by P. I. Paris
‘She played a vital role in the formation of Pearls of Wisdom, a telephone advice line for young people which has been set up at the care home. Indeed, I chose the name as a tribute to Miss Ross, who took a very active part in the service once it was up and running.
‘Recently, for a while, we had a regular visitor to We Care For You. She was a beautiful, lively young woman who had a gift of being able to connect with people from all walks of life and had a strong desire to help them if she could. Not long ago, Julie went to work in a care home in Edinburgh and once there she told the other staff about the advice line we had set up in the Highlands.
‘Our Matron,’ said Dorothy nodding to Matron in the second row, ‘said to me a few days ago that this care home is now in the process of establishing a similar helpline. They had been in touch, asking for advice and wanting to know if they can call it Pearls of Wisdom.
‘We old folk . . . we have a lot of knowledge to impart to the young, but we in turn have so much to learn from them. I can think of no better monument to Miss Ross than that Pearls of Wisdom is expanding and, who knows, perhaps one day there might be branches throughout Scotland.’
Dorothy had spoken quietly but clearly and confidently, even without any prompts. She now stopped and was silent as she examined the faces staring back. Beyond the front two rows she didn’t know anyone, yet because they knew or were connected with Miss Ross everyone in the church felt like a friend.
‘Well . . . that was what I wanted to say. Thank you for listening. It was very kind of you.’
The minister moved quickly over as she stepped away from the lectern.
‘That was extremely well done,’ he whispered as he took her arm. ‘The other Reverend McBain you referred to, if he was in this area he would have been my grandfather.’
‘Oh!’ said Dorothy, slightly alarmed.
‘He kept lots of hens . . . and there was a funny story that came down through the family about a cockerel,’ he said, helping her back to the pew.
‘Really? A cockerel . . . how intriguing. You must tell me that tale sometime.’
* * *
Miss Ross could not have faulted the delicious spread in the church hall afterwards. Some of the women making the tea had very fond memories of the old teacher and in respect they ensured that only loose leaf was used in the large metal teapots. Dorothy was chatting to a local family when she became aware that someone was standing nearby.
‘Walter!’
‘Hello,’ he said, giving her a hug.
‘I didn’t know you were here.’
‘Angus wrote to me. I simply had to come, but my train was delayed so I only just made it in time. Someone gave up their seat for me at the back. It’s only now we’re in the hall that I can see who’s here from We Care For You. And did I spot Deirdre?’
‘Yes, up from Edinburgh. How are you?’
‘Well, thank you. I see a great deal of my family and I love it. And you?’
‘Oh, our days are so full. We’ve got several residents involved in Pearls of Wisdom, including Angus. He offered to do some shifts so that callers had the option to speak to a man if they wanted. I’ve heard him on the telephone and, do you know, he’s a natural at it.’
‘That makes me so pleased. I must hunt him out.’
‘Of course, the place isn’t the same without Miss Ross.’
‘Your eulogy was very moving. She would have been proud.’
The church hall was full, as most of the congregation had stayed on for a tea, sandwich and blether. Standing near a plate of millionaire’s shortbread, Angus and Mrs MacDonald were listening to Deirdre talking about her new home. He sensed a change in her that was difficult to define.
‘To be honest,’ she said, ‘it’s not We Care For You. I didn’t appreciate how lucky I was. There are more residents at the new place with dementia than without it, while the carers . . . I never knew they could be so different to Ben and Anna.’
Angus and Mrs MacDonald were almost at a loss as to what to say. It was as though the recent experiences had made the moral crusader realise something about herself and she was resigned to being lonely.
‘It was good of you to come all this way,’ said Mrs MacDonald, searching for conversation before the three of them fell silent again. There was no avoiding the degree to which the relationship between the two women had changed.
‘I miss my friends,’ admitted Deirdre. ‘So often you don’t appreciate the value of what you have until you don’t have it any more.’
‘You see your son now, though,’ said Angus, trying to think of something positive.
Deirdre gave a little nod, although it wasn’t convincing. However, just then Walter and Dorothy appeared beside them and there was a bout of hugging and handshaking, followed by enquiries about health.
‘And how are you doing, Deirdre?’ asked Walter.
‘I’ll survive, thank you for asking. But what’s more important . . . how is Julie?’
Sixty Two
By the end of the afternoon everyone had returned safely from the funeral service and they were once again spread around the home. Sometimes the death of a popular resident could affect the atmosphere quite dramatically and the staff would have to work extra hard to reassure people and try to keep everything on an even keel.
