or sneaking a hand into your handbag to relieve you of your wallet; I’ve seen it all. C’mon, Mads.’
Back in her room, Maddie kicked off her sandals and flopped on the bed. Here she was in Bali, a bit pissed on local beer. She was here to see her son in hospital. But instead, a tall, dreadlocked Aussie had just walked her to the door. And she was absolutely, no, absolutely not slightly attracted to him. Her mind flickered to Greg. She hadn’t heard a jot, although she’d checked Facebook on her phone earlier.
As she lay on her thin mattress, pulling her nightdress off her sticky body, she wondered about her life. She wondered how she had got to this age and could be unaware of pickpockets; how a forty-something surfer could pack up his dreams in Australia, unpack them in Bali, be so street aware, have taken her son to hospital and looked after her – and yet she couldn’t really look after herself.
She lay down on the pillow, the air thick with the citronella scent of insect repellent and the noise of the cicadas chirruping outside, and she wondered what was ahead of her.
12
Olive
Olive sat with her back bolt upright in the chair. There was a birthday today in the residents’ lounge. What a funny name: ‘residents’ lounge’. She played with the words in her mouth; who on earth else would be in it, if not residents? She stifled a giggle. All that faded flowery wallpaper and the faint smell of urine, slight mildew, or cabbage on a good day. It was hardly the Ritz.
She was in one of her favourite chairs, the one with the solid cushions and firm back to it. Not that flimsy rattan thing over by the French doors – that was the Last-Chance-Chair, or at least that’s what she called it. Beryl always managed to get lumped with it. Served her right, actually, if she couldn’t be bothered to get to the activities on time. But it was her birthday today, wasn’t it? She really had better hurry up or she would be left with the lousy chair again.
‘Olive dear, here’s your tea.’ Kind Clare was handing her some tea in a cup and saucer. They had a thing about using odd cups and saucers. She’d overheard the Entertainment Manager, Lucy, calling it ‘shabby chic’. Just plain shabby, if you asked her. How hard was it to match a cup and saucer? Olive frowned as she clutched the bone china saucer with gilt edges and noticed how much the teaspoon rattled.
‘There’s two sugars in there, Olive, just as you like it.’
Talks to me like I’m five years old. Olive smiled at her and carefully took a sip of tea. Hot. Always forgot to tell them she took milk.
‘Where’s the milk, love?’
‘But you don’t take milk, Olive.’ Clare glanced across the room at another nurse, then looked at Olive again. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you some.’
When had she changed her mind about milk? She sat there for quite a while wondering. It would come to her. It always came to her later.
‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…’ She found herself singing the words and smiling at Beryl. She was eighty-seven today. She’d been in Maybank View House for five years. She was wearing a yellow crepe paper hat and looked mildly ridiculous, like an aged toddler. She had a string of pearls around her neck, so Olive knew she’d taken time to dress up – the pearls only came out on birthdays and Christmas. Clare was holding out a cake; it was a sponge cake with vanilla icing (Olive knew all the cakes that Maybank View did) and it also had jam in the middle, strawberry. Olive liked that. There were two sparklers on the cake and Clare made sure she placed it on a table right in the middle allowing everyone a good view of the ‘celebration cake’.
‘Happy Birthday’ was coming to an end. Beryl was beaming and clapping her hands. Olive liked her, she was in the room just down the corridor from her, but there was something missing, something Olive couldn’t place. She supposed it was the dementia. How many of her ‘friends’ around here were their true selves? Everyone was somewhat ghost-like, wandering around the corridors. You never knew, as they came towards you, who you would be meeting – would it be on-the-ball-Beryl, frustrated Beryl or would it be Beryl of ten years ago, who thought her