LITMIR.BIZ

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      Still cursing under her breath, Rachel knocked on the door and hobbled into the room. Stepping across the ribbons of sunshine trailing from the window, she reached the bed where Mrs Wilson sat propped up reading a book. The spectacles pinching the bridge of Mrs Wilson’s nose were as thin and wiry as the woman herself. Her piercing blue eyes lifted only briefly from the pages that demanded her attention.

      ‘I’ve worked here for three years and I still manage to bang my ankles on that blinking stair lift,’ Rachel muttered. She rubbed her foot and looked over to Mrs Wilson for that first connection and perhaps a little sympathy, but the latest resident of Sunny Days Care Home was unmoved.

      ‘Try breaking your leg in two places,’ Mrs Wilson replied without lifting her gaze again.

      ‘I hear you’ve been in the wars. I’m Rachel by the way.’

      The only response was the crackle of paper as a page was turned. From what Rachel had been told, Mrs Wilson’s stay was only temporary. She was a retired headmistress in her late-eighties who had been fiercely independent until her recent fall. She didn’t have anyone nearby to help care for her after she left hospital and so she had booked herself into Sunny Days where she would wait it out for her bones to mend.

      The room that was to become Mrs Wilson’s home from home had been decorated in neutral shades of washed-out creams and murky browns. Other than an uninspiring Alpine landscape on the wall and a vase filled with dusty silk flowers, it was a blank canvas on which Mrs Wilson could stamp her own identity. The only mark she had made so far was the dent in the bed and the suitcase on the floor, which the previous day’s staff had only rummaged through to retrieve some of Mrs Wilson’s essentials. ‘Shall I make a start unpacking your things?’ she asked.

      Mrs Wilson shrugged but said nothing.

      Rachel was still hobbling as she crossed the room, coming to a stop by the window. Sunny Days was on the outskirts of Sedgefield, a small town nestled in the Cheshire countryside, and from this vantage point she could see more countryside than town. Only the sharp point of a church spire piercing through the lush canopy of trees gave away the town’s position.

      In contrast to the wide open space beyond the veil of glass, Mrs Wilson’s room felt oppressive. The air was heavy with the cloying scent of the artificial air fresheners the home’s manager, Carol, was so keen on using to dispel the less-pleasant smells that were part and parcel of a home that had its fair share of the infirm.

      ‘How about we get you up and dressed? It’s a beautiful morning and there’s a lovely little rose garden just outside,’ Rachel said. She opened the window just a crack to invite in fresh air laced with floral scents.

      ‘No thank you,’ Mrs Wilson said, and turned another page.

      ‘I’m on duty until two o’clock so how about we aim to get you downstairs for lunch?’ Rachel set about unpacking the suitcase. ‘There are plenty of ladies and gents here who would love to meet you.’

      ‘No, thank you,’ Mrs Wilson said more slowly this time.

      ‘You lived on your own, didn’t you?’

      ‘I still do,’ the retired headmistress corrected.

      ‘And I’m sure you want to get back there as soon as you can but it’s going to be a good few weeks before you’re on your feet again and I’m sure physio have already told you how important it is to do your exercises and keep mobile.’

      There was a deep frustrated sigh as Mrs Wilson lowered but didn’t close her book. ‘I can do my exercises from my room; I can take my meals in my room. The only thing I can’t apparently do in my room is keep other people out.’

      Rather than be offended, Rachel was relieved that Mrs Wilson was at last looking at her. At only twenty-five, she didn’t feel particularly comfortable squaring up to someone with so much more seniority in years and in experience, but she wasn’t going to stand by and let Mrs Wilson retreat into her own world. She had seen it happen before and it never boded well. Rather than speed up recovery, too many residents had become so withdrawn that they never re-emerged again, from themselves or the home. ‘I see you’ve acquired a pretty decent set of wheels,’ she said, tipping her head towards what looked like an almost new wheelchair folded away to the side of the door. ‘It would be a shame not to put it to good use.’

      Mrs Wilson’s eyes narrowed. ‘Which school did you go to?’

      Rachel enjoyed another small victory now that her new charge had finally engaged in the conversation, even if she had changed the subject. ‘Sedgefield Comprehensive,’ she replied. ‘Was that the school you taught at?’

      ‘Did you do well?’

      ‘Well enough. I was a straight-A student with twelve GCSEs.’

      ‘I didn’t realise changing old lady’s incontinence pads required such high standards of education.’

      It was Rachel’s turn to shrug. ‘Life didn’t exactly go to plan,’ she said, pulling Mrs Wilson’s clothes from the suitcase to hang in the wardrobe. ‘And yes, certain aspects of the job can be unpleasant and all-too-often painful but there are plenty of positives. The hours I work fit around taking care of my daughter and I get to meet lots of interesting people like you. In fact, getting to hear people’s life stories is the part of the job I love most.’

      Mrs Wilson had fallen silent and when Rachel turned back to her, she was nose deep in her book again. Undeterred, Rachel carried on talking as she unpacked the suitcase. ‘It’s not something I plan on doing forever though. All my friends, the ones who weren’t daft enough to get pregnant at eighteen, are busily working their way up the career ladder, reminding me where I should be. But Hope is six now so I’m starting to think it’s time to play catch-up. I’m planning on going back to finish

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