by P. I. Paris
Storm Tegan hit shortly after three o’clock in the morning and few residents got much sleep after that. The nightshift was kept busy reassuring those who were frightened by the noise and ferocity. In the morning most people got out of bed later than usual, only to find there was no power. Matron arrived early, suspecting that there might be some extra work to do but having no idea of just how much.
* * *
‘Right,’ she said, once all the staff had squeezed into her office. ‘I’ve spoken to the electricity board and they say it’s unlikely we will be reconnected until the end of the day. This means we have a major incident.
‘We’ve only got a handful of portable gas heaters and no way of making hot food or drinks or even filling hot water bottles. The lift, stairlift and several of the hoists will be out of action, as are the landlines. In addition, none of the alarms will work, so we won’t be alerted if someone wanders out of the building. Even the pressure pads under the doormats won’t work.’
Those who had never experienced such a situation at the home glanced around anxiously at their colleagues.
‘So, it’s all hands on deck to get everyone up, dressed in warm clothing and safely into the lounge, where they’ll have to stay until we’ve sorted out a generator. They can have anything they want to eat that doesn’t need cooking, so cereal, bread, fruit, cheese. I’ll leave it to the kitchen staff to decide what’s feasible.’
Storm Tegan left a wake of destruction in its path. There were large areas without power, roads blocked because of fallen trees and widespread damage to buildings. However, inside We Care For You there was almost a carnival atmosphere. Some residents loved to help out and Mrs Butterworth put on an apron and happily went about as if she was employed there. Mrs O’Reilly particularly enjoyed being carried down the stairs.
‘Help! I’m being kidnapped,’ she shouted as Ben reached the last few steps. ‘Don’t tell Father Connelly.’
‘I reckon he’s after your body, Mrs O’Reilly,’ said Joyce, who happened to be passing. ‘You be careful. Tell him that you’re a respectable woman.’
‘Bugger respectable. Don’t put me down.’ This last comment was directed to the carer, who was about to deposit his bundle into the wheelchair he had left for this very purpose. ‘I haven’t had this much fun in ages.’
Ben knew he wasn’t going to win any arguments and straightened up again, as if her weight was meaningless to him.
‘That’s lovely hair you’ve got,’ she said, stroking his head as he set off along the corridor. ‘Why don’t we go around the block first? There’s no hurry to catch up with the others.’
‘You’re incorrigible,’ said Ben.
‘Hey, there’s no need for friggin’ bad language!’
Her laughter seemed to set the mood for the first hour or so of their forced captivity. However, the temperature outside had dropped drastically and by mid-morning a few of the frailer residents were beginning to feel cold.
Matron was worried. The promised generator was stuck on a blocked road, while the usual emergency help she might have called on, such as the local Women’s Institute and church, were all in the same situation. No one had power to do anything.
It was just as she was finishing another fruitless call from her mobile that she saw an unfamiliar van pull into the car park, followed by two cars and then the school minibus.
More than a dozen students emerged from the vehicles and she recognised the headmaster and the drama teacher. They began collecting boxes and cases from the van and then made their way towards the entrance. She left the office and went to meet them.
‘Smiler! What on earth is going on?’ she asked the teenager in reception.
‘Hello, Matron. Angus rang me to see if I was all right and he explained the problem here. There’s no power at the school either, but the kitchen has several large urns that use gas. I got in touch with one of the teachers and everything seemed to take off.’
As he was explaining this, a stream of people walked past and headed for the lounge. A couple of men she didn’t know were carrying in gas heaters.
‘But what’s in all the boxes?’ she said.
‘Hot water bottles. I sent a text to the others to get to school with as many as they could bring. As we were filling what we had, an increasing number of strangers turned up and dropped off more!’
‘How many do you have?’
‘Almost two hundred. Do you think it’s enough?’
‘I think half a dozen per person should do the trick!’ she said laughing, feeling relief washing over her.
‘We’ve also filled more than twenty flasks. The water might not be boiling now but it should still be good enough to make tea and coffee. Some of the dads have helped. That’s them bringing in the heaters.’
When Matron walked into the lounge, the place was alive with excited chatter and noise, with residents being fussed over and tucked up with more hot water bottles than they knew where to put. Anna and the headmaster set up the growing number of flasks on a table and the production of hot drinks was soon underway. Ben went to fetch more cups while one of the kitchen staff left to collect more supplies of cakes and treats. It wasn’t long before everyone was sitting around chatting. Smiler pulled up a stool next to Angus.
‘That’s a tremendous thing you’ve done, lad,’ said Angus. ‘I’m proud to call you my friend.’
‘Ah, it was nothing,’ said the lad, but it was obvious he was pleased.
Matron was allowing herself a few minutes’ rest near the door when one of the students came up to her. It was Hannah, who had performed so well in the drama.
‘Do you still have no way of cooking food?’
‘No, I was just thinking about that.’
‘My father is the manager at the pizza restaurant. They use wood-fired ovens and he says if you telephone him with all the orders during the next hour he’ll get them delivered for lunchtime. I’ve brought a pile of menus.’
