

  Once they were on the correct side of the doors, the piano was pushed up to them and the clips put back on the wheels. They stepped back to examine what they had achieved. The instrument suddenly looked far too insignificant.

  ‘This is not enough,’ said Joan.

  Moments later there was a human chain passing items along the corridor. Lamps, small tables, wooden chairs, the piano stool – all ended up on top of or around the piano. To finish, they dragged three armchairs and put them side by side across the corridor, the backs tightly up against their makeshift barricade.

  Then the last of the alarms stopped and a silence descended upon the building such as none of them had ever known.

  Seventeen

  Once everyone had gathered again, they stared at each other in utter disbelief. They had done it! Their crazy plan had worked and there was a collective feeling of achievement and excitement they hadn’t known in years.

  Some of them might still be gasping for breath and leaning on furniture to stay upright, but they had gained a feeling of power over their lives that they had not believed was now possible. The only casualty was Mrs Butterworth, who had a tube of glue stuck firmly to one hand. It was Dorothy who stirred Miss Ross into action.

  ‘Well, what do we do now?’

  ‘Angus, keep watch on the barricade. Deirdre, you and Mrs MacDonald check that all the windows are closed and locked. Joyce, can you shut all the blinds?’

  ‘The blinds?’

  ‘Let’s keep the staff guessing as to what’s going on. Dorothy . . .’

  ‘Oh, I was just . . .’

  ‘All right. Perhaps Peg . . .’

  ‘I’m Meg,’ said the woman.

  ‘Sorry,’ continued Miss Ross, not entirely sure she wasn’t being misled. ‘Perhaps you and your sister could make everyone a cup of tea? Joan, you’ve got your list and mobile?’

  Her friend nodded, retrieving both items from a pocket. Miss Ross took a big breath then produced her own mobile, along with a sheet of paper.

  ‘Right, let’s get ringing.’

  The two women found the quietest spots they could. Joan was the first to get through.

  ‘I need to speak to the news desk,’ she said. ‘It’s urgent.’

  * * *

  Angus and Walter stood side by side in front of the barricade, straining to hear any movement on the other side of the doors, the former looking even more dishevelled by the neat figure of Walter, today wearing his mauve-red blazer and tie.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,’ said Angus.

  ‘It makes a difference to listening to that bloke play the same five tunes each week on his bloody accordion. I didn’t believe that I could ever wish myself to have dementia, but when he strikes up “Mairi’s Wedding” . . .’

  ‘I don’t know what we’ve done to upset him so much.’

  ‘Maybe he just doesn’t like old people.’

  The building had a strange stillness about it and they stood for several moments without speaking.

  ‘It’s odd how alone it feels standing here, waiting for the storm and wondering what will happen when it hits. I guess this is a good opportunity for me to apologise, Angus. I know saying sorry is hardly sufficient for what happened. It’s way too little and far too late.’

  ‘It was a long time ago. No
w my Norma’s gone and your Moira. I was very sorry to hear about her death.’

  ‘Thank you. Likewise . . . with your Norma . . . extremely sorry. I hadn’t realised she had passed away until you arrived at the home. You never had children?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Were you able to forgive?’

  ‘I never forgot, but I forgave her for what happened. What about your Moira?’ asked Angus.

  ‘It was very difficult for a while, as I’m sure it was for you. I don’t think she ever forgot either, but we didn’t speak about it again, not after the initial rows. Then Becky was born and, well . . . life moved on. Moira and I were meant to be together and I tried to be a good husband, the best I could possibly be.’

  The two men stood in silence for a while. Watching the barricade meant that they didn’t have to look at each other, which made talking easier.

  ‘I betrayed Moira and your friendship,’ said Walter. ‘Even when I was . . . with Norma, I just kept thinking how wrong it all was. I don’t believe I could forgive the way you have.’

  ‘Look at us. Two old farts in a care home. What am I meant to do, call you out for claymores at dawn? When I walked into the dining room that first day and saw you sitting there, all I could manage was to chuck bread rolls at you. How pathetic is that?’

  ‘You’ve shown great dignity, Angus.’

  ‘Dignity!’

  ‘Yes. You always did. It’s one of the things I admired about you.’

  Through the crack between the doors they could just make out figures further along the corridor.

  ‘Did you see that?’ said Angus.

  ‘The storm is about to break.’

  ‘This is it, then.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll be coming at us with muskets.’

  ‘Well, you never know . . . what with the cutbacks and everything.’

  Their banter ceased as one of the doors was pushed. It moved only a fraction before being stopped by the piano. They could hear male voices, then there was a slight pause before both doors were suddenly shoved with such a determined force that the whole barricade started juddering along the floor.