Page 55 of The Winter We Met
Alf pulled a face. ‘No offence, Oliver, but some things sound like they just never should be.’
‘Glenda and I will have one, won’t we?’ said Nik.
Oliver gave a smile – the fixed one he used with rude customers or when our landlord demanded more rent.
‘Snowflake Martini for me, please,’ piped up Nancy. ‘It looks like it belongs in my granddaughter’s favourite film,Frozen. I’ll take a photo and send it to her, now that she’s shown me how to add attachments to emails.’
Drinks circulated the room, along with jokes about how the residents were all living the high life, now that they were famous. The banter almost blocked out the sound of rain pelting down outside.
‘This eggnog is fantastically decadent,’ I said to Oliver, who’d come around the other side of the hatch and had been scribbling down residents’ suggestions, Martini coming up more than once as a favourite ingredient.
‘It’s the least everyone deserves. I still can’t believe they’ll all be gone in less than a month.’
Glenda came over, holding a half-full glass. ‘This is delicious thank you, Oliver, although I do hope it doesn’t aggravate my indigestion.’
‘How is it going collecting everyone’s photos? I’d love to see them,’ I said.
‘I forgot to bring them. Nik’s just popped to my room to pick them up.’
‘You gave him your key?’ asked Oliver.
‘Nik’s so helpful and generous. He made himself quite at home there when he popped in before our trip to The Corner Dessert Shop, to help me with paperwork. He’s going through the directory with me. Also I mentioned that I find my finances and visits to the bank increasingly difficult to manage and he’s offered to help me set up online banking.’
‘He what?’
I kicked Oliver sharply on the ankle as Glenda headed over to speak to Gran.
‘What was that for?’ he hissed. ‘Someone should tell her to be more careful sharing her personal details.’
‘Please. Let’s not spoil the great atmosphere.’ Shaking my head, I walked away.
At that moment Nik came back. He walked slowly, arms linked with Betty. He must have met her in the corridor. It was so good to see her looking relaxed and free from her restlessness for a few moments. I heard a knock on glass. Someone must have been at the front door. Distracted, Betty let go of Nik and went to look. He came into the lounge and helped Glenda spread the photos over the table.
‘I haven’t called on everyone yet,’ she said to the room. ‘But thanks to everyone for being so welcoming. Yesterday I was invited into three rooms and Lynn brought hot drinks and biscuits. So far everyone has found several photos each for me to display so we are building quite a collection.’
I went over and scanned the black and white shots. Men in military uniform. Women in floral dresses and hats. Classic cars driving down roads. Scampish children running around, playing with skipping ropes and footballs. Happy times on beaches and outside churches. And some of the residents as young people – Fred in his fireman’s uniform with a quiff of thick chestnut hair and Nancy as a young Girl Guide.
Lynn came in carrying a black dustbin bag. She walked more slowly than usual, her normally pink cheeks looking sallow. She went over to one of the tables by the back window and emptied the contents onto it.
‘These are the twigs and cones we collected in Springhaye Forest on Wednesday,’ she announced in a tired voice. ‘I believe Glenda will be using some of them to make a frame for the photos. You might all like to take a look and get those creative juices going. Sunday afternoon we’ll start decorating them. I’ve ordered in spray cans of white paint and glitter. They should get here tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps we could draw up a schedule for each crafting session we’ve planned,’ I said to Gran.
‘Maybe,’ she said vaguely.
‘We should focus on a different element each time,’ I continued brightly. ‘Like one session for making woodland decorations – perhaps another for the dough ones Gran used to make, then there are the paper angels… We also need to factor in any baking we want to do, for those keen to contribute to the buffet and practise making the American cookies.’
‘Excellent idea,’ said Glenda. ‘Organisation, organisation, organisation was my mantra during all the years I worked as a personal assistant.’
She stole a look at Nik who gave her a smile of approval. He’d magically dispelled the grumpiness she normally displayed around festive activities.
‘Alf, how are you getting on with the invitation cards?’ I asked. Normally Gran would have been chasing everyone up.
Alf had been writing in a notebook. He looked up from his chair next to Fred’s. ‘I finished the last one yesterday.’ He lifted a plastic bag onto his lap. ‘Everyone help yourself. Remember there are two each, seeing as we’ve limited it to sixty guests. I’ve enjoyed using the old calligraphy skills again.’
‘Were you always a calligrapher?’ asked Nancy.
Alf took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘No. I was a bookkeeper until I retired. I always loved writing – figures or letters – but saw my retirement as a chance to do something more creative. My Maisie made it clear our retirement wasn’t going to be about lounging in front of the box all day…’ He chuckled to himself. ‘So I took a course and even did a bit of freelance work with companies designing T-shirts or developing stationery headings. Then when my heart problems started, and I got tired from time to time, it became a hobby.’
