The bus comes to a sudden halt as we reach a line of traffic and I rock forwards, trying at all costs not to touch the woman next to me who keeps muttering into her sleeve.
After almost an hour of searching last night, I managed to find my trainers. Obviously, in an ideal world I’d be wearing my boots, but they felt a bit impractical.
Not that I’m expecting any of the residents to run away or suggest a game of tag rugby, but it will be nice to be prepared just in case.
Panic twangs through me as I start to recognise the dark roads the bus is twisting into.
I’m almost there.
My eyes flit back down to my watch.
17.32. I should have been there at 17.30, but we had a whole stream of school children troop off the bus like newly hatched ducklings, which added an extra five minutes.
Six, actually, once a parent had aggressively told off the boy who tried to push another child down the stairs.
I tuck my hands in my sleeves as my brain replays my schedule.
17.30: Arrive at Sunfields, meet Jakub.
17.35: Small talk with Jakub. Make friends. Bury hatchet.
17.40: Help old people. Find Nina, check she’s fine.
18.00: Leave old people. Leave Sunfields, get bus.
18.30: Arrive home.
19.00: Microwave ready meal (macaroni cheese).
19.15: Put on pyjamas.
19.25: Watch Hollyoaks in bed.
I feel my breathing slowly return to normal as my evening slots into place in front of my eyes.
There is nothing to be nervous about. There is nothing scary about that schedule.
I’ll be back at home within ninety minutes. In two hours, I’ll even be in bed.
I reach forward and hear the light ding of the bell as the bus pulls towards my stop.
This will all be over in no time at all.
The bus tilts forward and lowers itself towards the kerb as it grinds to a halt by the bus stop.
I’m the only passenger to step off, standing lonely on the pavement like a small flag of surrender.
Maybe that’s what I am. A small flag, ready to surrender to whatever terrible thing this Jakub maniac is going to make me do as punishment for saying his name wrong.
‘Yakub,’ I mumble to myself, practising the pronunciation as I walk down the dark street, ‘Yakub, Yakub.’
Needless to say, mispronouncing Jakub’s name only added to my growing list of anxieties about today. After me forgetting his name entirely, I ended up using Google to tell me how to say his name.
Which is not pronounced Jacob.
I also found out it’s Polish, which I guess is where his accent is from.
I push my legs into the ground and power as fast as I can down Old Street towards Sunfields, which is sat in the corner like a forgotten doll’s house. The wind whips past my ears and scratches at my naked ankles as I bury my head in my scarf.
My heart turns over as I spot Sunfields, tucked behind a large tree that is swaying in the wind as if it is beckoning me over.
I narrow my eyes as one of the spindly branches curls in my direction.
Christ, I really hope I’m not going to be murdered in this bloody old people’s home. It really would be the perfect crime. For starters, nobody knows where I am, which is very out of character for me. Not that I obsessively tell people my whereabouts, I don’t have to. I do the same thing every day. I go to work, I come home, I do my food shop at Tesco in Twickenham, and I go for a run every other day around Twickenham Green.
I push my neck further into my scarf.
Obviously, I couldn’t tell Emma and Priya where I was actually going, not without telling them everything to do with Nathan. And how I wrote back to his letter by accident, and then wrote back to the next one on purpose.
I feel a small pang as my anxiety stirs under my skin.
It will be over soon. I will visit Sunfields, I will check Nina is okay. I will tell Nathan, and then I won’t write again.
I walk past the final town house and feel my legs slow to a gradual halt as I come face to face with Sunfields, looming over me.
With great effort, I move my reluctant feet and walk forward. I mentally adjust my schedule.
17.45: Arrive at Sunfields.
Well, on the plus side, if I do get murdered in here then at least Joy can act as a witness. She’s so nosey it wouldn’t surprise me if she bugged that Bakewell tart I ate last year and now there’s a permanent microchip lodged in my belly that Joy can track at her leisure, like I’m her prize greyhound.
I reach the plastic door and wedge it open. I try not to flinch as the thick scent of old drain cleaner swirls around me and sticks to the back of my throat like a dried cough sweet.
I glance back down at my watch as I reach the desk, empty yet again.
17.47: Greeted by Jakub.
I look around the reception area. It looks like a photo that has been left in the sun too long with all of the colours faded and drooping out of place.
It looks like it’s all been forgotten about.
‘Hello?’
Jakub has appeared behind the desk. I flash him a smile and wait for his face to respond as he recognises me.
He doesn’t. He looks at me suspiciously, as if I’m going to try selling him some magic beans.
‘Hi,’ I say, ‘Jakub, right?’
I try to hide a smile as I hear his name out loud, perfectly pronounced – like a real human.
Har har. That was said very well.
Jakub nods stiffly, his expression unchanged. The prickling optimism pinning my smile in place starts to bubble into sharp irritation and I try not to scowl.
Oh, come on. There is no way he doesn’t recognise me. I was here yesterday! I was stood here literally twenty-four hours ago.
If he tells me to come back tomorrow, I’m starting a riot.
I could get the old people on my side. I bought Werther’s.
I can almost feel his body tensing in front of me as he fights my smile, and for a second my eyes flick down to his arms.
