Page 3 of What's the time, Mr. Wolfe
“It would have to be tested to be verified,” James replied.
“Bollocks to that, you know damn well I know what I’m talking about,” the maintenance guy said.
It seemed a row was about to happen between them.
“If it’s black mould, I want rehousing. My Grandma has dementia, she’s not well. I don’t want her exposed to anything dangerous. I’m at college and I work three jobs to pay for this place,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.
I’d heard of black mould. It was no wonder Grandma constantly had lung and chest infections.
“If you don’t sort this, you can tell your boss I’ll be going to the press.”
James smiled at me, a false pacifying smile, and I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,” he said, but I highly doubted he would. “Let’s get sorted what we can, and I’ll report back,” he added, turning his attention back to the repairman.
With a nod to me, James left.
“He will, you know. The boss has told us to do whatever it is you want.”
“The boss?”
“Mr. Wolfe. Sebastian Wolfe is his name. Never met him myself, though. He doesn’t speak to us lowly operatives. How do you know him?”
“I don’t… not really.” I hesitated with my answer. I didn’t want the repairman to think I didn’t know Mr. Wolfe in case he decided not to take the instruction to do ‘whatever was needed’ seriously. Equally, I didn’t want him to think we were best friends, either.
“No one really knows him, from what I understand,” the repairman said.
I wasn’t particularly interested in talking about Mr. Wolfe, and I certainly wasn’t interested in having a conversation with the man meant to be working. I’d offered him tea and biscuits and now I wanted him to get on with fixing the door. He’d already done thescratching under his chin and sighingthing I’d expected,talking about how we needed new windows as if he was a salesman and I’d be paying for them.
“Well, one of us has work to do. So, I’ll leave you to it,” I said, heading into the living room and Grandma. I had books I could go through to keep up with my college work.
I could hear him chuckle, and I was sure he called mespunky! I screwed my nose at the thought.
I sat with Grandma while she watched her game shows and clapped along when she knew the correct answer. I knew there would come a time when I’d need help and the daily carer, Monica, who came to us already wouldn’t be enough. Monica and I had talked about care homes, but I wasn’t ready, and Grandma sure wasn’t, either. We were managing, even if I was exhausted all the damn time.
I picked up a college book. I’d flunked out of school, scraping through basic Maths and English. I’d had too many other issues to deal with; a missing father and money for one, plus a sick relative to care for. It was only when a sympathetic teacher discovered my situation one day that I got a place in college. I wanted to be an architect. I loved buildings and structure, but I needed some serious studying and resitting of exams before I could get into university.
As I read and wrote, Grandma answered the most random questions on a quiz show.
Some time later, the repairman announced he’d done all he could. The boilerman followed shortly after, telling me that although he’d got the heating and hot water to work, I needed a new boiler. I asked him to inform the owner of the property since I wouldn’t be replacing it myself.
With the men gone and a mess left in their wake, I set about to make some dinner. Well, I reheated the last of the Chinese we hadn’t eaten the previous evening.
As I sat at the table and ate, I thought about Mr. Wolfe. His piercing blue eyes and skin tone suggested Nordic roots, but his dark wavy hair didn’t fit. I chuckled as I remembered I thought his teeth were so perfectly straight and white. Why I noticed them, I wasn’t sure. I raised my spoon before taking the last mouthful in salute of him. A silent thank you for a delicious meal that I’d never have been able to afford without him.
I had settled Grandma in bed. She’d pulled her blankets up to her chin and smiled with teary eyes.
“I need to go in a home,” she said, and for the first time in a long while, her voice had clarity. It stopped me in my tracks.
“Sorry, Grandma?” I asked, wanting her to repeat her sentence.
“You look just like my granddaughter, Ruby,” she replied, and I smiled at her.
“You’ve said.”
“She’s lovely, is my granddaughter.”
With that, I left her bedroom and sniffed back tears that threatened to fall. There were days when she knew me, but in the evenings, when her brain was tired, she’d forget. It was called ‘Sundowning’ and is common with dementia. As the days came to a close, thevictimtired and their memory clouded further.
