*
Tracy, too, had had an enjoyable experience. In fact, she’d had a ball. As soon as she had entered the nursing home an overwhelming calmness had descended upon her. She understood how the faint tinge of disinfectant and subdued stillness could discourage some, but to her it was a reminder of an environment she felt most comfortable in. Here she could make a difference; she was relevant. Her bubbly character and willingness had made her popular, not only with the residents, but the staff too. They didn’t question her choice to work voluntarily, they just appreciated the help.
Tracy had got chatting to Ted, who informed her where he had lived in Treweham village.
‘Oh, those cottages are so cute!’ Tracy had cooed. ‘So you must know Megan?’
‘I do that,’ he chuckled to himself.
‘What do you think of Lord Cavendish-Blake?’ she couldn’t resist asking, never having really been able to suss out this dark, brooding character who galloped about his estate.
‘Grand chap. His family are salt of the earth.’ Tracy nodded, trying to understand how such nice people like Ted, Megan, Finula and Dylan all seemed to like Lord Cavendish-Blake, when to her he cut a rather elusive figure.
‘You seem happy enough here, Ted. Don’t you ever miss living in your cottage?’
‘I miss Zac, my dog, but Megan brings him here to visit.’
‘Oh, Zac’s lovely!’
‘Isn’t he just,’ replied Ted, smiling.
Tracy had walked home with a spring in her step. For the first time in ages she had felt needed. When she had tried to explain this to Gary at tea time he had looked offended. ‘But I need you, Trace,’ he told her with a mouthful of bread.
‘But it’s a different need, Gary. You know, just like your shooting club needs you,’ she joked. He smiled, understanding the irony.
‘OK, I get it. But does it matter, as long as we’re both happy here?’
‘Absolutely not.’
