Everyone had a copy of the paper. I took off my hat and coat and lay them over an empty chair. Buddy looked up and his tail wagged. I went over and kissed his head as Nik finished. And then I kissed Gran’s.
‘What about me?’ asked Nik, pretending to be hurt.
‘I’d need stilts to do that.’
Everyone laughed as he bent down.
‘Anyone else?’ I said, hoping no one had seen my blushes.
‘No, but allow me young lady…’ said Fred. I went over to his chair and he took my hand and in a very gentlemanly manner kissed the top. Then he shook his copy of the newspaper. ‘Damn fine article, we were just saying to Nik. You two did a grand job. Hopefully the offers of help will roll in.’
‘I’ve just had a lovely email. A local mum from America loves baking and has said she’ll make us eggnog pie and spiced rum fruitcake.’ I had no idea how I’d manage alone, sifting through all the messages, if we were inundated. Gran still seemed in low spirits.
‘I loved the quote by you Alice,’ said Nancy, ‘talking about how we were one big family.’
‘We certainly didn’t choose each other,’ she said and everyone nearby laughed. I looked around. Where was Pan?
I read the article, along with the hamper competition. ‘You all look great in that photo,’ I said.
‘What does it feel like to be local celebrities?’ asked Nik.
Going by the lively chat it felt fantastic.
‘I’ve never been in a newspaper before,’ said Nancy. ‘Lynn has said she’ll photocopy the article for us so that we can send copies to family.’
Everyone pored over the photo, Fred frustrated that his poor eyesight meant he couldn’t see the funny expression everyone said he was pulling.
‘How was the trip to Liverpool?’ I asked Nik, tapping one foot to music from a Christmas CD.
‘Awesome. Junior Magic definitely needs to explore artificial intelligence. And it’s inspired me regarding the side venture I’m considering. How about dinner out tomorrow night, on me, and I’ll tell you all about it? In fact, you could visit my flat, if you prefer, and I’ll cook you real Aussie fayre.’
I beamed.
‘Who’d like to try some eggnog?’ called Oliver in a loud voice. ‘I’ve also concocted an alcohol-free version and I’m happy to take on board suggestions for any favourite drinks you’d like at the party. Here’s a cocktail I’ll be making – a Snowflake Martini.’ He lifted one in the air. The sky-blue liquid looked beautifully wintry with white flakes stuck around the plastic cup’s rim.
‘Is that sugar around the top?’ someone asked.
Oliver shook his head. ‘I’ve dipped the rim in honey and then pressed the cup into flaked coconut. This drink contains Blue Curacao, vodka and a splash of pineapple juice. I’ve not made the mixture too strong. It’s a lovely refreshing drink and perfectly fits in with the party’s snowy theme.’
‘What exactly is this eggnog stuff?’ asked Fred. ‘I’ve always thought it looks damn sickly.’
‘I bet Glenda could tell us – she’s so well-travelled,’ said Nik.
Glenda‘s eyes shone behind her cat-eye glasses. Oliver stared at Nik for a moment before nodding.
‘I did spend one Thanksgiving in New York,’ said Glenda. ‘My boss and I were there on business. It was just another November day to us and we were going to spend the day in our sister branch in Manhattan, but a client insisted that we go to his. He showed us both how to make it with egg yolks, sugar, milk, double cream, bourbon and what was the spice…? Nutmeg. That was it.’
Alf pulled a face. ‘No offence, Oliver, but some things sound like they just never should be.’
‘Glenda and I will have one, won’t we?’ said Nik.
Oliver gave a smile – the fixed one he used with rude customers or when our landlord demanded more rent.
‘Snowflake Martini for me, please,’ piped up Nancy. ‘It looks like it belongs in my granddaughter’s favourite film, Frozen. I’ll take a photo and send it to her, now that she’s shown me how to add attachments to emails.’
Drinks circulated the room, along with jokes about how the residents were all living the high life, now that they were famous. The banter almost blocked out the sound of rain pelting down outside.
