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Rebecca
I’d called in to see Clive, who was recovering on a rehabilitation ward. I’d accidentally called it a geriatric ward, which he’d been most upset about.
‘I’m not going to be one of those old men who hobbles around on a Zimmer frame,’ he told me indignantly. ‘As soon as my hip mends itself, I’m going to be back doing my daily walks on the heath and going to the shops like I did before.’
I thought about the brochure in my bag and wondered when would be the best time to broach the subject of him potentially moving into a residential home. He’d had a heart attack brought on by the shock of the accident, plus there was the major surgery on his hip. It took ages to recover from those sorts of things, from what I could gather. He’d probably never get back to what he’d been, especially at his age, but of course I wasn’t going to tell him that. I had to be subtle about it. Bring him round to the idea gently.
‘So I went to see my nan the other day,’ I said, waving over at the old guy in the bed opposite Clive’s who was in with a broken knee amongst other ailments.
I’d noticed that each time I’d come to visit Clive it had felt easier and easier and I felt much less anxious now, and less convinced that somebody was going to die right in front of me every time I set foot on the ward.
‘Oh yes?’ said Clive, turning his head, which seemed to be a struggle. ‘Where’s she, then?’
‘Just around the corner,’ I replied, keeping it light. ‘In a residential home called Greenhill Lodge.’
‘I see,’ said Clive.
‘You’d like her,’ I continued. ‘She reminds me of you – really independent. Likes chatting to people and spending time outside when she can.’
‘She can hardly do that in one of those homes, can she?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ I said, handing him the box of grapes and the Swiss chocolate bar I’d picked up at M&S on the way in and then slipping the brochure from the office at Greenhill casually onto his bedside table. ‘They’ve got lovely grounds. I got you some information on it. Just in case.’
He tutted. ‘You’ve been talking to those social workers.’
‘I haven’t,’ I said. ‘Jack mentioned something, that was all.’
Clive ripped open the box of grapes, stuffing three into his mouth at once. ‘It’s all because I haven’t got any family at home to look after me. Ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’
I took a grape myself, twirling it between my finger and my thumb. ‘Are you sure there’s no one I can contact for you, Clive? A cousin, or something? An old friend? I’m sure there are people who want to know you’ve not been well, who would like to visit.’
He shook his head. ‘There’s no one, not anymore. Sure, I talk to lots of people. You’re probably thinking: how can someone as chatty as Clive have nobody in his life …’
‘Well, you are quite talkative,’ I teased.
He looked at me with a serious look on his face. ‘Don’t end up like me, will you?’
I laughed lightly. ‘Why wouldn’t I want to be like you?’
‘Because you might be all right now, while you’re young. But the friends I’ve had are gone now. Dead or in homes, or they’ve moved away to be closer to their families.’
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on his bed. I watched the monitor, flickering red to show his heartbeat, the beep of the machine that was making sure his oxygen levels were high enough. I swallowed, determined to keep the negative feelings at bay.
‘That other young man of yours – Dan, wasn’t it? – left a long time ago now, didn’t he?’ said Clive.
‘Yeah,’ I replied, wondering where this was going.
‘And you haven’t met anyone else since?’
I thought of Jack. ‘Nobody serious.’
‘There was that loud one in a suit.’
I laughed. ‘Tyler. Yeah, that didn’t go anywhere.’
Clive looked thoughtful. ‘You know who I think would make a lovely couple?’
