Three Things About Elsie(2)

‘You haven’t been dusting again, have you, Florence? Dusting is our department.’

I wouldn’t let her find my eyes. I chose to look at the radiator instead. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I said.

She sat on the armchair next to the fireplace and let out a little sigh. ‘Perhaps it fell?’

‘And climbed back up all by itself?’

‘We don’t always remember, do we? Some things we do automatically, without thinking. You must have put it back the wrong way round.’

I went over to the mantelpiece and turned the elephant to face the window again. I stared at her the whole time I was doing it.

‘It’s only an ornament, Florence. No harm done. Shall I put the kettle on?’

I watched the elephant while she rummaged around in the kitchen, trying to locate a ginger nut.

‘They’re in the pantry on the top shelf,’ I shouted. ‘You can’t miss them.’

Miss Ambrose reappeared with a tray. ‘They were on the first shelf, actually. We don’t always know what we’re doing, do we?’

I studied her jumper. It had little pom-poms all around the bottom, in every colour you could possibly wish for. ‘No,’ I said. ‘We probably don’t.’

Miss Ambrose sat on the very edge of the armchair. She always wore cheerful clothes, it was just a shame her face never went along with it. Elsie and I once had a discussion about how old Miss Ambrose might be. Elsie plumped for late thirties, but I think that particular ship sailed a long time ago. She always looked like someone who hadn’t had quite enough sleep, but had put on another coat of lipstick and enthusiasm, in an effort to make sure the rest of the world didn’t ever find her out. I watched the radiator again, because Miss Ambrose had a habit of finding things in your eyes you didn’t think anyone else would ever notice.

‘So, how have you been, Florence?’

There are twenty-five grooves on that radiator.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’

‘What did you get up to this week?’

They’re quite difficult to count, because if you stare at them for any length of time, your eyes start to play tricks on you.

‘I’ve been quite busy.’

‘We’ve not seen you in the day room very much. There are lots of activities going on – did you not fancy card-making yesterday?’

I’ve got a drawer full of those cards. I could congratulate half a dozen people on the birth of their beautiful daughter with one pull of a handle.

‘Perhaps next week,’ I said.

I heard Miss Ambrose take a deep breath. I knew this meant trouble, because she only ever does it when she needs the extra oxygen for a debate about something.

‘Florence,’ she said.

I didn’t answer.

‘Florence. I just want to be sure that you’re happy at Cherry Tree?’

Miss Ambrose was one of those people whose sentences always went up at the end. As though the world appeared so uncertain to her that it needed constant interrogation. I glanced out of the window. Everything was brick and concrete, straight lines and sharp corners, and tiny windows into small lives. There was no horizon. I never thought I would lose the horizon along with everything else, but it’s only when you get old that you realise whichever direction you choose to face, you find yourself confronted with a landscape filled up with loss.

‘Perhaps we should have a little rethink about whether Cherry Tree is still the right place for you?’ she said. ‘Perhaps there’s somewhere else you’d enjoy more?’

I turned to her. ‘You’re not sending me to Greenbank.’

‘Greenbank has a far higher staff-to-resident ratio.’ Miss Ambrose tilted her head. I could see all the little lines in her neck helping it along. ‘You’d have much more one-to-one attention.’

‘I don’t want one-to-one attention. I don’t want any attention. I just want to be left in peace.’

‘Florence, as we get older, we lose the ability to judge what’s best for us. It happens to everyone. You might enjoy Greenbank. It might be fun.’

‘It’s not much fun when no one listens to what you say,’ I spoke to the radiator.

‘Pardon?’

‘I’m not going. You can’t make me.’

Miss Ambrose started to say something, but she swallowed it back instead. ‘Why don’t we try for a compromise? Shall we see how things go over the next … month, say? Then we can reassess.’

‘A month?’

‘A re-evaluation. For all of us. A probationary period.’

‘Probation? What crime did I commit?’

‘It’s a figure of speech, Florence. That’s all.’ Miss Ambrose’s shoes tapped out a little beige tune on the carpet. She pulled out a silence, like they always do, hoping you’ll fill it up with something they can get their teeth into, but I was wise to it now.

‘It’s Gone with the Wind tomorrow afternoon,’ she said eventually, when the silence didn’t work out for her.

‘I’ve seen it,’ I said.

‘The whole world’s seen it. That’s not the point.’

‘I was never very big on Clark Gable.’

I was still looking at the radiator, but I could hear Miss Ambrose lean forward. ‘You can’t just bury yourself in here, Florence. A month’s probation, remember? You’ve got to meet me halfway.’