‘This eggnog is fantastically decadent,’ I said to Oliver, who’d come around the other side of the hatch and had been scribbling down residents’ suggestions, Martini coming up more than once as a favourite ingredient.
‘It’s the least everyone deserves. I still can’t believe they’ll all be gone in less than a month.’
Glenda came over, holding a half-full glass. ‘This is delicious thank you, Oliver, although I do hope it doesn’t aggravate my indigestion.’
‘How is it going collecting everyone’s photos? I’d love to see them,’ I said.
‘I forgot to bring them. Nik’s just popped to my room to pick them up.’
‘You gave him your key?’ asked Oliver.
‘Nik’s so helpful and generous. He made himself quite at home there when he popped in before our trip to The Corner Dessert Shop, to help me with paperwork. He’s going through the directory with me. Also I mentioned that I find my finances and visits to the bank increasingly difficult to manage and he’s offered to help me set up online banking.’
‘He what?’
I kicked Oliver sharply on the ankle as Glenda headed over to speak to Gran.
‘What was that for?’ he hissed. ‘Someone should tell her to be more careful sharing her personal details.’
‘Please. Let’s not spoil the great atmosphere.’ Shaking my head, I walked away.
At that moment Nik came back. He walked slowly, arms linked with Betty. He must have met her in the corridor. It was so good to see her looking relaxed and free from her restlessness for a few moments. I heard a knock on glass. Someone must have been at the front door. Distracted, Betty let go of Nik and went to look. He came into the lounge and helped Glenda spread the photos over the table.
‘I haven’t called on everyone yet,’ she said to the room. ‘But thanks to everyone for being so welcoming. Yesterday I was invited into three rooms and Lynn brought hot drinks and biscuits. So far everyone has found several photos each for me to display so we are building quite a collection.’
I went over and scanned the black and white shots. Men in military uniform. Women in floral dresses and hats. Classic cars driving down roads. Scampish children running around, playing with skipping ropes and footballs. Happy times on beaches and outside churches. And some of the residents as young people – Fred in his fireman’s uniform with a quiff of thick chestnut hair and Nancy as a young Girl Guide.
Lynn came in carrying a black dustbin bag. She walked more slowly than usual, her normally pink cheeks looking sallow. She went over to one of the tables by the back window and emptied the contents onto it.
‘These are the twigs and cones we collected in Springhaye Forest on Wednesday,’ she announced in a tired voice. ‘I believe Glenda will be using some of them to make a frame for the photos. You might all like to take a look and get those creative juices going. Sunday afternoon we’ll start decorating them. I’ve ordered in spray cans of white paint and glitter. They should get here tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps we could draw up a schedule for each crafting session we’ve planned,’ I said to Gran.
‘Maybe,’ she said vaguely.
‘We should focus on a different element each time,’ I continued brightly. ‘Like one session for making woodland decorations – perhaps another for the dough ones Gran used to make, then there are the paper angels… We also need to factor in any baking we want to do, for those keen to contribute to the buffet and practise making the American cookies.’
‘Excellent idea,’ said Glenda. ‘Organisation, organisation, organisation was my mantra during all the years I worked as a personal assistant.’
She stole a look at Nik who gave her a smile of approval. He’d magically dispelled the grumpi
ness she normally displayed around festive activities.
‘Alf, how are you getting on with the invitation cards?’ I asked. Normally Gran would have been chasing everyone up.
Alf had been writing in a notebook. He looked up from his chair next to Fred’s. ‘I finished the last one yesterday.’ He lifted a plastic bag onto his lap. ‘Everyone help yourself. Remember there are two each, seeing as we’ve limited it to sixty guests. I’ve enjoyed using the old calligraphy skills again.’
‘Were you always a calligrapher?’ asked Nancy.
Alf took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘No. I was a bookkeeper until I retired. I always loved writing – figures or letters – but saw my retirement as a chance to do something more creative. My Maisie made it clear our retirement wasn’t going to be about lounging in front of the box all day…’ He chuckled to himself. ‘So I took a course and even did a bit of freelance work with companies designing T-shirts or developing stationery headings. Then when my heart problems started, and I got tired from time to time, it became a hobby.’