It was, of course, natural to grieve at the loss of a friend. Matron herself felt a great sorrow, although as she collapsed into her chair early that evening the most overwhelming sensation was weariness. It had been a long day at the end of an unusually busy week.
All of Miss Ross’s furniture and clothes had been taken to the local charity shop. Her smaller personal effects, including jewellery, letters and other correspondence, had been carefully placed into a cardboard box, which had been put on a chair in the office.
The bedroom was empty, stripped back to the impersonal basics, ready for the next occupant. No matter how brightly they were painted or how well fitted out, the rooms always conveyed a sense of sadness in these situations. The mattress was bare because the previous user would never again sleep there.
Matron didn’t think she had the energy to go through the box at that point, but she picked up the black book on the top and idly flicked through a few pages. It was a diary. Her eyes were tired enough without more reading. After a few minutes she put down the book and left the office. She returned a short while later with a coffee. With the diary open at the beginning, Matron began again.
It was after ten o’clock when she finished the last page, an entry made by Miss Ross only days before her death. With great respect, she closed the book and laid it gently on the desk. Matron was many things – a listener to those who needed to confess, a peacekeeper, and a strict enforcer of rules when necessary. She was also a keeper of secrets.
The diary was, in part at least, a confession of something that the ex-headmistress could tell to no one. It was only in the act of writing down her feelings that she was able to display the part of her that nobody even suspected existed. The diary provided a means of trying to understand these new emotions that had come upon her with such surprise.
To live a life and never fall in love until old age, by which time passions and desires are dust . . . What had Miss Ross written? Some secrets had to be kept because revealing them would benefit no one. Matron was certain that Dorothy had no idea. And what good would it do to tell her? With a heavy sigh, she put on her coat, picked up the book and left.
It was time to go home.
Sixty Three
Dorothy settled herself into a chair in the office. She had been brought there by Anna, who had found her knitting in the conservatory. The other person in the room was a smartly dressed man in his fifties, a stranger as far as she was aware. Anna left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘Good morning, Mrs Cameron,’ said the man politely. ‘Thank you for making the time to see me. My name is Anderson and I am the solicitor handling the estate of Miss Edith Ross.’
‘O
h,’ said Dorothy in surprise, wondering what the man could want with her.
‘Miss Ross, as was her nature,’ he said with a little smile, ‘gave me very precise instructions as to what was to happen to her estate upon her death. She had sold her property prior to entering the care home, so her estate consists of cash plus stocks, bonds and shares, some of which have had to be converted following her death.
‘As you probably know, there were only a few distant relatives. Originally her estate was to be split between various charities. However, a little over a year ago she made a new will and has left everything to you.’
‘My goodness,’ said Dorothy, putting a hand to her mouth. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, it’s not a huge amount, but neither is it insubstantial. I’m aware of the fees here and this should, if it’s not indelicate of me to put it this way, certainly be sufficient to see you financially comfortable at We Care For You for the rest of your life.’
Dorothy felt tears welling up in her eyes and she couldn’t speak for several moments. The solicitor sat quietly while she composed herself.
‘I have all of the relevant paperwork with me and these clearly show the various figures and valuations. There are also some documents for you to sign.’
‘Mr Anderson, would it be possible to see if Matron could join us? I’m afraid I will quickly become terribly confused by this sort of thing.’
‘I think that is an excellent idea and I happen to know that she is available. However, before I seek her out, I have something that I must pass on to you in private.’ With this, he retrieved a small pale blue envelope from his bag.
‘What is it?’
‘I believe it to be a letter, although I’ve never seen the contents. Miss Ross came to see me a short while before she sadly passed away. Her instructions were very specific. If she was to die first, then I had to personally hand this to you and to no one else. If this was for some reason not possible or it was felt that you were by this stage not in charge of your full mental abilities, then I was to destroy the envelope and contents unread.’
Dorothy took hold of the envelope, displaying her name and address in the familiar copperplate handwriting. She put her finger on the ‘D’ and slowly traced out the letters. The solicitor watched silently for a moment, then put down his folder and stood up.
‘Let me go and fetch Matron,’ he said.
He left the room. Dorothy realised she was going to have to really concentrate on what was to come, so she put the envelope into the pocket of her cardigan.
* * *
Her head was spinning when she finally entered her bedroom. Without Matron’s help, Dorothy didn’t know what she would have done. Mr Anderson had proved to be a kind man and had patiently gone over the figures several times. The stocks and shares were rather baffling, but the gist of everything was that she could stay in the home.