When the generator, having finally arrived, started working during the afternoon and the power come back on there was almost a feeling of disappointment. The students packed up the flasks and hot water bottles, said their farewells and set off in the minibus and cars. The building quickly warmed up and people drifted back to their rooms and routine.
Storm Tegan was over.
Fifty Eight
The day before Mrs O’Reilly’s one hundredth birthday she sent a message to the kitchen outlining what she wanted for breakfast. Afterwards, Anna relayed the story to Matron, making a fair impersonation of an Irish accent.
‘I want two boiled eggs and lots of toast and the yoke is to be runny. If it’s not, I’ll come down and cook them myself. I’ve survived one hundred years on this planet and I’m not going to keel over because I’ve eaten a bloody hen’s egg! And if the new owners are so worried, I’ll sign a piece of paper saying that I won’t sue them for damages if I die.’
‘That sounds like her,’ said Matron laughing.
‘She doesn’t seem to realise that she won’t be around to sue anyone.’
‘Don’t be so certain. Mrs Reilly has a mind as sharp as her tongue.’
The following morning Anna arrived with the requested breakfast and was surprised to see someone else in the bedroom.
‘Dorothy has kindly offered to help,’ said Mrs O’Reilly.
‘Oh, that’s very good of you,’ said the carer, putting down the tray on the bed. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Dorothy, who was making a pot of tea in the corner.
As soon as the young woman left, the two conspirators set about their secret plan. Dorothy quickly cut the toast, then retrieved a tray hidden beside the wardrobe, along with a spare plate and cutlery. Having made sure her friend was all right to eat, she took one of the eggs and a pile of little soldiers before sitting down in the chair by the bed. They looked at each other in triumph.
‘Happy birthday, Mrs O’Reilly.’
‘Enjoy your treat. Aren’t th
ings so much more fun when they’re forbidden!’
* * *
By coffee time the home was alive with anticipation. The home’s only centenarian, dressed in a new outfit, sat in the lounge surrounded by four further generations, including a baby that was laid carefully in her lap, the mother tactfully holding on to prevent the latest addition being dropped on the floor. A photographer and reporter from the local newspaper took shots and carried out interviews.
Bunches of flowers, cards and presents had been arriving since early on and this included a specially made cake donated by the local bakery. These had been joined by the Lord Lieutenant for the area and a piper from the nearby estate. Unfortunately, the event clashed with a wedding and a funeral being conducted by Father Connelly, who would arrive when he could later in the day.
The residents had also put on their smartest clothes and they gathered together, along with staff and well-wishers, to hear the card from the Queen being read out by Matron. This was followed by several speeches, anecdotes and stories. Mrs O’Reilly’s seventy-nine-year-old son had put together a huge scrapbook charting the life of his mother and the contents caused a great deal of interest and entertainment. There was no mention of the Windmill Theatre.
Later on, the piper led everyone into the dining room for lunch. Mrs O’Reilly sat at an extended table with family members and beamed with pleasure throughout the meal. It seemed that there was no end of people giving her a hug. Joyce was particularly careful to be gentle and when she bent down to put her arms around her, the guest of honour whispered in her ear, ‘Thank God that man has stopped squeezing that friggin’ dead sheep!’
By the evening the various guests had long gone, people had changed back into their ordinary clothes and the ‘birthday girl’ was tucked up in bed. When her one remaining visitor arrived, she had been lying quietly for an hour or so, replaying the recent events in her mind.
‘I’m sorry I missed all the celebrations,’ said the priest, sitting down by the bed. ‘You’re probably awash with presents you don’t know what to do with, but I’ve brought you something as well.’ From a small bag he produced a bottle of gin. ‘It can’t be said that I don’t honour my bets!’
She looked at the gift and smiled.
‘You’ve been a dependable friend all these years,’ she said.
‘And for a long while yet, I hope. Shall we have a wee nip?’
‘Not for me, thank you, Father. You help yourself, though.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re turning over a new leaf?’
‘My leaves have all blown away. I’ve no more to turn.’
They sat looking at each other in silence. He put the bottle on the floor and took hold of one of her hands.
‘What is it, Mrs O’Reilly?’
‘They keep going on in this place about having a good death, but I think it’s better to have had a good life beforehand.’ He nodded, but didn’t reply. ‘I’ve had that. I’ve been blessed in so many ways. Today has been one of the best ever. Now I’ve reached the grand age of one hundred. I think that’s enough, don’t you, Father?’
‘That’s not for me to say.’
‘You can do one thing for me.’
‘Name it.’
‘Take that gin away and when you’re having a nip you think of me and the many laughs we’ve had.’
‘We’ve certainly had a few. Goodness, I’ve lost count of the evenings we’ve spent sitting around your fire putting the world to rights. I’ll toast you with joy in my heart for having known your friendship,’ he said, giving her hand a tiny squeeze. ‘Can I get you anything? Do you want me to fetch one of the carers?’
‘They’ll be busy and there’s nothing they can do.’
‘Shall I sit and pray with you?’
‘You’re a kind man, Father. I don’t think you’ll have long to wait.’
And he didn’t.
