The lady didn’t answer, but picked up the phone. ‘Diane, could you come down here, please? I’ve got someone who wants to speak with you. Thank you.’
‘Thanks,’ Morton murmured, ambling away from the desk.
Moments later a lady in her early sixties, with a tight black perm and pristine white coat, appeared. She leant over the desk and a brief, hushed conversation took place between the receptionist and her, then she walked over to Morton with her hand extended. ‘Hi there, I’m Diane. I understand your grandmother is a resident here, but you don’t have any documentation to prove that you’re related to her?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Do you have five minutes for me to explain?’ Morton asked.
‘Sure, come right this way.’ Diane led Juliette and him around to an office behind the reception desk. ‘Take a seat.’
‘Right,’ Morton began. ‘Where to start…’
It took him ten minutes of uninterrupted explanation to get to a point where he felt he could draw breath and sit back, his case delivered. He interspersed his monologue by showing her some of the documents that related to his search, in the hope that it lent him some degree of credibility.
For the most part, Diane had remained expressionless. Now that he was finished, she clasped her hands together on the desk and leant in. ‘Okay. I’m sure you appreciate that I can’t just let anyone in to see our residents. Some of our residents have been here for a long time. Some of them have severe dementia and wouldn’t be able to engage in a rational conversation. Okay?’
Morton understood.
Diane paused. ‘I can’t allow anyone to walk in off the streets with no clear paperwork…’
Morton nodded, accepting that his quest was over. ‘Okay,’ he said, standing. ‘Thank you for your time.’
‘But…’ Diane continued. ‘We do allow volunteers in to sit for just a few minutes and have general conversations with our residents.’ She cocked her head to one side and opened her hands out. ‘It helps them.’
Morton smiled. ‘My wife Juliette and I would very much like to volunteer to come and chat with your residents,’ he said seriously.
Diane smiled. ‘Of course, that would be real nice. I’ll just go and get you some badges and get you signed in, then I’ll take you to the lounge.’ Diane left the room.
Morton turned to Juliette with a grin.
‘So she’s got dementia—tread very carefully, Morton or you’ll get thrown out,’ Juliette whispered.
‘I will.’
Diane returned with a form to complete and two badges. ‘If you fill these in, I’ll take you through.’
Having completed the forms and pinned on their badges, Morton and Juliette followed Diane in through a security-coded door, along a long warm corridor with glass walls overlooking two spacious lounges.
Diane stopped at the end of the corridor. ‘That lounge over there is for residents who have some degree of independence—they come and go as they please to their rooms. This side’ —she indicated to the room beside them— ‘this is where residents with more complex needs come. I suggest we go in here.’ She tapped another keypad then pushed open the door.
Morton gazed around the room. He reckoned that there were around twenty elderly residents dotted about on chairs that could cater for double that number. A handful of carers were doing a variety of jobs around the room.
Diane turned to face them and spoke in a low voice. ‘Okay, when you speak to someone with dementia, you need to speak in short, simple sentences. Speak more slowly than usual and avoid asking too many questions. The two ladies I’m going to take you to often get confused and say things that don’t make any sense. Obviously don’t raise your voice and avoid speaking about them as if they weren’t there. If they say things that you know are not true, don’t contradict them, but just keep quiet. Okay?’
‘Fine,’ Morton agreed.
‘Let’s go over and see these two lovely ladies, here,’ Diane said loudly. She led them over to two elderly women and crouched down in front of them. ‘Ladies, we’ve got some volunteers in to come and chat with you for a few minutes. This is Juliette and this is Morton. Juliette, this is Clarissa; Morton, this… is Velda.’
Juliette sat next to Clarissa and instantly struck up a conversation of sorts.
Morton smiled and waved awkwardly, then sat beside Velda. From nowhere, his eyes glistened with moisture as he took her in. His grandmother. She had a lined, round face and short, style-less white hair. He studied her features, wanting to absorb every detail, knowing that it would likely be the one and only time that he would ever see her. Her grey eyes held something that resembled acute grief to Morton, as though they were sheltering some great loss inside.
He wiped his eyes and finally spoke. ‘Hello, Velda.’
‘Hello,’ she responded, eyeing him up and down. ‘I expect you’ve come to fix the vacuum, have you? I told the store it was broken…oh, sometime last week. I’m sure it’s the thing—you know—the motor? That’s always the problem. Always.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ Morton said quietly.
‘Alice will be here soon,’ Velda said. ‘You remember her, don’t you?’
‘I know her, yes,’ Morton answered.
‘Of course you do. She used to look after me. You don’t come see me.’
‘I’d like to see you more often, but I live in England.’
Velda sat up straight and looked at her friend beside her. ‘Did you hear that? He lives in England now. We didn’t know where he went. Now he fixes vacuums.’ She waved her hand towards Diane. ‘Hey, Missy—did you feed the…the…’
‘Dog?’ Diane said. ‘Yes, Velda, I fed the dog.’
Velda shook her head. ‘Always the way. Always.’
