Room 46 & Short Story Collection Page 16

  Edith had been surprised at how willingly they all shared their own stories. She wasn’t sure if it was to humour a person they felt sorry for or if it was just because that despite what most people said they did like to talk about themselves.

  Grace’s arrival at Rosehill impacted Edith more than she expected. It had felt surreal to have someone so young reading and discussing stories with her, making her feel like a teacher again. The fact she was reading Edith’s own stories also gave her an interesting perspective on what she had written. Having always harboured a secret dream to write a book one day, she couldn’t believe it had taken such a life-changing event to make it happen. She had always told her students that the best way to really appreciate a story was to hear it read aloud, although she had never expected just how that point would be proved to her.

  She and Sylvia had come up with the post story discussion as a way to build Grace’s confidence, but Edith had found it to be just as beneficial for her as for the younger woman. It had surprised her too just how much she pitied Grace. She had not felt anything beyond self-pity since the accident and it was comforting on some level that she still possessed the ability to feel sorry for somebody else.

  The decision to record the story without Grace’s permission wasn’t one they had made lightly but both she and Sylvia had felt such a driving need to help. It had saddened her beyond all measure that Grace had left that day in such distress and that she hadn’t had the opportunity to see her again and make things right before her last day there.

  Marion

  Although not part of the staff delegation seated up the front, Marion wouldn’t have missed the official opening of the new wing for anything. So many things had happened since that auspicious day she had come across Grace’s paperwork on Sylvia’s desk, most of all the assuaging of her own guilt.

  Marion thought back to the day at Strauss Academy when she handed in the packet of pills to Saskia Van der Linden. Thinking she was just doing her job, she had not expected the principal to react so severely. And more devastatingly, neither did she expect that young Grace McDonald would take off the way she did. It was one of those days she wished she could rewind and start again.

  With hindsight she wouldn’t have swapped the cleaning days of the east and west blocks or broken her iron clad rule of not moving a student’s personal belongings. She would have dusted around the precarious mound of textbooks on Grace’s desk instead of rescuing them from what she felt was imminent collapse onto the collection of mugs and plates on the floor. Most definitely, she would have listened to the little voice that was telling her that exams were almost over and there was probably no harm done.

  Yes, Marion had tried to make amends and had set in motion a fair measure of damage control. She had planted the idea that Grace’s parents might look for media attention or even sue the school if Ms Van der Linden opted to withhold Grace’s school results. The principal had not admitted to this line of thought but Marion knew her well enough to predict this as a possible course of action. Furthermore, she had assured Ms Van der Linden that the education department didn’t need to know that Grace hadn’t actually attended her last term of school. Given that all her academic work had been completed it was only a technicality anyway.

  She had stayed at the school long enough to make sure Grace did officially graduate from Strauss (at least on paper), then moved on to a new job, convincing long serving secretary Beryl Adams that she should apply for a new position as well. Although the loss of two key staff members would not actually help Grace, Marion did take a small degree of satisfaction at leaving Saskia Van der Linden spectacularly in the lurch right at the beginning of a school year.

  Looking up at the animated young woman on the stage, Marion couldn’t quite decipher what she felt. Pride certainly, but still a trace of guilt and a huge amount of gratitude that like most office workers, the students at Strauss never saw the cleaners who tended to their rooms.

  In the years since the whole incident, Marion had done her best to come to terms with her conscience. She had even had some counselling after she started to obsess about what had happened to Grace. The best case scenario was that the young woman had eventually found her way back home and had rejoiced when her Senior Certificate and OP statement turned up in the letterbox like every other graduate. The worst case scenario had Marion imagining Grace falling into prostitution to support a drug habit or some other unsavoury situation.

  ‘You were just doing your job Marion,’ her psychologist Paula had assured her numerous times. ‘You had no way of knowing what the outcome would be. Didn’t you tell me your code of conduct required you to report anything drug related that you came across no matter how minor?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘No buts Marion, it simply wasn’t your call. Ultimately, Saskia and Grace both over-reacted to something that, all things being fair, should have been sorted out fairly easily.’

  Marion had eventually accepted Paula’s advice and moved on with her life. Leaving the contract cleaning company she had been temping with since her departure from Strauss, she applied for the job at Rosehill. She had been there a year when Edith moved in.

  Sylvia had pulled her aside and informed her that she alone would be cleaning Edith’s room. ‘I just think it would be better to have only one person working in there, given how delicate the situation is,’ she said, leaving Marion to read between the lines.

  Not that the other cleaners minded.

  ‘I seriously couldn’t handle it,’ Zindzi confessed. ‘It would just freak me out to think that can happen to someone so young.’

