‘I’m sure I’ll be able to.’ Elsie inspected the empty courtyard through the glass. ‘I’ve always been better at faces than you.’
She was the only one left. The only one who would know if my mind had finally wandered away and left me all to my own devices. But sixty years ago, we’d packed up the past, and parcelled it away, and promised ourselves we’d never speak of it again. Now we were old. Now we were different people, and it felt as though everything we went through had happened to someone else, and we had just stood and watched it all from the future.
She tried to see a little further into the darkness. ‘I do hope I spot him as well.’
‘Me too,’ I said, into the cup.
5.06 p.m.
There’s all manner of nonsense under that sideboard.
It’s amazing what falls behind furniture when your back is turned. I’d never have noticed if I hadn’t been lying here, but now I have, I can’t stop staring. They don’t make a job of it, the cleaners. They’re all headphones and aerosol cans. Some of them even switch the television on while they’re working. Never ask. I watch from a corner of the room and point things out, and they glance sideways and hoover around my feet. ‘Let them get on with it,’ Elsie says. ‘Enjoy being a lady of leisure, Florence.’ It’s not in my nature to be leisurely, though. Elsie’s more of a sitter, and I’ve always been a doer. It’s why we get on so well.
Occasionally, you see the same one twice. There’s a girl comes on a Thursday. Or it might be a Tuesday. I know it’s a day beginning with a T. Dark hair, blue eyes. One hand on the vacuum cleaner, the other pressing a mobile telephone to her ear. She’s always laughing down that telephone. Pretty laugh. The kind of laugh that makes you want to join in, except I can’t understand a word she’s saying. I think she might be German. When I went to the shop near the main gates, they had a box of shortbread. Made in Germany, it said on the back, and so I bought it, because I thought it might remind her of home. We could have it with a cup of tea, I thought; break the ice a bit. Get to know each other. I mentioned it, but she was so busy talking down that telephone and the front door banged shut when I was halfway through a sentence. I expect she was in a rush. That’s the trouble, isn’t it, everyone is in a rush. We can have them another time, when I get over this fall. No harm done, because they’re still in the packet.
She might be the one to find me. The German girl. She’ll forget about her telephone as soon as she realises. It will fall to the floor, but she’ll ignore it and kneel down on the carpet next to me. As she leans forward, her hair will fall into her face, and she’ll have to brush it back behind her ear. Her hands will be warm and kind, and her fingers will wrap around mine.
‘Are you all right, Florence? What have you done to yourself?’
‘Not to worry, I’ll be fine,’ I’ll say. ‘I don’t want you fretting.’
We will wait for the ambulance, and while we are waiting, she’ll ask me how I fell, how it all happened, and I will hesitate and look away. I’m not even sure what I’ll tell her. I remember the newsreader smiling at me and shuffling her papers, and I remember the silence when I switched off the television. There is a special kind of silence when you live alone. It hangs around, waiting for you to find it. You try to cover it up with all sorts of other noises, but it’s always there, at the end of everything else, expecting you. Or perhaps you just listen to it with different ears. I heard a noise, perhaps. Or a voice? I’m trying to decide what made me fall to begin with, but the only thing I remember is opening my eyes and being somewhere I knew I shouldn’t be.
The ambulance men will get here, and the German girl will be relieved, and all the worry will empty out of her eyes, because you always assume once a uniform arrives, everything will be fine. It isn’t always the way, of course. I know that more than anybody. One of the men will push back the furniture, and the other will put a little mask on my face. The pieces of elastic won’t stay behind my ears, and there’ll be such a fuss made. They’ll strap me into a chair, one of those with a seatbelt on it, and they’ll put a blue blanket over me, and the German girl will make a big point about making sure it’s straight.
‘Are you all right, Florence? Is there anything else you need?’
When we get outside, the cold will pinch at my nose and my ears, and my eyes will start to water.
‘Soon have you there, Flo. You hang tight, Flo,’ the ambulance men will say, and I won’t mind that they call me Flo, because they have kind eyes.
They will lift me up and carry me down the outside steps, and as they do, I will look out over the town, at the liquid ink of the night and the lights that shine from other people’s lives, and it will seem as though I’m flying.
And I will feel as light as air.
FLORENCE
Friday was bingo. Elsie forced me to go on the pretext of it being good for me, but I knew it was only because it was a rollover week.
‘You’ve only got a month to prove yourself,’ she pointed out to me, quite unnecessarily. ‘So you might as well start now.’
And so we found ourselves in the corner of the residents’ lounge, watching everyone mishear all the numbers. People sat with their feet suspended on pouffes, and their mouths wide open, staring at pieces of cardboard and wondering what they were meant to be doing with them. Miss Bissell was nowhere to be seen, and her second in command had been left to pull out the ping-pongs.
Miss Ambrose held up a ball. ‘Twenty-two,’ she shouted.
Everyone started quacking.
‘Pardon?’ she said.
‘Two little ducks,’ someone shouted.
Miss Ambrose held up another ball. ‘Number eleven.’
Of course, everyone whistled.
‘Legs eleven,’ shouted someone else.
Miss Ambrose looked at the ball. ‘It’s like a different language.’
‘It’s the language of growing old,’ I said. ‘Like pantry and wireless.’
‘How am I supposed to speak it?’ Miss Ambrose played with the back of an earring. ‘I’m only in my late thirties.’
We all stared at Miss Ambrose. I was just on the verge of saying something when Elsie gave me one of her eyebrows.
‘You’ll be there soon enough,’ I said instead. ‘It’s like waking up in a different country.’
Miss Ambrose pulled out another ping-pong. It was a two.
‘I suppose this is one little duck, then?’ she said.
‘See. You’re fluent already.’
Miss Ambrose stopped fiddling with her earring, and coughed.
We’d only been there ten minutes and my mind started to wander. It can’t help itself. It very often goes for a walk without me, and before I’ve realised what’s going on, it’s miles away. I’m not even sure when that started to happen. Elsie says to think of them as butterfly thoughts, but I can’t help worrying. I never used to be like this, and if you’re not in charge of the inside of your own head, what are you in charge of? Miss Ambrose says it doesn’t just happen to old people. It can happen when people are depressed as well. Perhaps there are times when your life is so unbearably miserable, but the only part of you that can run away from it and leave, is your mind.
It always happens to me in that blasted day room. I was staring out of the window into the car park, and wondering why silver cars are so popular when they show up all the dirt, when I saw her. Dora Dunlop. Fully dressed. There was a uniform either side of her, and she had a suitcase and three carrier bags at her feet. I could see pieces of her life peeping out of the top. Knitting and a pair of slippers, and the folded edge of a magazine.
‘You can’t make me,’ she was shouting, and her voice slid into the room through an open window. ‘I don’t have to do what you say!’
The uniforms concentrated on the ground and the sky, and anything else within their eyes’ reach that didn’t involve Dora Dunlop.
‘YOU CAN’T MAKE ME.’