“Shall we?” the nurse urges me along.
“Aren’t your residents allowed to go outside? It’s a bit stuffy in here.” I observe catching up with her.
“Of course they’re allowed outside,” she answers quickly, but her frown deepens. “Elderly people feel the cold more than we do, and management have to be careful.”
“That man, does he work here? What’s his name?”
“Let’s find Bill. He normally likes to do his jigsaw puzzles in the afternoon.” She walks more quickly, forcing me to hurry along.
We come to another lounge, again with the same high armchairs. But the few people here are more alert. Two are playing cards, someone is tapping on an iPad. And at the far end,by the window, a man with a shock of snow-white hair sits at a table spread with jigsaw pieces.
“Bill,” the nurse calls as we walk towards him. “You’ve got a visitor
He looks up, surprised, then his eyes search around behind me as if expecting someone else.
The nurse, having brought me here, can’t wait to leave. “Ring the bell if you need anything.” And before I can respond, she almost runs out of the room.
I turn back to the old man. He’s dressed in a three-piece suit, hounds-tooth wool in shades of grey. With the beige shirt buttoned up to his neck and a scarf knotted around his throat, he looks very much like an old man from a 1970’s sitcom.
“You’re my visitor?” he asks uncertainly.
His voice is very similar to the professor, smooth and melodious.
“Hello. Are you William Jones?” I ask just to break the ice.
He nods. “And you are?”
“My name is Leonie Henderson.” I reach for a chair nearby. “Do you mind if I sit?”
Now that I’m here, I find it very difficult to explain my presence.
He frowns, white eyebrows scrunch together over blue eyes like his son’s. Except that while the professor’s eyes were polite and uninvolved, his father regards me with suspicion. “What are you selling? I don’t have money so you’re wasting your time.” He turns back to his jigsaw.
What little optimism I had trickles away. Suddenly, I long for the warm welcome of Kendric House even though I’ve only been there a couple of days.
But, as Haneen said, I’ve come this far, it would be stupid to walk away before ticking the last box. So, I get my acting skills out and put on a confident expression, pull a chair over and sit.
“The professor told me I could find you here.”
At this, his eyes sharpen. “Who?”
“Professor William Jones.”
His frown deepens. “You mean my son?” His eyes search my face, then the rest of me. The white jumper, the narrow skirt and knee-high boots. “Aren’t you a little too young for him?”
Eek! The accusation shocks me so much I blurt out, “No! I’m his daughter.”
“His dau…” His voice fades, so his lips shape the rest of the word silently.
I wait to let him digest the news. At last his eyes clear and he says slowly, “So you’re the one.” He continues to look me up and down, left and right, hungry for every detail. “You must be…what?” He comes back to my face. “Twenty-nine? Or thirty?”
“You know about me?”
“I didn’t know your name. He never said.”
It might be my imagination but his voice softens. “When did he find you?”
“He didn’t. I found him.”