How is someone who works in a care home so muscular?
Does he bench press the pensioners? I feel my eyebrows rise up my face.
Would I want him to bench press me? Would that be fun? Or would that actually be horrible?
‘Right,’ he says, looking over my shoulder as if someone more interesting might walk in, ‘come on, then.’
His face stays solemn and I feel a frisson of annoyance.
Horrible. It would be horrible.
I glance back over my shoulder at the front door and then back at Jakub, who is waiting for me.
My feet jump forward as I follow him dubiously.
The door clicks open and Jakub turns back to face me. Automatically, I feel my face pull into a polite smile. His eyes stay fixed over my shoulder.
Who is he looking for?
‘Okay,’ he says, ‘the residents are in there. How long are you here for?’
Without quite meaning to, my eyes flick back down to my watch.
17.55.
Hmm. Can I say ten minutes?
What’s the minimum amount of time I could stay for? I’m already twenty minutes behind schedule.
Eight? Eight minutes?
I jump slightly as Jakub’s eyes finally jerk down to mine.
Christ, he’s intense.
‘I’m not sure,’ I mumble, my face burning under the pressure of his glare.
Jakub pulls a phone out of his pocket and turns it to check the time. His face changes to a bored expression as he holds the phone in his hand.
‘Okay,’ he says lazily, ‘they eat at seven. You can help with dinner.’
Help with dinner?
‘Now?’ I say stupidly.
Oh no, what is he going to ask me to cook? Do I look like somebody who can cook?
‘Not now,’ Jakub snips, ‘later.’
He starts to walk down the corridor. As I step warily after him, he turns around.
/> ‘Where are you going?’
I blink back up at him stupidly.
I don’t know where I’m going. I’ve never been here before.
‘The residents are in there,’ he repeats in a very slow voice, raising his hand to the door behind me.
I turn on the spot and then look back at him.
Is he not coming in too?
‘I’ve got work to do,’ he says, catching my aghast expression.
I quickly force my face into a smile.
Right. Of course he does.
I nod. ‘Sure,’ I say, ‘no worries. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me!’
The last word comes out almost as a song. Jakub raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement and turns back down the corridor.
Slowly, I feel my knees lock and my muscles clench as a fresh ooze of anxiety drips through my body like PVA glue.
I try to unclamp my legs, which are now welded to the floor like a set of signposts. I take a deep breath as Jakub disappears through another door.
Come on, Bea. You’ve already done the hardest part. You’re in the home. You’ve made it in. You spoke to that scary Jakub guy and you made it here all by yourself. All you need to do now is speak to Nina.
All I need to do is speak to a stranger, alone.
I take a deep breath as I feel warm sweat gather under my arms.
She’s not going to reject you. She’s an old lady. Old ladies are nice. Everybody knows that.
My twitching eyes flick down to my watch.
18.03.
I can leave by six thirty. I can tell Jakub that I’m not feeling well. He can’t argue with that. Then I will have kept my promise to Nathan and I’ll never have to come here again.
I can do this.
I just have to get through this next little part.
I clench my clammy hands into moist fists and force myself to walk towards the wooden door. I reach out my hand and pull the door open, trying not to wince as the sickly smell swirls up my nose and I click the door shut behind me. My body burns under the weight of my thick jumper.
Good Lord, it is boiling in here.
I look around the room and I feel a twinge of confusion. It’s practically empty.
Where is everyone? Why is there nobody here?
The walls are a dull pinkish colour, with dark shadows at the corners where the wallpaper has peeled away. There is a large photo of a field filled with flowers, hung proudly on the wall, and a small bay window letting in a sliver of light from the lamp post outside.
There are about eight chairs, all large and squishy, with high backs. Five of them are empty.
Maybe everybody else is in bed. Or they’ve gone out for the evening.
Can they go out?
I mean, this isn’t a prison, so obviously they’re allowed to.
I step forward nervously. Nobody has even noticed I’ve appeared. My heart burns in my chest.
Do they know I’m coming? Are they expecting me?
I don’t want to just creep up on them. I might actually scare them to death.
That would be awful. Me trying to do a good deed by helping out at an old people’s home, and one glance at my helpful face literally resulting in their hearts stopping due to fright.
My legs start to navigate my body towards the chair closest to me, which has a small woman propped on it. Her long fingers are holding a book open on her lap. Her head is craning over the book like it’s providing her with oxygen.
Okay. I can talk to her. I like books. We can talk about books together.
My eyes squint as I try to read the title and I feel a zap of nerves as I spot she’s reading Wuthering Heights.
Okay, this is a good start. I studied Wuthering Heights in A Level English. I mean, I hated it. But I still read it.
Although, is she going to want to talk about what the dark hills and rolling thunder represent?
Come to think of it, what do they represent? I can’t even remember.
Is it something to do with someone’s sexuality, or is that just me being a pervert?
I pull my nervous face into a smile as I reach the woman, and slowly sink into the small chair next to hers. She doesn’t look up.
I take a deep breath, the new intake of stale air squashing the simmering anxiety down.
‘Hi,’ I manage in a small voice, ‘I’m Bea.’
