Page 10 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

“My father died when I was twelve. She never remarried. Just me and her.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. You and your mother must be really close then?”

He nodded. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her sometimes. That’s why this kind of thing. It just feels strange, you know?”

“You feel guilty. I understand and it’s quite normal. Let me show you around and you can see what you think. It doesn’t mean you have to make any decisions right now, but it’s nice when you know fully what your options are. Even if she just came here for respite. How long have you and your wife been married?”

“Not long. A few months.” The lies became subtle rods in his back, straightening him, strengthening him. “Rosie wants to travel, have children and things like that.”

“Well we do short stays too if that helps. There are so many options these days. You can tailor a stay to suit you. It’s not just a she’s here or she isn’t kind of thing. Let me show you down here first. I’m Melanie.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “You’re Mr …”

“Carter,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Carter. Come on inside.”

The reception was more like a gatehouse really. The main door to the place was locked and coded. For the protection of the residents, Melanie assured him. The residents can get out and go for walks any time they like.

“We like to make this place feel like home as best we can. Except their meals which are cooked, and they have no housework of course. All the rooms have their own bathrooms, a television and somewhere to sit.” She showed him the main lounge of the place—a communal lounge. Old people sat around watching the big television. A couple of men were at the back, playing chess and another sitting with them, was reading a newspaper.

“We have entertainment three nights a week in the other room. There’s a bar too. We believe in giving them the same life they had before age got in the way. It makes it easier for them.

“Oh, my mother doesn’t drink,” William said. “Tea is her weakness.” He stepped into the main lounge. Board games and books lined the cabinet close to the door. “I want my mother to be as comfortable as possible. She deserves it.”

“She will be. We take the best care of everyone here. Do you want to see one of the rooms? We have a showroom. I can’t actually show you a resident’s room, they’re private, but the showroom is modelled the same.”

“A showroom would be fine. I’d not want strangers being shown my mother’s room.”

“Exactly.” Another smile, this time bigger, showing perfectly whitened teeth. “We also have another block at the back. More for a sheltered kind of living. Perhaps that would be more suited to your mother?”

When William arched a brow at her, she carried on.

“I’ll show you. They’re built like mini chalets you get in holiday villages. It means residents have their own space, lounge, bedroom, a small kitchenette and a bathroom. But they have the care from here. People to go in, make the beds, cook meals. That kind of thing. I’ll show you one of those too.”

The showroom was at the back of the building and across the garden. It was built in what looked like a summerhouse to William. It boasted a bed in the middle of the room, a small two-seater sofa and a television. It also had a division where the closet was kept. The assisted living, though. Wow. Even William would have lived there. Small, but nice, catered for. The one Melanie showed him had a small lounge with an adjacent kitchenette. There was a corridor and a bathroom off to one side and a bedroom on the other. “This is amazing. Like having their own home.”

“We aim for that, and the residents can bring their own items from home, with the exception of the bed. But they can hang pictures, bring bookshelves, their favourite chairs if they wish. Is there anything your mother would bring with her?”

William glanced around the room for a second before shrugging. “I’m not sure. Probably her vanity unit. She likes to keep herself presentable.”

“And so she should. Do you want to see the bathroom? They either have a bath or a shower. It depends on preference and some availability. We put both in here for showing, but in the actual rooms, there’s one or the other.” She opened the door. The bathroom was bright white walls, clean, neat. It made him feel calm and peace without the chaotic clutter to mess the place up.

“Oh, I like this.” He walked in, ran his fingers across the pristine basin.

“Nice isn’t it? We also have special baths. Some people love their baths but can’t get in and out of them, so we have baths with access. They need assistance, though, so it depends on the resident and how they feel about it all.”

“My mother likes to bath, but she can manage it. She just needs a handrail. Our bathroom at home is a little hard for her because it’s upstairs and we only have a shower. She struggles to stand a long time. We did try one of those stools, but it wasn’t working.”

“Oh, well we have all that here. All the equipment she could need. Seats, rails, steps. As long as we know, we can arrange it.”

He took another view of the place, coming out of the bathroom and walking to the window to look outside. The garden went back further than it looked. It was long and cared for. “You really have thought of everything. What about food? How is that handled? Do they get set meals?”

“Does she have any special dietary requirements? Diabetic, allergies?”

William shook his head.

“Well, they get a choice of two things per meal. We ask them to choose a week in advance, so chef knows what he’s preparing. Everything is made on site here with fresh ingredients. No microwaving convenience meals here.”

It all sounded reasonable enough. The price, though. William bet it would cost a small fortune to live in one of these places.

“Do you want to head back to reception? I’ll give you some leaflets and a brochure. You can take it home, go over it with your wife, and even bring her for a look around herself. I’d be happy to show her around.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you.”

He followed her to the reception as she pointed out small things. Little things that made it like home for them. Card nights, bingo, things like that. When they got to reception, she handed him a brochure. “This is my card, Mr Carter. If you need anything at all, or you think of something you’d like to ask, just call.”

He took the card from her, noting the number and smile. “Josh,” he said. “Call me Josh.”

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