Fat Girl Slim Forever: The truth will out... by Marina Johnson

Author:Marina Johnson [Johnson, Marina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamarillas Press
Published: 2023-07-16T23:00:00+00:00

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It’s the post lunch lull; after being fed, watered and toileted, all the residents are dozing in their chairs in the lounge. The air smells of shepherd’s pie and bodily functions. I leave Trev tidying the kitchen and Judy and Anita wiping non-existent crumbs from tables and head towards Albert’s room. Anita took his lunch down to him and when Trev asked her how he was, she answered alright, so I guess he’s still alive. He’s hardly rung his buzzer at all this week and I wonder if he’s on his way out. Trev says an unusual quietness is quite a common sign that death is going to visit the home. The way Trev puts it is that the body is slowing down and they’re winding down to their last breath. I tried to remember if Mother was like that but can’t; I don’t think Mother was ever quiet.

I do the required number of knocks on Albert’s door, but he doesn’t respond so I go straight in. Slumped in his wheelchair at the end of the room, his lunch is sitting untouched on a tray on the table in front of him. He doesn’t look up as I walk towards him and I wonder if Trev’s right.

‘Not hungry?’ I ask.

He shakes his head but doesn’t answer. Strangely, I miss the insults that he usually hurls at me.

‘What’s up with you? Cat got your tongue?’ I say with a grin. ‘Not like you to be so quiet.’

I’m just thinking he hasn’t heard me when he looks up at me.

‘I’m tired.’

‘Of course you’re tired, you’re ancient.’ He won’t let that go. He won’t be able to resist telling me to fuck off or something similar.

He doesn’t say anything and stares into space.

I pull the table away from him and manoeuvre it out of the way so I can sit on the bed.

‘What’s wrong, Albert?’

He looks at me and then at the door.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ He says it so quietly I can barely hear him.

I lean forward with my arms on my knees and as I move my feet, something crunches beneath them. I shift my foot and stare down at the shard of glass lying on the carpet. I reach down and pick it up.

‘Broken something, Albert?’

He shakes his head and I see his hands tighten on the tartan blanket.

‘What’s that you’ve got there, Albert?’

He stares down at the blanket for a moment and then slowly puts one hand underneath and pulls out a picture frame. I lean over and take it from him.

The frame is bent and the glass is gone; it looks as if someone has trodden on it. The photo inside the frame is badly creased; it’s been screwed up into a ball and then unfurled and smoothed out. It’s a black and white portrait of a young woman.

‘Your wife?’ I ask.

‘My Joyce,’ Albert says quietly, taking the frame from me and tucking it back underneath the blanket.

‘How did it get broken?’

He shakes his head, refusing to look at me.

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