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Listeners' Fantasies |
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Life at the Laurels
by Vicky S
 From the Fantasy Archers topic of , a darker side of care home administration than Peggy ever imagined ...
"Excuse me Mrs Henderson. But there's a lady waiting to see you in Reception. She came about half an hour ago, I told her you were taking the men's intermediate aromatherapy class so she said she'd wait. I think she's one of the ladies who looked round yesterday."
"Thank you, Dreena, tell her I'm on my way."
Clara Henderson wiped her hands thoroughly, good essential oils were delightful, and their powerful fragrance was highly commended in her line of work, but oily smudges on the paintwork were not part of the Laurels' Mission Statement. She smoothed the dark blue fabric of her tailored dress over her ample hips and straightened the small watch she wore pinned to her breast pocket. It was no bad thing she felt, to enhance her often remarked-upon resemblance to the late Hattie Jacques, and perhaps subliminally suggest that her qualifications were medical rather than managerial.
"Mrs Aldridge?"
"Oh, hello. Yes, that is no, I'm Mrs Bellamy, Lillian Bellamy. Jennifer, that is Mrs Aldridge, is my sister. We came yesterday. To look around with our mother, Mrs Woolley?"
"Oh yes, of course. Forgive me. I remember you well. And your sister. How can I help you ? Were there some more questions you wanted me to answer?"
"Well no, not exactly. Oh dear. This is a little embarrassing. You may think this is rather foolish of me, but yesterday I was very taken with one of your residents. A dear old lady. The lady who has the very large ground floor ensuite room overlooking the garden. The room with the huge bay window." Lillian laughed. A little insincerely Clara Henderson thought.
"Oh yes. Our dear Rose. Mrs Cleethorpe."
"That's her! She and I got chatting, just for a few moments you understand, and she happened to mention how much she loves Belgium chocolates ... so, well, so I've brought her some. Just a few. Of her favourites. All soft centres of course. Just a little gift you understand. Would you be so kind as to see that she gets them? I'm afraid there won't be enough to share with everyone so perhaps, if you don't mind, you could make sure she gets them when she's on her own."
"How very thoughtful of you Mrs Bellamy. So kind, and so generous. Perhaps you'd like to pop along to Mrs Cleethorpe's room with them yourself and sit with her for a while. She has no family at all poor thing, so doesn't get many visitors... Oh? You have to be off. An appointment, I understand. What a shame, another time perhaps? So nice to see you again. Goodbye."
Clara took the chocolates back to her office. She sniffed at them disdainfully before dropping them into the waste paper bin, which was somewhat full since it already contained a carton of Bridge Farm's Finest Organic Strawberry Yogurt and a Victoria Sponge that was unmistakeably fresh from the Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm aga.
These farming types are so unimaginative, Clara mused, wiping her hands thoroughly in case anything untoward had leaked from the chocolates. If they were really desperate to assure an immediate vacancy in the ground floor garden room it would be far better to deal with the situation in the proper manner and proceed with everything professionally. She would be quite happy to make all the arrangements personally - for the usual consideration, of course.
A week, she estimated, was when they would make the first tentative, but serious, enquiry about expediting the vacancy. It usually was.
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