‘Maisie must have loved getting cards from you,’ I said.
‘She called me a silly soft sod when I incorporated symbols of hearts into the words.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d do anything to hear her say that just once more.’
‘My father won my mother’s hand by the way he wrote her name,’ said Nik. ‘It’s Joanna but he always writes it Johanna – says she deserves to stand out as a little different. He sent her stacks of love letters before she agreed to go out with him.’
‘Used to drive my Maisie mad when people misspelt her name with a y on the end. Not even I would have got away with that,’ said Alf.
Lynn walked to the front, by the hatch. ‘Everyone, just to let you know I’ll be sending out an email to you and your relatives tonight. I’ve gone through the directory of care homes Social Services gave us, for this area. I agreed with you all – to save time more information was needed about each one before clicking on the links. So I’ve personally gone on all the websites, picked out the most relevant bits of information and put them by each care home’s name of the list. Therefore you only need to click on the one that suits your needs. So, effectively…’ She leant against the hatch. ‘I’ve highlighted those with ensuite rooms. Those that have waiting lists or immediate vacancies. Also, I had a long chat with the mobile hairdresser… I haven’t passed on any negative comments but if she’s spoken positively about a particular home she goes into, I’ve put a star by that one’s name.’ She looked around. ‘I hope this makes things easier for you all selecting your preferred choices and for considering the place Social Services offers you and… for those self-funded, for helping you decide where to move.’
‘Lynn! You must be exhausted,’ I said.
‘You’re a star,’ piped up Nancy.
I took my phone out of my jeans back pocket and clicked on emails. I scanned the new list and went over to Gran.
‘There isn’t a star by Darkthorn House – but that doesn’t necessarily mean Julie had anything negative to say. She probably just doesn’t work in there.’
‘Have you arranged the visit?’
‘Yes. Late Monday morning. It’s never a really busy day. Seb’s kindly swapped the hours it will take, with me. We’ll be able to fit in lunch. I haven’t been to Upperhyde for ages but seem to remember there’s a rather nice tea room… now what was it called… Up The Spout.’
‘Whatever you want,’ she said, in a listless voice. ‘Thanks for arranging it.’
I was just about to ask where Pan was, when she appeared in the corridor wearing her coat. Her face looked drawn and her hair bedraggled. Lynn went over to speak to her and one of her sons, Adam. Pan held her head in her hands.
26
Adam kissed his mum on the cheek before leaving. Oliver strode over there with a small glass of eggnog. Pan hesitated before taking it. She came over and sat down next to Buddy.
‘Do you want to take your coat off?’ I asked.
Pan looked down at herself. ‘Oh. No… no it’s okay. I… I must be going out in a minute.’
Gran reached over and squeezed her arm. ‘You’ve just got back, with Adam. You were visiting a care home, over in Bridgeway.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course…’ She sipped and met Gran’s gaze. ‘We don’t really have to move, do we? Nowhere is going to be as nice as Willow Court.’ A tear trickled down her face, leaving a trail in her blusher. ‘If I don’t agree to live with my sons they feel I should move into a care home that specialises in dementia.’ She shook her head. ‘It was awful. We went into a room with people in wheelchairs, saying nothing. You should have seen their blank faces, despite carers sitting down with them and talking or singing. The warden and Adam tried to persuade me to finish the tour – she said she had lots else to show me – but ten minutes inside and I couldn’t leave quick enough. I just got a bad feeling about it.’ Her voice broke. ‘What do I do? I’ve always promised myself I won’t ruin his and Stephen’s lives.’
Nik stood nearby. He bent down to Pan’s level and took her free hand. ‘Perhaps they don’t see it like that.’
‘I’d be like another child eventually – someone else to worry about if they want to go out or on holiday…’
‘You’ve got two sons – I’m sure they would pull together. And how much do you think they’d be worrying if you moved into a new home and they felt you were unhappy?’ he said. ‘Wanting you to live with them – that’s a serious business and I imagine they wouldn’t have offered unless they’d thoroughly thought it through.’
Pan sipped her drink again.
