It’s Saturday. I always look forward to Saturdays.
Saturdays are when Poppy and the grandchildren come to visit.
Sharon comes in to do my hair, so I look nice. She chats away whilst she fixes it, telling me about all the other residents in the care home, and all of the latest gossip. When she’s done she fixes my silver butterfly clip and asks me whether I like it. Of course, I always do; Sharon always knows how to make it look just like it should.
Saturdays are busiest for visits, but I know from the way Sharon talks and stays a little longer than she needs to that she’s a friend, not just a carer. She’s a sweet girl; my favourite. She’s going on holiday next week with her girlfriend, Alex, to Spain, so Darren will be looking after me. I don’t like him as much, but of course I could never say that to him. He’s friendly enough, but he doesn’t quite know how to get my hair just right.
Sharon has gone and I’m left to my own thoughts again. The rain is getting heavier. It reminds me of when I was a little girl, watching the raindrops race down a window. Memories wash over me. I remember… I remember one morning at the cottage in St. Ives. It must have been summer but all I can remember now is how much it rained. So many years ago. I remember sitting by the window as the rain lashed down outside, heavy grey clouds frowning down at me and making the windows rattle in their frames. I wonder which family lives there now? Do they climb trees, and catch butterflies, as we once did?
Still, I’m lucky. I have family who come to visit. Sharon told me about poor Mrs Matthews, who hasn’t had a visitor for the past three years. I’m not sure I could do that, even with Sharon popping in and out.
Suddenly I hear Poppy’s voice.
“Hello Muriel! It’s me, it’s Poppy. How are you today?”
She comes closer to the bed, cutting through my wandering thoughts in the past like a sword, and bringing me back to the now. I feel the weight of her sinking into the bed as she comes to sit next to me, and then her hand stroking mine.
I can feel the weight of her eyes on me too, looking sadly at me as I lie comatose, waiting to break free, however that may be.
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