Page 83 of Sing it, Sam

When I reach reception, Kathleen is sifting through the top drawer of the filing cabinet at the rear of the office.

“Morning,” I say as I swipe my card to gain access. I slip my black Kathmandu jacket off and hang it on the back of my chair, then sit down and tuck my bag beneath my desk. “Why was an ambulance here?”

Kathleen pulls a file from the cabinet and walks over to me. She places her hand on my shoulder. Dark rings hang beneath her red-rimmed eyes. “We lost Mr Thompson last night.”

My shoulders drop as air rushes from my mouth.He’s dead?

I swallow down but end up choking on my saliva. “What happened?” I ask when my voice decides to cooperate. Tears prick at my eyes. I fight them back. “Mr Thompson was fine the other day. So full of life.”

“He passed in his sleep,” she says and reaches down, gripping my hand in hers. “I’m hoping the family doesn’t have to go through a post-mortem, but that’s for the coroner to decide.”

Oh, boy.Not only has his family lost him, but he’s gone without warning. And to top it off, they might have to wait for answers before they can say their final farewell.

“He. Was. Fine,” I repeat. So far in my time here, there’s been no sense to people leaving. Apart from being old, they haven’t been battling cancer or something terminal. Not that I’ve known about anyway.

“I know, love. Unfortunately, this is part of the job. People leave us all the time.”

I swipe a tear from my cheek and squeeze her hand. “Does it get any easier?” I ask, staring into her glassy eyes.

Her lips quiver but she quickly steels her mouth into a firm line. Kathleen has managed the home for years; death is inevitable in her line of work.

“I’d like to be able to say yes, but I hardly know myself,” she finally says. Time in the job could’ve changed her, turned her heart cold from dealing with it so frequently, but it hasn’t. She still has a kind heart. I don’t know how she does it.

“Anyway, we have a busy day ahead, Jane.”

“Yeah, we do.”

Kathleen looks away, and I take it as a cue to start my day. I switch on my computer and draw in a few deep breaths.Don’t let it get to you, Jane. Focus on work.

The doors swish open a moment later. In strides Sally-Anne, her hair tied in a messy knot, and her face clear of makeup. Like a whirlwind, she comes through the secure doors, huffs and puffs as she puts down a travel mug, and unloads her giant black handbag on the desk. She lands with a thud in her chair.

“Helluva morning,” she says and swivels in her chair to face both of us. “Jake took an hour to eat his cereal, and I had a serious battle with the others just to get dressed. I swear, those boys are turning my hair grey.”

Kathleen and I glance at each other and then back at Sally-Anne.

“We lost Mr Thompson last night,” Kathleen says matter-of-factly.

She doesn’t even blink. “The old bugger is gone? Well, shit.” She turns her back to us, grabs a small zipped pouch from her handbag, and starts putting on foundation. Should Sally-Anne really be working in a place like this? How can news of a resident’s death not affect her?

“Mind if I go for a quick walk?” I ask Kathleen.

She nods. “Take your time.”

I make my way down the hall, biting back tears along the way. I stop outside Mr Thompson’s room. It’s as if there is an invisible uncrossable threshold, preventing me from entering. The sheets have already been stripped from his mattress, but his personal belongings still remain. A deck of cards sits beside his bed along with photo frames filled with people who will no doubt be in the midst of dealing with their loss.

Tears roll down my cheeks as I imagine his children, grandchildren, and maybe even great-grandchildren gathering together, watching on as he lies cold in a timber box.

I shake off the thought, swipe the wetness from my cheeks, and continue down the hall.

When I reach Sam’s room, I’m greeted by his beaming smile as he sits, fully dressed in a grey hoodie, black trackpants, and sneakers. He’s perched on the edge of the bed as if he’s ready to go somewhere.

His grin drops as I step into the room.

“What happened?” he asks, brows pulled tight.

In silence, I walk over. He snatches my hand and pulls me to sit on his lap. Warm arms wrap around my middle.

I stare deep into his eyes and finally gather the courage to tell him without blubbering all over his clean jumper. “We lost another one. Mr Thompson. Last night.”

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