Dorothy lifted the cat off her chair, sat down and put him on her lap. Tiddles purred contentedly while she absentmindedly stroked his ear. Her emotions were such a whirlwind of confusion that she didn’t know what to think or feel. To learn that she would never again have any money problems and could remain in the home should have had her running down the corridor excitedly, telling everyone her tremendous news. Instead, she felt reflective, almost sad.
‘Oh, Tiddles. You don’t know how lucky you are.’
Was it really only nine months ago when they received that awful letter informing them about the rise in fees? It seemed as though that day belonged to another era. Dorothy was amazed when she thought about all that had happened since then: the formation of the Escape Committee, the march, barricading themselves into the lounge. Had they really done that? Then there was the decision to set up a sex line. What madness had possessed them?
There had been so many changes. Joan and Angus’s arrival had been followed by other new faces after the deaths of Mrs Campbell and Mrs O’Reilly, plus the departure of Walter and Deirdre. Beatrice had been moved by her family and no one appeared to know where to. When they took her away, Mr Forsyth had been inconsolable for almost the remainder of the morning, until announcing over lunch that he was going to marry Mrs Winchester-Fowler.
Now Miss Ross was gone.
‘How has so much changed in such a short space of time?’ she said to the cat. ‘You and Matron are two of the few things that have remained the same, aren’t you?’ Tiddles moved a paw and rested it over the pocket that contained the letter. ‘Yes, you want to know what’s in there as well.’
Dorothy took out the envelope and studied the writing again. She was just about to open it when the telephone rang. With a little sigh, she picked up the receiver.
‘Hello, Pearls of Wisdom. How can I help?’ For a few moments, there was silence and then there was the sound of a girl crying. ‘Oh, whatever’s wrong, dear?’
‘Can I talk to you?’
‘Of course you can. That’s what I’m here for.’
‘I just want someone to talk to.’
‘You sound so young.’
‘I’m . . . I’m sixteen.’
‘Ah, you’re just a child, dear. My name’s Dorothy. What’s yours?’
‘Samantha.’
‘That’s lovely. Aren’t your parents around to talk to?’
‘They’re always so busy. I’m left alone.’
‘That’s often the way. You know, Samantha, loneliness . . . it’s a bit like love. It doesn’t understand the concept of age. You can be lonely at sixteen and ninety-six. There’s no shame in it.’
‘I don’t fit in, not at school or the local clubs, not anywhere. I’m just not right for anything.’
‘Maybe it’s that they’re not right for you.’
‘But there’s nothing else! My life is so empty and without purpose and no one even notices.’
Samantha, who had gradually been gaining control, burst into another fit of crying. So many youngsters felt lost these days, their large numbers of virtual friends always seeming to disappear when needed. Dorothy wanted to give the girl a big hug, although of course you aren’t supposed to do that sort of thing now. However, she didn’t believe in being bound by every regulation.
‘Let’s see if we can’t find that purpose. Where did you see the advert, dear?’
‘In the library.’
‘Are you there now?’
‘I’m standing outside.’
‘Well, you’re very nearby. Could you easily get to the little teashop down the road?’
‘Yes, but why?’
‘How about we meet there in twenty minutes?’
‘Could we?’
‘Out for tea with a lovely, interesting young lady . . . just you try and stop me!’
‘How will I recognise you?’
Dorothy thought for a moment, looking for inspiration around her room. She couldn’t very well take Tiddles and say look out for an elderly woman carrying a slightly overweight cat. Cat!
‘I’ll wear my red hat . . . and I’ll look out for a girl with red eyes.’
‘Thank you,’ said Samantha, managing to laugh.
‘There. Life’s already looking a little brighter, isn’t it?’
‘It’s so cold standing here.’
Dorothy’s eye fell on the large green scarf she had almost finished. She picked it up with her free hand.
‘I’ve got the very thing to keep you warm. I just need to cast off. Bye for now, dear.’ She had been so engrossed that she hadn’t realised the envelope was lying on top of the cat’s head. ‘Sorry, Tiddles,’ she said, picking it up. ‘Are you all right under there?’
The resulting meow confirmed that he was, indeed, perfectly well. She held the unopened envelope in her hand for a moment, then laid it gently against the framed photograph.
‘Can you look after that for me, Willie?’ she said to the image. Willie smiled back at her, as he had always done.
Dorothy stood up and put Tiddles back on the seat. It would save time if she took the knitting with h
er and finished it in the teashop. Perhaps Samantha might become interested in the hobby. Having put the scarf, along with spare wool and needles, safely in her bag, she walked over to the door and retrieved her hat and coat.
‘You be a good boy.’
The cat looked back fondly at the old woman. Then she was gone. Tiddles rested his head on a paw and closed his eyes. He would wait there until Dorothy returned.
