Читать книгу The Woman Who Kept Everything - Jane Gilley - Страница 8

From the moment Gloria stepped foot inside Green’s Nursing Home she decided she didn’t like it.

Well, it wasn’t 75 Briar Way, for one thing! And where were her belongings? Where was her winceyette nightie? Where was her splayed blue toothbrush for cleaning her dentures with? And where was her little alarm clock with no battery that Arthur bought her, back in the day, which she kept under her pillow when she slept? She liked those things around her. They brought her comfort.

Clegg had driven her to the nursing home. His wife Val was not with him and nor were the children. Gloria felt as though she was being shuttled away somewhere, out of everyone’s hair.

‘Right, Mother. I’ve got to go. Already had more time off work than is good for me. You go in through those doors, there, to reception and ask for Mrs Lal. She’ll be looking after you,’ he’d said, revving his engine. Once Gloria had clambered out, he’d driven off without so much as a wave. Gloria shook her head. Clegg’s behaviour was not what it used to be.

The lady who’d met Gloria in reception, Mrs Lal, was the chief carer. She’d asked if Gloria would like a brief tour first but all Gloria wanted to do was squirrel herself away and have a jolly good think about things. Plus she wasn’t good at speaking to new people because she hadn’t had to do that for a long time.

So Mrs Lal had taken Gloria upstairs via a lift and showed her into a very small room with a single bed, one chair and a wardrobe and nothing else at all. No ‘things’ or ‘stuff’. The décor was insipid. Pale peach walls, pale peach bedspread. Pale this, pale that. Not the mish-mash of colours, textures and chaos she was used to. Gloria felt downhearted. Clegg had told her she’d be here for two weeks while he sorted things out with the house. So she knew she had no choice but to stay and accept this place and the people she found within its walls.

Clothes, not new ones, had been left on the bed for her to change into. They weren’t her own. Mrs Lal had shown her where the shower and toilet were and asked her to have a good shower and hair wash with the gels provided.

‘You okay with that, Mrs Frensham, or do you need someone to help you get cleaned up?’ Mrs Lal had said with a kindly smile.

The very thought had appalled Gloria, that someone might have to clean her one day. It would not be today, however. She had shaken her head so hard that she thought it might fall off.

‘No, ducks. I don’t want touchin’ by no one, ta very much.’

Mrs Lal had said she understood and then told Gloria she was to come downstairs after her shower and she’d be shown where she would have dinner and eat all her meals.

Gloria was a little damp when she finally found her way back to the reception area. In fact, she’d been in the shower so long, just enjoying the sensation of hot water cascading over her, for the first time in twenty years, that dinner had finished and the only food the cook could prepare was a cold chicken salad with two slices of white buttered bread.

But Gloria tucked in hungrily, thinking it was probably the best meal she’d ever tasted. It certainly beat potato soup! And then, feeling completely shattered, she asked if she could go to bed.

Mrs Lal took her back upstairs to her room afterwards and Gloria lay on top of the soft bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. There was a light switch by the bed so she could switch the light off whenever she wanted. But Gloria spent a good couple of hours just staring at the Artexed ceiling, wondering where they were going to put all her things whilst they searched for the electricity fault. And how would they know where to put her things back afterwards? And would the house she’d lived in for thirty-some-odd years ever be the same again, when everyone had finished poking around in it? She felt a tear prickling the corner of her eye and wiped it away. Clegg would sort it all out for her, she was sure. But his behaviour, she’d noted of late, was becoming alarmingly discourteous.

The next day Mrs Lal came to fetch her and took her to breakfast. She was put on a table with two other white-haired ladies: Yvonne and Annie. They didn’t say much. In fact, Gloria wondered if there was something wrong with them. They just seemed to stare ahead without any knowledge of what was going on around them. A carer had to place toast in front of them and encourage them to eat. One man on another table suddenly shrieked, which made Gloria jump.

Gloria got up and went to find Mrs Lal and told her what had been going on.

‘Summat’s not right with Dotty and Lotty, love. And there’s a poor man in anguish over t’other side. Think summat needs to be done about them.’

Gloria could see Mrs Lal was trying to stifle a chuckle.

‘Oh, Gloria. I’d forgot you’re not used to the daily comings and goings in a nursing home, are you. Well there are some people here who need a lot of care, you see. And there’s others like yourself who are just, um, visiting for a short while. Yvonne and Annie are sisters and they’ve both had strokes so they need a certain amount of help and care. We sat you next to them because they’re very quiet. They’re not like Henry who does have a tendency to shout a bit. And some of the others can’t get used to new people straight away. So that’s why we put you there. If you’d prefer to be on your own, of course, we can set a separate table up for you for the duration of your stay.’

Gloria shook her head. ‘No, that’s all right. They don’t make no fuss. And you’ve explained things to me now. So I understands, I do.’

After breakfast Mrs Lal led Gloria into a beautiful light and airy pale green room with trailing plants, an aquarium and bamboo seating and introduced her to Kate, a social worker, who said she was going to have some regular general chats with Gloria, whilst she was here, to find out what she’d been doing since her husband’s demise.

By the second day Gloria was looking forward to her next conversational session with Kate. It had been a long time since she’d had meaningful chats with anyone. In fact she usually only saw the postman, Tilsbury, Clegg occasionally, and a persistent window cleaner who reckoned her windows needed more than a simple hose-down – cheeky git. Plus she was starting to get used to her tiny characterless bedroom, now, and she’d even gotten a chuckle or two out of Yvonne and Annie.