Overhead the council and business forum had already begun preparations for the town’s displays, and holders for small Christmas trees had been attached to some of the buildings. They were new for this year and in between the strings of giant lights that criss-crossed between the buildings it would look beautiful. With a nose red from cold, Tom was at his van and happy to be in the warm, he sped to the nursing home.
After he’d parked up again, he stepped out into the night and his breath fogged on the air. The stars were spectacularly clear tonight, bright and shining overhead, and the lack of cloud meant a frosty morning tomorrow. Cherry Wood Nursing Home was a large white building in pretty landscaped gardens. A couple of benches positioned out front next to large bushes invited people to sit and enjoy a moment before they entered. From the large windows he could see the residents moving back and forth, staff helping with walking frames, and people sharing jokes. Grabbing the bunch of creamy white ranunculuses tied with a big purple ribbon from the passenger seat, he made his way up the gentle slope of the entrance ramp.
The wave of heat that hit him as he walked through the door nearly knocked him over. In fact, all five of his senses were assaulted. As well as being hot, the home had the brightest lights he’d ever seen and smelled heavily of talcum powder mixed with lavender. The television was on so loud it was deafening and with his eyes being a bit weird at the moment, the last thing he needed was a ringing in his ears too.
Before Grandad Nigel had come here, they’d looked at other care homes that were unbelievably quiet, more like libraries than places to live, but Cherry Wood was different. Noise, chatter, discussion and, most of all, laughter was actively encouraged. At this time of night, most of the residents were gathered in the large open-plan TV room watching the six o’clock news. Tom needed to hurry if he wanted to get changed before meeting Nell for dinner. After a quick glance at the numerous chairs all filled with older people, some more lively than others, he spied Grandad Nigel, with a blanket over his knees, next to Enid.
Enid, though aged, didn’t look like Godzilla. She was small and a little hunched in her chair with a head of fine, wispy white hair, but there was a vibrancy and life to her voice and a cheeky laugh that carried across the room. Tom could see exactly why Grandad Nigel liked to sit with her. Hiding the flowers behind his back, Tom made his way over.
‘Hello, Tom, love,’ said Enid, as her eyes turned up to meet his.
With a flourish, he pulled the small bouquet from behind his back. ‘I bought you some flowers, Enid, I hope you like them.’
‘Cheeky bugger,’ shouted Nigel, not quite realising how close Tom was. Only a short time ago he’d gone completely blind, but his eyesight had been failing for years. A smattering of wiry grey hair stubbled his chin and Tom made a mental note to get him a new electric razor for Christmas. His old one wasn’t picking up everything and as it was the safest thing for him to use now, he needed a decent one. His grandad had always been proud of his appearance – of his tall, lithe frame that Tom himself had inherited – and Tom wanted him to continue feeling that way. ‘Don’t you listen to him, Enid. They’re from me actually. Paid for with my own money. I told him to get them for you as he’s a florist. After all, you don’t keep a dog and bark yourself.’
Tom bent down and squeezed his grandad’s shoulder. ‘All right, old man, I’m only teasing. I think Enid knew they were from you really.’
Enid gave Nigel a loving smile and Tom wished with all his heart his grandad could see it. Her voice was loud and cheeky and didn’t look like it belonged to her slim figure. ‘I knew they were from you, you silly bugger.’
‘If Tom was going to deliver flowers to anyone,’ Nigel continued, ‘it should be that lovely girl, Nell, he’s friends with. He’s like a lovesick pup when she’s around but he won’t do it. I don’t know why. I’d be perfectly happy to have her as a granddaughter-in-law.’
‘Only because she brings you treats,’ Tom countered. ‘And if you start this again, Grandad, I’m going, and I won’t give you the massive bar of Dairy Milk I snuck in for you.’
Nigel’s eyebrows raised quizzically. ‘Hand it over, boy, before they see you.’ Tom did as he was told and watched Nigel’s tired old hands, shaking with age and exertion, unwrap it and break some off for Enid and then himself. It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed chocolate. It was that the piggy old boy didn’t want to share any with the other residents. Other than Enid, that was. ‘Oh, lovely,’ Nigel said, savouring the taste. The smell made Tom’s own tummy rumble.
‘Is there anything you need for tomorrow, Grandad? If not, I’ll be off.’
‘Got plans, have you?’
‘Yes,’
