Page 27 of Sing it, Sam

“I can. Problem is my right foot is still pretty bad. It’s the constant feeling of pins and needles that’s the killer. I’m trying to switch over to the walker, but my balance is still off and the therapy … the first few steps are always agony. It’s hard to describe, but can you imagine what it might feel like for your calf muscles to tear away from the bone? I know in my head that that’s not what’s happening, but the pain is so excruciating. Some days are worse than others.”

“And I’m guessing the day I brought you the book was a bad day?”

He nods. “The whole thing is fucked up. I mean, there’s apparently a one in a hundred thousand chance of getting GBS, and they can’t pinpoint exactly how you get it. Why the hell did it have to happen to me?”

“You’ll get there, Sam. You just have to stay positive. It’ll happen.”What am I promising? I know nothing about GBS.

“The more I try to do, the worse it gets. It’s pretty fucking hard to be patient when recovery is moving at a glacial pace.”

“Miss Jane,” a female voice barks in the hallway. I turn to see Mrs Cassidy in a fluffy pink dressing gown, her platinum grey hair sticking up every which way.

“Yes, Mrs Cassidy?” I rise from the bed and walk closer to the door.

She throws up her hands in defeat. “I’ve looked high and low. I can’t find Snuggle Muffins. She’s gone walkabout again.”

I turn to Sam, and mouth, “I’ll be back.”

Sam rolls his eyes and leans back into his pillow, his eyes focused on the ceiling once more. “Old people,” he mumbles as I leave the room.

I place my hand on Mrs Cassidy’s shoulder. “Mrs Cassidy, you don’t have a cat.” I guide her back towards her room. No one is allowed to have pets in here, and thank God for that because there’s no way I could work in this place if cats were allowed to roam the halls.

“Young lady,” she barks out, “I think I’d know very well if I have a cat or not, and I would appreciate it if you could help me find her.” Her grey brows pull together, forming a ‘V’ between them.

“But you don’t—”

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to back chat? Now are you going to help me?”

“Of course, Mrs Cassidy,” I say as we reach her room. “How about you get dressed and I’ll look for her right away?”

She walks farther into her room, taking off her dressing gown to reveal long flannelette pyjamas with black and white cats against a grey background. “What did you lose this time, Frank?” she mutters to herself. “You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your body.”

“I’ll let you know if I find it, Mrs Cassidy,” I say, taking that as my cue to leave as she takes some clothes out of her chest of drawers.

“Find what, dear?” she says, throwing a vacant stare in my direction.

“Your cat.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “My dear, I don’t have a cat. You kids, these days.”

I blink a couple of times, then step backwards, trying to subtly make my getaway before she changes her mind and I have to hunt for an imaginary feline. “Sorry. My apologies.”

I return to reception where Kathleen is flipping through a cooking magazine.

“Mrs Cassidy lost her cat. But then she didn’t.” I tilt my head to the side. “I’m confused.”

“Mrs Cassidy has dementia. Every so often she remembers her cat and goes searching for her. It’s quite sad. It’s best to humour her. She can get quite upset otherwise.”

“Okay, got it.” I nod.

“Oh, and Shirley just rang and said she can’t find her glasses. She’s searched her room and the dining hall. They’re dark purple, with diamantes on the sides. If you don’t see them around, would you mind popping in to see if Gloria has somehow acquired them?”

“Why would Gloria have them?”

“Ah, we haven’t had the Gloria talk yet. Apologies. If someone around here is missing glasses or teeth, Gloria Bushell in room twenty-three is usually the culprit.”

I lean in closer. “She steals teeth?” I whisper, shocked that this is actually a problem. Surely, I just misheard her.

Kathleen chuckles softly. “Yes, she does.”

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