Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

April 2019

Chain Of Events - Anne Wilson

The musty smell permeated the room. It had become unwelcomingly familiar to him and he had experienced it many times during his past year in office. In the centre a Christmas tree sparkled incongruously in the dull surroundings and, in the background, recorded angelic voices heralded the advent of the season; their joyous singing at odds with the environment in which he found himself on that December afternoon.

The glad-handing he could cope with. There was often a purpose to that: a reciprocal favour being sought, maybe, or an invitation to an event he could not have afforded in the normal way or had no access to if it were over-subscribed. He felt a sense of shame at being so shallow but something he felt should have been rewarding, or at least made him feel temporarily noble and virtuous, was the least favourite aspect of the role. Rows of inert bodies with semi-vacant faces and glazed eyes sat before him, showing little or no interest at all in his presence. He knew that most of his carefully programmed, repetitious questions would elicit no sensible responses and felt disheartened.

The Manager – a woman with starched hair and an obsequious manner – accompanied him on his quest, introducing him to her individual charges with florid gestures and a formality worthy of a Buckingham Palace Garden Tea Party rather than a local care home. ‘And this is Elsie,’ she said, arm gesticulating extravagantly. ‘Elsie, this is His Worship, The Mayor. He’s kindly come to see us all and wish us a Happy Christmas.’

‘I’ve got all my own teeth,’ responded Elsie unprompted and ignoring the formalities. The unsolicited opening of her mouth revealed two large, uneven front teeth in the centre of the top row, surrounded by large expanses of gum both on the top and bottom. He doubted whether the two teeth now remaining had been blessed with the company of their thirty companions for many a year but nodded approvingly and grinned with unconvincing admiration at the unattractive sight before him, ironically displaying his own full set in the process. His companion propelled him along the laborious journey, stopping at each seat a she did so; some of the introductions including what he considered to be impertinent allusions to the resident’s age, declaring them to be ‘so many years young’ – a cliché he particularly detested.

Relief engulfed him as he neared the end of the second row and sensed his mayoral duty was nearly at an end, when suddenly he felt a tug on his robed shoulder as the Manager asked to be excused temporarily due to a crisis having occurred. He nodded understandingly, assuring her that he would encounter no difficulty in completing the tour of duty by himself and, by-passing several blank faces, made his way towards a small, smartly-dressed lady with iron-grey hair seated at the end of the row who had beckoned to him. She gestured towards his chain of office.

‘I’m afraid I can’t get up, so I can’t bow,’ she said; a half-smile crossing her lips. ‘Will a simple hand shake be sufficient?’ The humour of her manner endeared her to him and he was pleased that, at last, he had found someone with whom he might have a half-decent conversation. Past experience, however, had made him wary. He had been caught out several times by carrying on conversations with people he thought were compos mentis, only to find that they would then repeat themselves several times after the first few sentences.

He stretched out his hand in greeting and decided to err on the side of caution by sticking to one of his stock questions. ‘And what hobbies do you enjoy?’ he asked, sitting down in the empty chair beside her.

‘Well, I cancelled the squash court once I knew you were coming,’ she said drily. There was a pause and she shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of resignation. ‘What hobbies can I enjoy when I’m ninety-one, practically immobile and have arthritis in both hands? I can still just about attempt The Times crossword, though, even with failing eyesight.’

He searched vainly for words of consolation but couldn’t find any and changed the subject.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Lucinda,’ she replied with an element of pride. ‘It’s a pearl of a name in an ocean of Dorises and Elsies, isn’t it?’ she chuckled. ‘My parents clearly intended me for something better than this when they named me. What’s your name, or do I have to address you as His Worship, The Mayor?’

‘You don’t,’ he smiled gently. ‘It’s David.’ For some unaccountable reason he felt a special connection with this intelligent woman, trapped in a body that would no longer do what she commanded it to and condemned to sit amongst others who no longer even knew what those commands were. ‘Do you have any family?’ he asked, hoping fervently she had someone to come and visit her.

‘It’s hard to believe, I know,’ she said with a deadpan expression, ‘but I’m not always easy to get along with. Apparently I’m something called ‘feisty.’ It’s not a word I come across very often in my Times crossword but I think I must have evidently been ‘feisty’ with my daughter at one time or another, because she hasn’t spoken to me for years. I do see my granddaughter occasionally, though, and she usually brings her little girl with her. Three generations of us!’ she exclaimed rolling her eyes upwards. ‘My great granddaughter is named after me. It could have been far worse, though,’ she added, with a nod towards her inmates. ‘She might have been answering to a name like Elsie or Doris, if my parents hadn’t had such good taste.’

He chuckled. ‘Whilst I’m here are there any missing crossword clues I can help with?’

She handed him the newspaper and he noticed her spidery scrawl over most of the squares. There was nothing the matter with her mind: of that he was certain. After a couple of minutes, in which he had proved himself less adept as a solver than his companion, he looked at his watch and leapt to his feet.

‘I’m so sorry, but I must go now,’ he said. ‘My car is due about now to take me on to another engagement.’

‘Guzzling petrol whilst it does so, I don’t doubt’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t worry. I’m about to have a nap anyway when I’ve written in all the clues.’

. . .

The school hall was packed with proud parents jockeying for favourable seats and he was pleased to be able to squeeze his rather large frame, plus his mayoral accoutrements, in a favoured reserved seat in the front row with the other dignitaries, such as teachers and governors. Unlike that afternoon, the early evening festivity to which he had been invited boasted the angelic voices of young children singing to an enthusiastic audience, rather than recorded voices singing to an indifferent, captive one. Perhaps it was that very contrast that resulted in bringing tears to his eyes and he hoped no-one was looking in his direction.

One little girl in particular caught his attention, with an ethereal solo that sent shivers down his spine and after it was all over and congratulations were being showered on the performers like confetti, he saw her chatting animatedly to an adult woman as the latter quaffed the hot mulled wine and mince pies provided.

‘I enjoyed your singing very much, young lady,’ he said, bending down in an attempt to match the girl’s height.

She looked down at the floor shyly and he wondered whether the phrase had sounded pompous to her young ears.

‘I must apologise. My daughter seems to be overwhelmed,’ the female adult explained. ‘This is the first time she’s sung in front of an audience on her own.’

The little girl scampered away to talk to a friend standing nearby and the woman drew closer to him.

‘Unfortunately, I have to tell her a sad piece of news once we get home,’ she confided. ‘My grandmother is in a nursing home and they left a message for me to ring them in the interval. She died in her sleep just as the concert started. We go to see her occasionally and this will be very difficult for Lucy to take in.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he replied. ‘I’m getting well used to that environment in my current capacity.’

The woman touched his arm.

‘It was only half a life,’ she confided. ‘Still, my grandmother died as she would have wished. With a completed Times crossword on her lap.’