‘How about you come and look at the photos Glenda has collected?’ he said, softly.
She got up. Nik put an arm around her shoulder and guided her over to the table. Oliver and Alf stood together again, by the hatch. Oliver looked as if he’d drunk vinegar instead of sweet eggnog. Alf looked deep in thought like he did when he was reading about a new conspiracy theory and jotted in his notebook again. A sense of injustice swept through me.
Eventually Pan moved to the front of the room, looking at the newspaper. She folded it and turned it around to face her friends.
‘This photo…’ Her voice broke and everyone hushed. ‘It’s like it’s the only physical souvenir we’ve got of our time here. It’s meant so much getting to know you… but all of a sudden us… this…’ She waved her hand across the room. ‘It’s gone – or it will be in a matter of weeks.’
‘At least we’ve got memories,’ said Fred. His face flushed. ‘I mean…’
Pan’s eyes welled up. ‘At the moment. That won’t be the case for me at some point – and perhaps not everyone else. Our friendship… the super community we’ve built… where’s the legacy? It should count for something, shouldn’t it? The way you’ve all rallied around me since my diagnosis. How we’ve helped each other deal with bereavement – like the text we sent to a loved one that never got read or the words we wish we’d said or could have kept unsaid. We all understand how challenging those things are to live with.’
Alf nodded.
‘There’s the support we’ve given each other with our aches and pains… be it laughter or a jolly brisk word or just a hug – all those things have been our free forms of medicine…’
Murmurs of agreement spread from chair to chair.
‘And the staff…’ Pan looked at Lynn. ‘They’ve become genuine friends. Family. Our own mini taskforce who’ve treated us like their own. But now it’s all being broken up. Time will forget the good times at Willow Court and it’s like… it’s like we’ll be forgotten too.’
Buddy wandered over and settled at her feet.
She sniffed. ‘B… B… Barry, dear chap, I should mention you too. Best friend to everyone – a real top dog Willow Court wouldn’t have been the same without.’
Nik joined her and faced everyone. ‘It’s only something small but I had an idea during Wednesday’s forest walk when I climbed up to Pebble Rock. Most of you
have seen it or know what it is?’
Widespread nods.
‘How about I collect thirty or so stones and wash them. You’ve all made me so welcome I’m happy to buy a selection of acrylic pens for rock painting. All of you can do your own – and I’m sure Jess and Oliver, along with myself, will lend a hand for anyone who can’t quite manage the fiddly bits. You can paint on anything you want – a symbol of your time here… your name next to a friend’s… something that represents you – and then, under calligrapher Alf’s supervision of course, I can write on the back of all of them, Willow Court. We can do it during one of the crafting sessions.’
‘You’d put them all up at Pebble Rock, together?’ asked Pan and she wiped her face.
‘Sure would. I think I’m right in saying no pebble has ever been removed. You’ll all be there together and when people visit and see the stones, they’ll remember this place.’
‘A stonking good idea!’ said Fred.
‘I love it,’ said Nancy. ‘That way our little community will stay as one, forever.’
Pan didn’t speak for a moment. ‘Yes. Yes, our pebbles together – that will show people that… that whatever stage of life you are at there are always friendships to be made; that there’s always love. We could leave no better legacy.’
Nancy’s eyes glistened. Fred blew his nose. Gran stared into her lap at a handkerchief. Everyone started to chat about what they’d paint until, eventually, people began to disperse. Medication needed taking and the oldest residents wanted their beds.
‘See you at around seven tomorrow, Jess?’ said Nik and looked at his watch. ‘I’m just popping along to see Glenda before I leave. I’ll offer to go through Lynn’s new list with her, if she wants – she hasn’t got anyone else to help her.’ Nik hugged me.
I held him just a little bit longer than necessary, I couldn’t help it.
He headed out of the lounge, stopping to pick up Betty’s doll. She’d dropped it without realising. Carefully he placed it into her bag, appearing to make it comfortable. Betty held onto his coat for a moment. He stood patiently, smiling and quietly talking, until her hand fell and she turned away, staring into the distance.
The Winter We Met Page 18
