Page 62 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next morning, I almost fall off my chair when Sally-Anne comes into work.

“Morning,” she says, bright as a button with a certain spring in her step. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was glowing.

Did she really have a migraine yesterday?

Mind your business, Jane. It’s not your problem.

“Morning,” I reply from my chair, trying to sound equally as chipper. I blow out a loud breath. The fact that she’s here takes the pressure off me. Now I can concentrate on the workshop.

“The information packs are done,” I tell her as she takes her jacket off and hangs it on the back of her chair.

“Oh,” Sally-Anne says in return.

Oh? I just managed a big part of your job and that’s all you have to say?

“You’re welcome,” I say, and flash her a fake smile.

She adjusts the scarf on her neck, but I don’t miss the purple patch of skin below her ear.

Was that what she was doing yesterday? Getting busy with someone? I feel like drawing attention to the mammoth hickey, but it’s not my place. I’m sure Kathleen will see it eventually anyway. Something that big won’t go unnoticed.

She fishes a phone from her pocket and looks at it as if I’m not even there.

“So, have a good morning,” I say, and select a walkie-talkie from the charger, clip it on the dress of my belt, and pick up the bunch of flowers I cut from my garden this morning.

Her head swings in my direction at lightning speed. “You’re not gonna be around this morning?”

Oh, that gets her attention. She might have to do some work for a change. “Nope.Bigworkshop on today. Need to get sorted.”

I don’t feel the least bit bad when I leave reception. I’ve covered enough for her lately. Besides, I have a very important job to do.

***

This morning, as well as setting up, I feel I need to spend some time chatting to the residents. I go to the nurses’ station and check in with Paige. I’m relieved when she tells me that Mrs Lee slept well. I leave the flowers at the station for Paige to take to her room.

As I make my way around the home, I remind everyone about the workshop and try and round up a few more participants along the way.

Frederick is a hard nut to crack. He has no desire to do anything arty, but talk to him about food, and he’s in. He promises to come on the condition that the cooking class is held in the next few weeks. That man knows how to play hardball.

Mr Ryan chuckled when I asked him about coming, and reminded me that he’s yet to see lamb on the menu. I promise him that I’ll speak to Pauline about it. I know lamb can be expensive, but I’m sure we could negotiate a deal with Noel, the butcher on Main Street. He played rugby with my dad, so surely, we’ll be able to get mates’ rates.

Shirley is sitting in her usual sunny spot in the corner of the dining hall, book in hand.

“Do you know whodunnit yet?” I ask.

She looks up. With a soft smile, Shirley takes off her glasses, placing them on the lamp table beside her. With her slim fingers, she picks up a lace bookmark from her lap and places it in between the pages. “It’s not that type of book, dear. This is a romance. The old-fashioned kind.”

Shirley flips the book around, revealing a couple on the cover dancing on what looks like the streets of Paris. “Is that your favourite genre to read?”

“Oh, yes, dear,” she says with a swoop of her grey hair from her face. “But I’ll read anything. I can’t be too picky. Sometimes you have to take what’s available.”

“Hmm. I have some books at home I’d be happy to loan you. You’d have to promise to take special care of them though, as they’re signed by the author.”

“I promise.” Her eyes widen as she nods repeatedly. “Who wrote the books?”

“Have you heard of Violet J. Rhynehart?”

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