Grams
Eleanor kicked off her shoes, threw
her handbag on the table and breathed a sigh of relief, before filling the
kettle and falling exhausted into the chair.
Two hours later she woke to the
ringing of the doorbell. Stretching, she rose, slowly making her way down the
hallway.
“Grams, you ok? What’s that on your
cheek?” she asked pointing to the red mark, whilst lifting the baby out of the
pram.
“Fine dear. Patients with problems, that’s all... and
how’s my little Patrick today?” She forced a smile and tickled the baby under
his chin. She loved the baby but was still
a little resentful that it meant she was now a great grandmother. And , although her friends said, “surely she
was too young,” she was still rather sad.
Rachel made tea as Patrick sat
quietly on Eleanor’s lap.
“You know, you really should
retire.” She broached the subject directly as previous, more subtle attempts
had proved ineffective. “ You’ve been at that hospital for how long? More than
thirty years Grams, and you’re often forgetful now, you know you are and with
getting weaker too, we’re all worried you’ll have an accident before long.
“ I’ve a good few years left yet,” Eleanor
darted irritably, proving her capability by bouncing Patrick up and down. “You all think I’m old and doddery. You can all...mind
your own business.” She spoke forcefully hoping to put an end to it.
“That’s not true, Grams, but... you
could be enjoying yourself,” Rachel persisted bravely “ and it’s not as if you
need the money or anything.”
Rachel was right, she didn’t need
the money, but her job gave her more than money. She wasn’t ready to face
retirement yet.
Eleanor ignored her granddaughter, and
changed the subject; they poured more tea and finished off six cream cakes
between them.
When Rachel had gone, she went to
the bathroom and looked in the mirror, surprised and upset as usual by the image that stared wistfully back at her. A widow now for the last five
years, the idea of walking sticks, colostomy bags, falls, dementia and being dependent
on her family haunted her thoughts. She picked up her jar of face cream,
scooped out a generous amount, and smeared it over the wrinkles, gently rubbing
the future further away.
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