Bedtime Anecdotes

Cavin Wright

Description

Stories to keep you enthralled into the wee hours of the morning... From horror to romance. From heroism to tragedy. From shipwreck to murder. From abduction to seduction. Covering the entire spectrum of human emotions, these tales will stun you.

Sujets

• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 05 juin 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782343844
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
BEDTIME ANECDOTES




By
Cavin Wright



Publisher Information
Bedtime Anecdotes
published in 2012 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Copyright © Cavin Wright 2012
The right of Cavin Wright to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.



Dedication
Dedicated to Janet Susanne – a gentle and beautiful soul...



There But For Fortune
The taxi dropped me off in the car park of a most impressive-looking retirement complex; my new place of work. How, though, could I possibly have known that it would be a full two and a half years before I would leave again - this time in a stretch limousine?
Now, through the double glass doors of a sun-filled lounge, elderly interest was immediately perked by my arrival, and it seemed to me that dozens of bespectacled countenances were beaming in on me, like so many lasers. I was nervous to the point of panic. Not because of the multiple scrutiny - that was only to be expected.
No, my terror was the result of my introductory phone call, two days previously, to the client I was coming to look after:
“Oh, good afternoon. Mrs. Avis?”
“Yes? That is me.”
I introduced myself. “I’m with Millennium Care, and I will be coming to look after you on Wednesday.”
“Oh, right!” in a very snooty tone. “What sort of time can I expect you? Because we have luncheon at one o’clock, precisely.”
I was already having second thoughts. This lady sounded so very much above my station, that I could see trouble sticking out a mile. She would expect only the highest standards of cleanliness, punctuality, and dedication. I would be run ragged within a week, trying to fulfil her demands.
Just switch the phone off, dingbat! I thought. Ask the agency for another posting. Now!
“That’s fine, Mrs. Avis. I should be there around a quarter to eleven. Would that be okay?”
“I suppose it’ll have to be, yes.”
Good grief! Don’t sound too enthusiastic, will you?
“Okay, thanks, Mrs. Avis. See you Wednesday, then.”
My hands were damp, my breathing slightly laboured. But I knew I had done the right thing in calling to introduce myself. If I hadn’t, she would probably have turned me back at the front door.
What if I get there late? Another spasm of doubt and fear gripped me. What if the train’s delayed?
Thankfully, though, I was right on schedule, give or take a minute, which I hoped the old dear would forgive me for, given time. I pulled my red trolley case behind me as I tried to determine how to gain access to the complex. Another double glass door stopped me in my tracks, just as I was expecting it to open automatically.
Oh, no! Access control! I had a real aversion to these things. I read the instructions on the engraved panel. It seemed very complicated, but eventually I got the idea and pressed all the right buttons.
A horrific buzzing sound erupted from the box, and I moved back a few inches in dismay.
Nobody answered.
My laptop, clasped in my left hand, seemed insupportably heavy, for some reason.
I was about to try the call sequence again when a pretty young lady appeared in the foyer beyond the doors. And she was smiling at me; no, perhaps she was laughing - at my wasted efforts.
I saw there was yet another double glass door beyond the one which blocked my way. It magically slid open, and as the girl stepped into the intervening space, my set sprang inwards. The two sets of doors were evidently to keep drafts from entering the well-appointed foyer area.
“Thomas?” smiled the girl. “I’m Laura. Come in, and we’ll drop your stuff in at the flat. Kate’s in the lounge, having coffee.”
Of course, I knew Mrs. Avis had a first name; Catherine. But Kate? Why was the present carer calling her Kate? Surely beings from rarefied stratum should be addressed by their surnames?
Kate. Hmmmh...
“Kate, this is Thomas Smith.”
The moment I’d been dreading.
The dowager raised her right hand from the arm of the wheelchair and gave me a gracious smile. “Hello Thomas. Pleased to meet you. I hope you’ll enjoy being here.”
Just as graciously, she introduced two of her friends who were sitting at the same table. “This is Phyl, and this is Martha.” I greeted them and shook hands. “Do help yourself to some coffee and cake, Thomas.”
As I eyed the sumptuous spread, I reflected on my first impressions of my new home.
Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as bad as I had thought. The residential complex was first class, the carer’s room was large and well furnished, I had been warmly welcomed, and my first task was to have coffee and chocolate cake!
The three ladies were chatty and polite as Laura and I joined them. Kate was smartly turned out in slacks, a golf shirt, and cardigan, nicely colour coordinated, but not nearly as flashy as I had imagined. She was tubby and cheerful, with a wonderfully full head of grey hair, smartly brushed. She had a four-diamond engagement ring next to her wedding band which must have cost a fortune, yet was unobtrusive.
Phyl, whom I later learned was in her mid-eighties, was so slim, immaculately dressed and coifed that she appeared twenty years younger than she was - evidently quite a looker in her earlier years.
Martha was the quintessential granny; a paisley dress with a handmade brooch on her ample bosom, a tightly rolled bun of straw-like hair gracing the crown of her head.
All three elderly ladies flashed their spectacles at each other as they chatted amicably away about never having had a male carer at their table, and how lucky was Kate to be looked after by a man?
I glanced at Laura once or twice, to catch an amused expression on her lovely features.
Does she know something I don’t? I asked myself.
Evidently, she did.
After coffee, when I had been introduced to a lot more of the elderly residents, none of whom I could hope to remember the names of, immediately, Laura wheeled Kate back to the flat, where my new employer settled down in the lounge to read the paper.
Now, it was time for my crash course in Kate’s daily routine. I was shown around the flat, a ground floor corner unit which had two bedrooms of equal size, the large lounge-dining room, a well-fitted kitchen, a modern bathroom with a nice big bath and wet-room shower, a spacious boiler-cum-storage room, and equipped with emergency pull-cords in each room.
The complex was an L-shaped, three-storey building with fifty separate flats, mostly one bedroomed units, and about ten with two bedrooms. The place was only about a year old, and everything was pristine. Apart from the coffee lounge, there was a dining hall with an adjoining ‘function room’, complete with a residents’ desktop computer, with Internet and printer.
Surprised at the dining room, I asked Laura about it.
She laughed. “This is where you have your lunch. It’s all done for you - the main meal of the day. Three courses, served by waitresses, and the dishwashing all done by the kitchen staff. She indicated the heavy wooden swing doors leading into the kitchen. They each had a reinforced glass window, giving a view of the immaculate stainless steel work areas and the huge cooking range mid-floor.
I was so impressed with this! Not having to cook the main meal of the day would take a huge load off my back. Simple cooking I could just about manage, but my culinary skills were not the greatest. This was just wonderful!
Beyond the kitchen was the waste area, with huge black wheelie bins on the left for everyday rubbish, and equally large green ones on the right for recyclable waste. Another pleasure in store for me was the laundry. Six or seven washing machines and four tumble dryers, as well as irons, ironing boards, and a sluice sink. So no need to hang out washing, as some of my previous positions had called for. Even better!
On the top floor, Laura showed me the guest suite; equal to any hotel suite, with it’s own little TV lounge, two beds, and all mod cons. Yet another surprise was a good-sized reading room, its shelves stacked with novels, reference books, and even video cassettes. There were two tables with padded chairs for card or board games, and as throughout the public areas here, expensive ornaments and replica paintings to add a touch of comfort.
All the passageways and public rooms were carpeted in luxury deep pile, nicely colour coordinated to give a really cosy atmosphere to the place. Rolling lawns stretched down to an outdoor gazebo area, where tended flower beds framed the antics of the squirrels gambolling under the huge shade trees.
Overall, it was the type of place I could quite well see myself retiring to, in my old age.
“Now, Thomas,” said Kate kindly, when Laura had left to catch her train. “I am having a marrow lunch with some friends, today. Afterwards, we will be playing Bridge. So I’d like you to set up the Bridge table, which is in your room, and lay it for lunch with the china dinner service, in that sideboard there.” She indicated what looked like a very valuable antique dresser with glass fronted shelves stacked with a plethora of delicate cut-glass bric-a-brac.
“You will be having your lunch in the dining room with Ken, who usually sits at our table.”
When I had unfolded the table and found a suitable table cloth, Kate looked horrified at my selection.