  Matheus revealed that he suffered from paranoia and couldn’t stand anybody watching him work. And, suddenly petrified that she too might suffer a stroke, Hazel went out on stress leave.

  Marion and Edith had become good friends during the first few months when she could speak, a friendship that continued on into the more difficult times after she lost her speech. Learning so much about the young woman through their regular chats, Marion had done what she could to improve Edith’s quality of life.

  Of course it had to be done through official channels, which was why she always cleaned Sylvia’s office at 8.15 am. The assistant manager always came in a half an hour early to prepare for her day and as unobtrusively as possible Marion always managed to drop what she believed to be relevant information into the brief conversations they shared.

  One day she mentioned she was going to bring in some talking books because Edith loved to read. Another day she commented on the piece on Sixty Minutes about the amazing iPad apps that existed these days. Yet another time she said how sad it was that Edith would never realise her ambition to become a writer. Marion also applied Edith’s make up each morning and convinced her own hairdresser to visit Edith once a week as her way of giving back to the community.

  Despite Sylvia receiving the credit for these ideas, Marion bore no malice. In fact, she was happy enough that they came to fruition at all. She was enough of a pragmatist to accept that while being a cleaner might have educated her far better than any university degree could, the people who ruled the world and its institutions were never going to come to her for advice. Therefore, she had to pitch her ideas to them without them realising who was really steering the boat.

  Grace

  The nerves she had experienced earlier were largely forgotten as her speech gathered steam. Grace had hit her stride and she could see how involved the audience were with the story. For the first time she realised that everybody hadn’t just been trying to make her feel better, she really did seem to have a knack for storytelling.

  ‘We were all devastated to lose Edith from Rosehill,’ she said. ‘For the first few months we just tried to get on with things but eventually we realised that even though she was no longer with us, we had to do something about creating a dedicated wing for young people in full time care. While Edith was the only non-senior resident who has ever lived here at Rosehill, there are hundreds of
younger people living in various aged care facilities around the country, simply because they have no other choices.

  ‘As you can imagine, funding was our greatest challenge. We did all the usual things to raise funds and a few less usual things too but it was the bequests of two former Rosehill residents that finally got the ball rolling. And throughout the whole process Edith has remained foremost in our thoughts.’

  Grace paused and stepped back from the podium to allow a short video to play, honouring the two philanthropist residents whose monetary gifts had kick started the campaign to build the Young Care wing at Rosehill. Blinking back tears she did her best to maintain her composure upon seeing Doris and Archie on the big screen. She had known both of them and remained touched beyond words that they had helped this amazing project happen by the bequests they left in their wills.

  Waiting for the applause to die down, she stepped forward again to continue speaking. ‘While Doris and Archie’s gifts were massive, we don’t have the luxury of resting on our laurels,’ she said. ‘As you can see, the facility is built and fitted out and we will welcome our first residents next week. But to keep this special wing running and give the residents within all the very best therapies available we need more money.

  ‘I know, I know, there are thousands of worthy causes out there so that is why we are not merely asking for donations. Of course if you would like to donate we won’t hold you back, but we have a couple of ventures happening which will get you some bang for your buck. The first of these is Edith’s book, Observations From Room 46, which will be available over to the left of the marquee after the official part of this afternoon is over.’

  A murmur ran around the marquee at this announcement and most of the crowd turned to see the impressive display that had just been unveiled with a huge banner featuring the book cover and stacks of paperbacks on the table below. Once again Grace fought back tears. If only Edith was here to see it, she thought sadly. She caught Sylvia’s eye and could see the other woman was having the same thought.

  ‘If you didn’t come prepared today to purchase a copy, they will be available from the main office right here at Rosehill, from all good bookstores and as an ebook download from all the major digital sellers. In addition to Edith’s book, I and several of my classmates from the UQ School of Music will be running full day musical appreciation workshops for children of all ages over the upcoming school holiday break. At twenty dollars for the day, we think it is amazing value and every cent will go towards the Young Care Wing. Please take a flier and let as many people know about it as you can.

  ‘Finally as an ongoing fundraiser, the students at Edith’s old school Baker College will run a sausage sizzle and coffee stand every Saturday from now on at the Southside Farmers Markets. If you are ever in the area they would love your support.’

  Another round of applause sounded, giving Grace an opportunity to sneak a swig from her water bottle. She’d been fighting an annoying tickle in her throat for the past few minutes and was glad of the chance to quell it before she continued speaking.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming along today and being involved in the opening of our Young Care wing. It is a very exciting day and we are overjoyed that this project has come to fruition. In saying that though we can’t help feeling just a little bit sad too. This is Edith’s day and by rights she should be here to be a part of it. Sadly that was just not meant to be but thanks to the wonders of modern technology you can still send her your support. If you can all please turn to the right and look up you will see a camera. On the count of three when the red light flashes can we all give Edith a big wave.’

