‘It would have been kinder to put it out of its misery,’ Kenny said, folding his arms. ‘Leaving it injured would just mean it would get taken by a cat or a fox.’
‘Ah but he didn’t.’ I grinned at the expectant faces around me, and carried on reading: ‘I picked it up and took it into the house. We had a little spare room that overlooked the flat roof of our kitchen. So I put the seagull in there with some bird seed, and left the window open. I thought it would recover and fly off.’
‘Did it?’ asked Joyce.
I chuckled. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He says it stayed in the spare room for three years. Three years! Its wing didn’t heal so it couldn’t fly but our mystery man cared for it, and let it hop about on the roof every day, until it died peacefully.’
At the other side of the room, I thought I saw Helen wipe her eyes. But she had turned away from me so I couldn’t be sure. Strange woman, I thought.
‘He sounds like a real sweetheart,’ Val said fondly. ‘What a lovely chap.’
‘Did Elsie reply to the story?’ Kenny asked.
‘Yes, she did.’ I looked down at my notes. ‘She replied, saying he should be a vet.’
‘I wonder if he ever was.’ Val looked sad. ‘We don’t even know if he made it through the war.’
‘That’s why I feel this is so important,’ I said. ‘Elsie was doing a lovely thing for her patients – recording their thoughts and memories and emotions. And that’s why I want to do the same for you. Why I thought we’d do our own Tall Trees book. And I’m planning to incorporate some of the words from Elsie’s book into my mural.’
‘It’s such a good idea. I’ve already thought about what I’m going to write. I’m going to start with a message to my son and daughter …’
There was a screeching sound as an alarm in one of the rooms went off. One of the residents must have had a fall or got themselves in trouble. I jumped to my feet and put my notes and the book itself, which I’d had on my lap, on to the chair where I’d been sitting.
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ I said.
*
But I wasn’t back shortly. It was a couple of hours before I managed to get back to the lounge because one of our sweetest residents – a lady called Jill – had slipped getting out of bed and broken her hip and – we thought – one of her arms. She was very elderly and frail, and she was scared, and Blessing and I were terribly worried about her. So we phoned for an ambulance and stayed with her until the paramedics arrived, which took a while. It was a nice day but it was chilly in her room, so we managed to put a pillow under her head, and covered her in a blanket to keep her warm and I sat on the floor next to her, to chat.
To distract her, because she was in awful pain and we couldn’tgive her anything to take the edge off until the professionals arrived, I told her about Elsie and her mystery sweetheart and held her hand, and then I went and fetched some paper and she very sweetly dictated some messages to her family for me to pass on. The messages made us both emotional but I felt Jill was almost enjoying it. Or rather, she was appreciating the opportunity. The thought made me feel warm inside.
When the ambulance came, the paramedics took over and I stood up, stretching out my limbs. I felt a bit tearful because I thought Jill probably wouldn’t come back from hospital. She was so frail now, like a baby bird, with a froth of fine white hair on her head. I couldn’t see her recovering from this fall. I hoped she’d said everything she needed to say.
‘Come and have a cup of tea in my office,’ Blessing said. ‘It’s always tough, but she’ll remember how kind you were.’
‘Thank you.’ That did make me feel a little better. I sat down in the chair opposite Blessing’s desk and she smiled.
‘Jill had a big family. Her daughter was here yesterday, you know? She’s almost eighty herself.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Jill had her when she was just eighteen. She has grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and her great-great-grandson was born in lockdown.’
‘She told me about that,’ I said, thinking back. ‘She said she was pleased she’d got to meet him. She had me write some messages for her family. Can you pass them on?’
I handed over the pieces of paper and Blessing nodded, looking satisfied.
‘Of course. What a nice thing to do.’
I liked that so many of our residents had big families to visit. I always felt a bit sorry for my own nan, who only ever got to see me. And my father on the rare occasion he dragged himself over from Portugal. I wondered if Max would ever get to visit her again. Not that he’d been a regular visitor before he went to prison.
‘Do you know much about Helen?’ I asked. ‘The newish resident? Does she have family?’
Blessing made a face. ‘Not that I know of. She’s never had visitors.’
‘That’s quite sad.’
‘Perhaps her family are all in Ireland?’