* * *
Everyone stood in reception the next morning when Mr Dunn and his assistant brought the coffin down in the lift and then slowly along the corridor. Even Mr Forsyth and Beatrice stood respectfully in the background. They appeared to have made a connection with the reality of the event and Matron had decided it was easier to let them stay.
Mrs O’Reilly had left precise instructions for every aspect of her funeral, from the shroud that she was to be dressed in and the music to be played as her body was taken away, to the details of the church service.
‘Mrs O’Reilly was thrilled by yesterday’s events,’ said Matron to the assembled group. ‘She reached the tremendous age of one hundred, saw all her family and friends again, and loved the party immensely, as she was keen to point out to me several times later on.
‘She was a great person and will be hugely missed. She requested that we should gather around and enjoy one of her favourite songs before she leaves We Care For You for the last journey.’
People shuffled forward and a few put their hands on the coffin as a last gesture of closeness and friendship. In the corner Ben started a CD.
‘I don’t believe it,’ whispered Walter.
‘You can’t escape that tune around here,’ replied Angus.
There was a brief moment of surprise and then a general release of tension as people laughed at the sound of ‘Mairi’s Wedding’. It was exactly what she would have wanted.
Fifty Nine
Walter didn’t want to say his goodbyes walking along a line of people, so during the three days before his departure he spoke to everyone. He wanted to ensure he thanked staff who might not be on duty that last day and also have the opportunity for a proper conversation with people on a quiet, one-to-one basis.
The work on his bungalow had been completed a few weeks earlier but he didn’t want to leave the area until Julie was going. His Aberdeen train left early that afternoon, only about half an hour before hers left for Edinburgh. It meant that he had the morning free before meeting her for lunch.
Angus came up to his room after breakfast to offer help with any final packing, but it was all in hand apart from a few personal items.
‘Shall I put your chess pieces in their box?’ he asked, seeing the board still set up on the table.
‘Thanks, you can put them away, but I’m not taking them. They’re for you.’
‘Me?’ said Angus, taken aback. He knew his friend loved the figures and the beautiful handmade board.
‘It would give me great pleasure if you would accept them as a small gift.’
‘That’s not small,’ said Angus, ‘and I’ve nothing for you in return.’
‘I’ve got your friendship. That’s the best present I could possibly have. I shall miss you, mate. I’m glad that after all those decades fate threw us together again.’
‘So am I.’
The two men, who had been separated by almost half a century of hurt, anger and resentment, looked at each other with a mixture of sadness, happiness and regret. Walter glanced at his watch.
‘Come on, Smiler should be arriving soon. Let’s go downstairs and meet him.’
They waited in reception, watching the rain beating down outside in the car park. Angus had become fond of the teenager, who now visited every week for a lesson in making walking sticks. When it had been explained to Hamish why they would like to use the shed, he had willingly cleared an area so there was plenty of space for two people to use the workbench.
‘It’s funny,’ said Walter. ‘Although I’m really excited about moving into the bungalow and starting my new life, being near to Becky and the girls again, I’ll miss the companionship and banter. The home provides a family of sorts.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does.’
‘You’re not too sad here, are you?’
His friend thought about the answer for a while before replying. ‘No, I’m not sad. I’ve reached the stage where I can’t live by myself and if I’ve got to be somewhere this is a good place to be. With everything that’s happened, We Care For You is hardly recognisable compared to what it was wh
en I arrived.’
‘The place does have a different feel about it!’ said Walter. ‘Crikey, there’s hardly a day goes by when we don’t have youngsters here doing one thing or another. The sense of purpose everyone’s gained has transformed them.’
‘Ben was saying how much quicker he gets around with the drug trolley these days. Even the alcohol consumption has gone down.’
They talked amicably for a while, then stopped when they heard music playing softly.
‘Where’s that coming from?’ asked Walter.
‘It’s not a recording. Let’s have a look.’
They set off and quickly tracked down the source. In the conservatory Albert and a lad who they knew was one of the regular visitors from the local school were sitting on the settee, each of them holding a mouth organ. The two men hung back near the door, where they couldn’t be seen.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ whispered Angus.
Albert was very precisely explaining how the instrument worked before skilfully playing a few scales and then listening while the youngster, clearly following carefully what was being said, tried himself. They laughed at something and then Albert began to play ‘Mairi’s Wedding’.
‘Do you know,’ said Walter quietly, ‘that’s not such a bad tune after all.’
* * *
Walter waited in the little café unaware that he was in the seat in which Mr Forsyth had sat while enjoying his tea and scone, naked, apart from a strategically placed tea towel and a tablecloth. It had been a strange morning. Some residents had gathered in reception to see him off, even though he had tried not to make a fuss of his departure.
He was surprised at the sadness he felt at parting from the people he had come to know so well. In reality, there were only a handful that he was close to, but many of them had been very kind to him when he had arrived two years earlier and he was fond of them all.
Walter could barely recognise himself in that desperate figure who’d been unable to boil an egg. He knew he was lucky in making such a recovery and that Julie had been an important part of the reason. She hadn’t visited the home again after that time in his bedroom when Angus had joined them.
