“No, I don’t have any of those.”
Her lips thin with satisfaction. “And this venue where you’re doing your little tea, does it have third party liability or local authority approved disability provisions?”
“Who is disabled? As far as I can tell, Philomena can walk just fine, and Jack is fine on his walking frame.”
“Miss Henderson” – she makes an exaggerated show of patience, as if she’s having to explain a simple idea to an idiot – “you don’t understand what’s involved in caring for the elderly. Do you even have a valid DBS check?”
“DBS?” I play for time while my mind races trying to think of a way to get round her legal snags.
The sympathetic smirk she gives me cannot hide her triumph. She thinks she’s got me. “It’s a police check to make sure you don’t have a criminal record. Everyone working with children or disabled people must have it. All my staff have had to provide a DBS before they started work,” she says silkily. “I’m afraid since you don’t have one and clearly none of the required cover to offer catering, I can’t risk the safety of my residents in this way.”
The safety of her residents? The bitch! After what trolley Jenkins did to Jack? And hygiene? Since when does she even understand the meaning of the word with the disgusting tea they serve, the dirty floors?
Bill’s words slide across my mind’s eye, cautious and wise. “What do you want to do, drink ale or bicker with the barman?”It takes a lot of counting to ten under my breath before I can answer her.
“Cynthia, I am sure you care about your residents. The last thing I want is to put them at risk. I’m just inviting three people to tea in my home. They’ll be my guests. There’s nothing illegal about that. People visit their friends all the time without the need for insurance, hygiene certificates or police checks.”
“True…But Philomena Valentine and Jack Bevan aren’t your friends. You only met them recently.”
The way she talks reminds me of someone, not a real person but a character from a TV episode I did once. At last, Cyntia’s real character comes into focus. The small-time jobsworth who uses legal-speak to assert authority. None of her arguments areactually valid. She’s just relying on me not knowing how to answer.
“There’s no law that dictates how long you must know someone before you’re allowed to call them friends.”
This argument goes on for another ten minutes. She pretending to be concerned about the welfare of her residents, and I pretending to believe her. She doesn’t give her permission; the best I can get out of here is a “let me think about this and check the paperwork and get back to you.”
This, I know, means she will refuse. I was wrong about her. She’s not just a small-time jobsworth, she’s a cow! A deeply unkind cow. What would it cost her to let me invite three people out to tea? Or is she worried if someone treats poor Philomena and Jack with kindness, they’ll get used to it and expect better from her and her staff?
I go to sit with Bill in his small, cramped and lonely room.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks as soon as I’ve made our usual cups of PG Tips.
“Nothing. Why should anything be wrong?”
“Because you look like you’re chewing a mouthful of roofing nails.”
Where are my acting skills? It takes me a minute to rearrange my face and produce a better smile for my grandfather.
“Okay don’t tell me. I’ll have to set Shirley and Gethin on you. They can prise information out of anyone.”
Neither of us says that I’m unlikely to be able to speak to them with Cynthia’s ban in place.
“It’s just so unfair.” I finally huff. “It shouldn’t be allowed.”
At this he chuckles.
“What so funny?” I ask.
“You,” he says with a caring, admiring expression. “You’re full of surprises.”
“What do you mean?”
“For an actress – and I really am dead proud of you – but you don’t act like an actress.”
If he means I can’t seem to hide my feelings, he might have a point.
“Another girl in your place would be happy being the centre of attention. The bright angel that turns up with treats for everyone and is charming while all the old men flirt with her. You could have been the darling of the Glyn Care Home and even got Cynthia eating out of your hand with stories about celebrities and show tickets.” His eyes travel over me as if counting my features. “But not a bit of it. No, not you. You my sweet girl would rather get yourself in trouble with a petty-minded tea lady.”
“Not all actors are vain, spotlight hogs.”