  Grace waited a moment while everyone got into position then leaned back down to the microphone. ‘Okay ready one, two, three, wave…’

  Edith

  Edith smiled thankfully as the nurse rearranged her pillows to let her sit up a little. She was still so weak, but definitely starting to improve baby step by baby step. It was hard to read the nurse’s expression behind the facemask, but her eyes were bright and lively. Clapping her hands excitedly she reached onto her trolley and triumphantly held up Edith’s iPad, which was wrapped in clear, sterile plastic. Edith smiled again, delighted to have her link to the outside world back. In truth she had been too sick the past week to even look at it, but she had still felt bereft without it.

  The nurse set the tablet up on the table and used a gloved finger to turn it on and navigate to the live streaming app. She chattered brightly, clearly as excited as Edith to watch the broadcast. Edith caught a few words, but her brain was still too fuzzy to concentrate properly. She had made an effort to learn some Russian phrases before she came but was struggling to recall them at this point in time.

  She watched excitedly as the screen came to life, pixelating for a moment before coming back into focus. Edith’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Grace step up to the podium and begin to speak.

  * * * * *

  It had amazed Edith just how arbitrary the decision was that had taken her from Rosehill. One extra tick on a spreadsheet and she was in the next care bracket, and suddenly the staff who had looked after her so well were deemed no longer competent to continue with her care. The new place was attached to a private hospital with a specialist stroke wing. Everything was state of the art, clean and sterile and she had a higher ratio of carers with more of them being at the RN level. Physically she had the best care possible but mentally she threw in the towel. The drive and courage that had gotten her through those horrible months after the accident and the loss of Joe and that had sustained her throughout the time she lived at Rosehill finally deserted her.

  Due to the limited daytime only visiting hours it was difficult for the staff from Rosehill to visit. They came when they could, but not nearly enough to sustain Edith through the rest of the long, lonely days and weeks. She accepted all the drugs that were offered and refused offers to eat meals in the dining room or to participate in other social activities. She could see how shocked Sylvia and Grace were at her deterioration but just didn’t have the strength to fight any more. It had pleased Edith to see the change in Grace, but not enough to lift the fog of despair that she had sunk into.

  It had taken a lot of negotiation and even more paperwork to allow Edith to be transported back to Rosehill twice a week to take part in the newly instigated music therapy program Grace had set up. It had been another one of Sylvia’s ideas, triggered by watching a documentary about stroke victims who could sing even though they couldn’t speak.

  In the first few sessions, Edith had just gone through the motions, not knowing any of the old time songs the other residents loved and still too cushioned by her medication to connect with what was happening around her. But over time she slowly came around. The regular trips away from her care facility were diversions, and a step outside the very small universe she now occupied. Hearing the songs over and over again helped her learn the words and soon she couldn’t help but participate. At first she couldn’t believe it was actually her voice she was hearing – a little raspy to begin with but as strong and sure as it had ever been as time went on. She wasn’t what you might call a talented singer but she had a fair voice as good as any of the others in the room.

  At first the changes were too small to really notice but gradually they started becoming more significant.

  * * * * *

  ‘It was so exciting to see the changes in Edith,’ Grace said. ‘Especially for me. Remember, I had never heard her speak, so to actually hear her voice in song for the first time was just amazing.’

  A soft murmur ran around the audience, with many people nodding their heads and smiling at this announcement. Grace smiled too, while doing her best not to look at the television camera that was now trained directly on her.

  ‘It wasn’t a miracle cure by any means,’ she continued, ‘but things definitely started to happen. As has been known to happen in many cases, Edith regained some of her speech and her general mood and concentration
also picked up. Within nine weeks she had improved enough to come back to Rosehill. Once we had her back with us I really stepped things up and spent an hour every day after work trying all the techniques available.’

  Grace paused for a moment, centring herself so as to keep her emotions in check and her voice steady.

  ‘To watch Edith slowly claw her way back to limited speech and some movement was the most humbling thing I have ever experienced. Sure she still needed full time care, but the quality of her life improved beyond all expectation. And then one day Edith finally caught the lucky break she so sorely deserved.’

  * * * * *

  Edith hadn’t realised she was crying until she felt her nurse dabbing her cheeks with a tissue. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked in her heavily accented English.

  Edith managed a weary smile. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Happy.’

  ‘Okay,’ the nurse replied, her eyes studying Edith carefully all the same.

  It still felt surreal to be in a hospital ward in Russia. Edith and Joe had talked about visiting Russia and she felt so sad that he wasn’t there to enjoy it with her, limited cultural experience as it was.