Three Things About Elsie(40)

Where am I now? Where do I want to be? How am I going to get there? it said across the top. Simon gave an enormous sigh and started to write.

‘That’s not what they mean, Simon.’ Miss Ambrose looked over his shoulder.

‘It says here there are no wrong answers.’ He tapped the page with the top of his pen.

‘They say that, but there always are,’ said Miss Ambrose. ‘And that’s definitely one of them.’

Simon crossed it out.

‘Perhaps come back to it.’ Miss Ambrose pointed to further down the page. ‘There’s an easier one. Why not answer that instead?’

What are my best qualities?

Simon chewed the end of his pen again.

‘I can’t think of any,’ he said.

‘There must be something? What are you good at?’

‘Crosswords,’ said Simon. ‘And I can always get the top off a jar of marmalade when no one else can.’

‘Write that, then,’ she said. ‘Only put “problem-solving” and “kindness”. Miss Bissell loves that sort of thing.’

‘Should I not mention the marmalade?’

‘No,’ said Miss Ambrose. ‘Best not.’

What are my weaknesses?

‘Prawn cocktail crisps?’ Simon looked up at Miss Ambrose, who shook her head.

‘Try and be a little less specific,’ she said.

He smoothed at the creases on the page. ‘It’s too difficult to think of weaknesses.’

‘It’s easy when you put your mind to it.’ Miss Ambrose lifted her coat from the back of a chair. ‘I needed an extra side of A4.’

After she’d left, Simon flicked through the rest of the form. Miss Bissell said Personal Development Planning was all the rage. ‘It helps us to be more aware,’ she said. ‘More in tune with our minds.’

Simon wasn’t sure his mind played a tune he especially wanted to listen to. He looked at the other sections. There was a whole page devoted to goals. Short-term, medium-term and long-term.

Replace roof tiles on day room, he wrote in the short-term section, then he crossed it out and moved it to medium. It was better to be realistic.

Being realistic, he wrote in the strengths section. He smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t as difficult as he’d thought it was going to be. He had a look at the last page.

How do you make a difference to those around you?

Simon scratched his head with the end of the pen.

How do you measure your success?

How did anyone measure their success? It was all right for his dad. His dad had a medal to show how successful he was, how many lives he’d pulled out of that building, although he never got his medal out of the drawer, because in his own eyes, he was a failure. Other people had certificates and letters after their name. Even his Auntie Jean’s dog had a rosette. He had an O-level in woodwork and a Blue Peter badge, and he’d bought the Blue Peter badge from a car-boot sale. For all his love of measuring things, Simon realised he didn’t really have any way of measuring himself.

He was still thinking about it when the door went. It was Gloria, and Cheryl from the salon. Simon smoothed down the back of his head, because he was always worried his hair was being judged.

‘Have you filled one of these things out?’ he said.

Gloria looked over his shoulder. ‘My dad did mine. Spent a whole weekend on it. Quite enjoyed himself.’

Simon thought his own dad could have filled one out in a matter of minutes.

Cheryl didn’t answer. Cheryl very often didn’t answer and everyone was used to it. She would sit in corners and stare into coffee cups, or rub the inside of her wrist. Like some people twisted their wedding rings, or played with their hair.

‘Are you stuck?’ Gloria said.

Simon tapped on the page with his pen. ‘How do you make a difference to those around you?’

‘Well?’

‘I’m not sure that I do,’ he said.

Gloria sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘Of course you do. Everybody does.’

Simon waited for her to elaborate, but she went to the window instead, and perched herself on the ledge. Then again, Simon very often thought there was more to a sentence than anyone else seemed to.

‘She’s off again,’ said Gloria. ‘Florence.’

Simon tried to look, but he couldn’t see over the top of a filing system someone started and never got around to finishing. ‘What’s she up to?’

‘Wandering around the courtyard. Staring up at windows. Having a bit of a shout. She’ll be Greenbanked soon, at this rate. I heard them talking about her when I was restocking the fridges.’

‘She’s worse since the new bloke arrived,’ said Simon. ‘Whatshisname.’

‘Gabriel.’ Gloria flicked ash out of the gap. ‘I like Gabriel. He gave me a brilliant curry recipe.’

‘He helped me with the ladders.’

‘I might try it on the residents,’ Gloria said. ‘Although I’d have to call it something else.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘If I say it’s curry, no one will eat it. If I call it “Spicy Somerset Stew”, they’ll come back for seconds.’ She tapped the side of her head.

Simon looked back at the form.