I feel my pained smile twitch as the woman drags her eyes up to meet mine. She has folds of creamy skin that sag slightly on her pointed face and thick, light grey hair is twisted on top of her head and fastened by a large comb. Her hooded green eyes fix on to mine.
‘Hello,’ she says, her thin lips barely moving, ‘I’m Sylvia.’
I try to control my breathing. My chest threatens to cave in at the relief of her 1) responding, and 2) not dying.
She moves her eyes back down to her book and we drift back into the stale silence that hangs in the room.
I open and close my mouth, unsure of what to say next.
Is that it?
I shift my weight on the chair and look back around the room. There are two more residents sitting nearby, both propped in their large chairs. One, a man, is reading the newspaper, and the other woman is staring out of the window. Neither seem interested in my visit.
They’re certainly not itching for me to come and chat to them.
I look back at Sylvia, whose attention is still firmly fixed on her book.
Does she want me to talk to her? Do people like being spoken to when they’re reading?
Okay, I need to talk to her again. I can’t just say hello to her and then leave. I just have to talk to her.
‘I’m here for a visit,’ I say, my smile still firmly fixed in place.
This time, Sylvia doesn’t look up from the book and her slow drawl fills my ears almost instantly.
‘Who are you visiting?’ she asks.
I look back at her closed face.
Oh hell, I’ve been rumbled. I’ve been here for less than five minutes and the first woman I talk to cracks my entire plan.
Why didn’t I think of a cover story?
‘I’m here to visit everyone,’ I hear myself say quietly. ‘Like you,’ I add half-heartedly.
Maybe she’ll really want a visit! Perhaps Sylvia has been sat alone all day, fantasising about the idea of an unexpected visit from someone who can talk to her about Wuthering Heights and what a mysterious hunk Heathcliff is.
‘I don’t want a visit,’ Sylvia says, as she turns another page in her book.
Oh.
I pause, trying to stop the smile from dropping off my face.
‘Oh,’ I say feebly, ‘okay.’
Well, that’s nice. What am I supposed to do now?
‘Try Nina,’ Sylvia says idly, holding a heavily beringed hand towards the window.
My heart jolts at the sound of her name and as I follow Sylvia’s gaze my eyes lock on to the woman, folded into the chair by the large bay window.
My heart bangs in my chest as I look at her.
That’s Nina.
‘Right,’ I say, my face burning, ‘okay.’
Slowly, I pull myself to my feet.
As I walk through the room, the only man raises his eyes at me. I smile weakly in his direction, and his eyes instantly fall back into a glazed stare, away from mine, and I try to control the hard lump forming in the back of my throat.
Nobody here wants to see me.
Maybe I should just leave.
I reach Nina, fixing the familiar awkward smile onto my face.
Much like Sylvia, Nina doesn’t break her gaze, and she continues to stare out of the window.
I shrink into my seat as I look at the face of a woman who I know has lost her child. Her skin is the colour of honey, and she has a dark plait that falls down her back. Her tadpole eyes are fixed out of the window and only the gradual movement of her chest makes it clear that she’s alive. She is wearing a long skirt and a light blouse, and her small, papery hands are curled i
nto each other.
I gaze at her for a second as my heart aches.
She looks like the saddest woman in the world.
‘Hi, Nina,’ I say quietly, feeling my voice drop as if someone could be listening in.
Nina’s face doesn’t move and I feel another spasm of nerves. She’s acting as if she can’t hear me.
Maybe she can’t. Nathan didn’t tell me why she was here. Maybe she’s lost her hearing.
I glance around, hoping to spot Jakub, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
‘Hi, Nina,’ I repeat, trying to make my voice slightly louder.
Once again, Nina’s stare doesn’t break and I feel my throat swell.
I just need her to tell me she’s okay.
I lean closer to her.
‘I just . . .’ I continue, ‘I just wanted to come here and check that you are okay. Well, not okay,’ I say quickly, ‘but I thought you might need someone to talk to. I wanted to talk to you.’
I stare at the side of Nina’s face as she gazes out of the window. Her entire body is frozen as if she’s an oil painting.
I pause, feeling my needy eyes lock on to her.
Come on, Nina. Please talk to me. Please tell me you’re okay so that I can leave.
Nina’s small chest inhales and I watch her desperately.
This is going terribly. One person doesn’t want to talk to me, and the other is pretending I don’t exist.
I look around hopelessly, as if someone might give me a trick to get her to hear me.
I sigh.
‘I know Nathan,’ I say, dropping my voice into a whisper, ‘he’s a friend of mine. Well, not friend. He writes me letters from . . . err . . . from prison. He asked me to come and see you, he told me about your daughter . . .’
My voice trails off. I feel an icy blade of emotion puncture the inside of my throat as I say the words out loud.
‘He misses you,’ I say quietly.
Nina’s face doesn’t move. For a moment, her glassy eyes shine in the reflection from the street light, until she blinks and the water vanishes.
I wait as she takes another small intake of breath, hoping she might speak. Within seconds, her chest sinks back down as the air skims out of her nostrils.
As I watch her, I feel my shoulders sink.
The Accidental Love Letter Page 12
