Back in Mother’s room, I helped her into her armchair, positioned the table in front of her and waited. Most of the other residents on this floor went to the dining room for lunch, so Jolene would be along soon. Worried she might recognise me and ruin my plan, I did my best to change my appearance. My hair, short though it was, was tied back with a band. I pulled it out and fluffed my hair. As disguises went, it wasn’t great, but my mobile phone would help. Its cover opened like a book and with it open and held in front of my ear, and my fingers spread, a large part of my face was hidden.
When I heard the trolley stop outside, I began an imaginary conversation. ‘No, that’s absolutely fine, I can go there directly from here.’ I nodded my head as if agreeing with whatever was being said. When I saw Jolene’s figure appear, I dropped my voice slightly. ‘No, that’s not a problem, honestly—’ I tapped a finger of my free hand on the table. ‘You can leave the medication here, nurse, thanks, I’m used to giving them to Mum.’ I spoke more rapidly into the phone. ‘Believe me, I can make it. No problem.’ I kept up my side of a ridiculously inane conversation – seriously I have no imagination – until I heard the trolley rattling away down the corridor.
I peered into the medicine cup she’d left on the table. Six tablets. The same ones every day. Three of which were supplied in packets, not on cards. I fished them out, replaced them with the three I had purloined earlier and sat back with a smile.
This was going to be perfect.
I still had about six minutes before supper arrived. Plenty of time to put the cat among the pigeons.
I was in luck and the manager, Stefan Albescu, was in his office. Through the open doorway, I could see his fingers flying over the keyboard, his forehead creased in a frown of concentration as he stared at the computer screen. If he was having a rough day, I was about to make it worse.
I rapped my knuckles against the door and when he looked up I smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Stefan, but I have a problem.’
‘A problem?’ His tone of voice inferred this was impossible, but then he smiled, shrugged and waved me to a seat. ‘It seems to have been a day for them.’
He’d been manager of the home for almost eight years. Efficient, supremely professional, kind to the residents, fair to the staff, he was the best manager the home had had in the years Mother had been there. We had a cordial relationship. It was easy: he ran a good home so I rarely had need to complain. That worked in my favour.
I put the medicine pot on his desk. ‘As you know I frequently visit at mealtimes and give Mum her meal and her medication. Being a nurse, it’s instinct to check them and,’ – I tilted my head at the container – ‘unless there’s been some major change in her medication since I saw her last two days ago, these aren’t correct.’
‘If there’d been any change, we’d have let you know,’ he said, reaching a hand out to pick up the container. He peered at them. ‘I’m not terribly au fait with your mother’s medication regime.’ His eyes met mine and I could see the cogs turning. ‘Give me a minute to see what’s what.’
He was on his feet and out the door before I had a chance to reply.
When there was no sign of his return several minutes later, I pushed the chair back and crossed to the door, ducking back behind it when I heard raised voices approach.
‘I don’t know what’s going on!’ Jolene’s voice, high and whiney. ‘I don’t make drug errors. I’m very careful. If there was an error, it was down to the disorganisation of the drug trolley. A total mess.’
Stefan walked to the entrance door, pressed the code to release it and pushed it open. ‘You know the old saying, a poor workman blames his tools. You made a serious error. I’ll be having words with your agency and will be reporting the error to the NMC.’
He was too professional to slam the door in her wake; I wasn’t and punched the air in satisfaction before returning quickly to my seat. The Nursing and Midwifery Council took any breach of their code seriously and medication errors were dealt with severely. Jolene would be struck off the nursing register. Patients and residents, anyone unfortunate enough to have been in her care, would be a little safer.
Stefan was very apologetic. ‘It shouldn’t have happened and thank goodness you were here today and noticed.’ He pressed his lips together. Jolene’s supposed crime reflected poorly on him and on the home. ‘You have our apologies and assurance this won’t happen again.’
It was an assurance he shouldn’t make. Unfortunately, mistakes did happen, medication errors were made. Usually, they had no repercussions. A lack of care, however, was a different matter. It would be a while before I could forget poor Mr Wallace.
‘I’ve always been happy with the care here. I’m sure it won’t change.’ I’d make damn sure it wouldn’t. ‘It was a once-off accident, Stefan, please, think no more of it. I’m impressed you acted so swiftly.’ More than impressed, I was delighted.
I was back with my mother just as one of the dining room staff was walking towards her room with her supper tray.
‘A bit late today,’ she said, putting the tray down on the table in front of my mother.
‘No problem. It looks good, thank you.’ I waited till she was gone before pulling my chair closer. ‘Chicken curry, Mum. Your favourite.’ It had been. In a different time, a different life. One of the meals she’d often cooked. From scratch. Crushing spices, marinading pieces of chicken. I’d sit and watch, my nose twitching as the aromas hit me. And then, in the glow of the overhead light, we’d sit, Mother, Father and I, and we’d laugh, talk and eat the meal. Such happiness.
Was it real? I don’t know if it was, or if over the years I’d painted my past in pretty colours, reinventing it to make everything easier. I was no longer able to separate the life I’d had, from the life I longed to have lived.
Sometimes, like now, I’d drift off and forget my role. Mother wouldn’t reach out and nudge me, wouldn’t complain to be kept waiting for the next mouthful, wouldn’t say the food was cold when I did eventually remember what I was supposed to be doing.
After lunch, I’d read snippets from the newspaper I paid to have delivered every day. I had asked that the staff take time to read even a little of it to her when I wasn’t there, but sometimes I’d find the previous days’ newspapers in such a pristine shape that I knew they hadn’t been opened.
Annoyance at their neglect would be balanced by a reluctant understanding. They felt, no doubt, that their time was better spent than reading the news to a woman who showed no evidence of caring what was happening in the world. I could have saved myself a great deal of money, and read the same newspaper over and over and my mother wouldn’t have known the difference.
‘Let’s see what’s happening today, Mum.’ I unfolded the paper on the table and started to read it, page by page.
‘That’s it, Mum,’ I said, helping her to drink the last drop of tea. ‘I’m going to head home now, okay?’
Sometimes, when I leaned close and pressed my lips against her cheek, I’d be certain she was going to say something, going to reach up with her hand and pat my cheek, turn her head to meet my lips with hers, look me in the eyes and silently beg my forgiveness.