Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself marching to Cynthia’s office. I knock and walk in, too angry to even wait to be invited to entre.
“You had no right to move Jack without his permission.” My voice almost cracks with the stain of not shouting. “He’s not a prisoner. He has rights.”
Cynthia looks up, she’s in the middle of a phone call but I don’t care. “How could you be so heartless? I’ll never know why you chose to work in a care home when you don’t care. But the people here are human beings not things. You might think Jack just a doddering old man but he used to work at the United Nations. I wouldn’t treat a criminal the way you treated him.”
Cynthia speaks into the phone, “I’ll call you back.” and hangs up. A distant part of my mind notices it’s a desk phone with multiple buttons and lines.
She opens her mouth to speak but I rush on. “He wanted to spend Christmas with his friends. If he’s not here today,” I check my watch. “Before dinner, this evening, then I will call the police.”
Cynthia’s face is troubled but when she speaks her voice is very quiet. “Take a seat please.” She points to a leather chair in front of her desk.
“I don’t want to take a seat.”
“Miss Henderson, we didn’t move Jack.” She pauses. “He passed away last night.” She swallows. “We didn’t want to tell everyone until we’ve contacted his family.
“Passed—” I can barely comprehend.
She looks down at some paperwork on her desk. “Jack, John Ellis Bevan, died of a heart attack at a quarter past two this morning. The doctor signed the death certificate and” – her voice changes on the next word – “he was moved to a funeral home in Aberystwyth according to his wishes.”
I sit down in the leather chair. My knees won’t hold me up. I should say something but can’t think what.
“I’m sorry to give you such sad news.” She offers me a box of tissues to wipe my tears. “I know you cared about him. But Jack was a very sick man. It’s better that he went in his sleep, don’t you think?”
All I can think is, Christmas is cancelled. It was for him, because I promised him a last Christmas. Now there’s no point. How can we have a Christmas dinner without him? How can anyone enjoy food and drink, open gifts and laugh when he’s not here. We can’t, it’ll be too sad.
Cynthia picks up her phone again. “Can you bring me tea for two please.”
While waiting for the tea to arrive, she goes to a locked filing cabinet, selects a key from a large bunch and inserts it into the lock. The drawer opens with a metallic clang. She rummages in some hanging files and comes back with a sealed envelope.
“I was going to contact you in a few days, anyway. Jack left this letter for you.” She hands me the envelope.
The letter is typed, all except the first line and the signature. They’re handwritten in black ink and a shaky hand
My dear Leonie
I’m dictating this to nurse Ferguson who’s kindly agreed to type it for me.
Thank you for everything you did for me and the Squad. I never expected to enjoy my final days here, but since meeting you and visiting that wonderful house I have enjoyed every day. You can have no idea how much we look forward to our afternoon teas in that magnificent Kendric House. The lively chats with Evan Kendric himself and his partners in the business. It reminded me of the old days. You are a rare creature, a person who canbring joy to people. You made me feel young again, and for that I can never thank you enough.
But I am not young and my days are numbered. I don’t need the doctor to tell me how few sands are left in the hourglass. If you’re reading this, do not grieve for me my beautiful Leonie. Death is an appointment we must all keep, and I am happy it comes now and not when I’m bed-ridden.
Be happy my dear. And don’t let my departure ruin Christmas for you and the Squad. Makle them happy.
Yours Sincerely
Jack Bevan
Chapter Thirty-Four
24th December. Kendric House. 11am.
We’ve decided to call it THE JACK BEVAN CHRISTMAS. A special celebration of his life.
The Squad are coming, tomorrow, all of them, not just the original seven but the expanded group. Since this is the last big blow out before The Glyn is closed and everyone is scattered to different care homes, I didn’t want to exclude anyone who wanted to come. Even one of the nurses, the nice one, Lydia Ferguson who typed Jack’s letters. She’s also driving the van – two trips – to transport all fourteen people over.
Everyone is determined to make Christmas a success. Since Evan declared the three days between Christmas Eve and Boxing Day a holiday from house renovation, every able bodied person is helping clean up the orangery so it’s fit and safe for the big lunch tomorrow.
Every time I step outside the kitchen, there’s Ricky hurrying with a hoover to clean up all the cobwebs, or Alex with a ladder so they could reach the corners at the tops of walls. The sounds of work and laughter drift from the orangery all the way to the ballroom. Llewellyn covers the exposed masonry with largeposters. Even the professor presides over preparing playlists of Christmas carols, traditional Welsh hymns and other music.
