A visitor from the mission

Linda was in the bedroom dressing when she heard the outer door of her apartment open.

“Hello, are you home?” called out a man’s voice.

“Oh fuck” she thought, panicking for a moment. There she was, wearing a bra and a pair of Marks and Spencer panties and nothing else. Her pull-on jogger bottom trousers were in her hand and her sweater was on the bed.

“Who the heck is that?” Used to living alone she had not shut her bedroom door and in a moment, she was going to be exposed wearing just her bra and panties!

At that moment the visitor stepped through the outside door and cautiously moved forward feeling his way with his white stick until he came into view.

Linda breathed a sigh of relief. It was blind Paul from the Mission who visited her once a month!

He was groping his way along the hall, one hand on his stick and the other held out feeling his way.

Linda limped slowly across the bedroom. Confident now. The poor fucker couldn’t see her

“Mind you don’t fall on my walker” she shouted. The walker was a frame on four legs with wheels that she used to lean on to get around. It was parked at the entrance to her bedroom along with her wheelchair. She was no longer very mobile.

“You are early Paul – you are a naughty boy - you caught me in my undies!” she teased.

He seemed confused – poor soul – and looked in her direction with sightless eyes.

Taking his arm, she directed him towards the living room and a chair. They limped along together. His arm was tucked against her bare ample stomach just beneath her breasts. He seemed to lighten up.

“You are a fine figure of a woman” he joined in with the teasing as he sat down.

“Hahaha” Linda was laughing now. “You should be so lucky”

As she limped back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed, she contemplated how sad it was that such a nice-looking young man was blind. Poor soul. He had no idea what he looked like, and, in her estimation, he was pretty hot.

“If I was fifty years younger, I might fancy a bit.” She smiled to herself as she dragged on her clothes. She had been hot herself in her younger days.

Paul, meanwhile, sitting in the living room could smell a faint odour. Is it just the way old people smell? He wondered about this for a few minutes. It was unpleasant whatever it was, and he took a mint out of his pocket and sucked it.

Eventually Linda returned to the living room wearing all her clothes and pushing her walker. She collapsed into the chair opposite Paul.

“I am exhausted!” she said, “Just wait until you get to my age and you find it hard to get dressed.”

She didn’t offer him a drink of tea. She knew that this was rude, but she couldn’t do it. Her arthritic hands wouldn’t allow her to lift the kettle and pour water into the cups. Then of course, she would have to open the fridge and get the milk out. All too much for her. Her carer would be back in a couple of hours, and she would make a drink.

Linda turned rheumy eyes on Paul sitting patiently waiting to speak.

When he realised that she was seated he began to speak.

“Can we begin with a short prayer.” He already had his hands together as in prayer, and his eyes were closed.

Linda obediently closed her eyes and dipped her head.

He launched forth into a long prayer about humility and caring for others.

“Oh my goodness” she thought “what a bore he is!”

How could anyone believe all the rubbish he spouted?

Humility? My days, she thought, had he never met any of the other stuck-up morons that lived in this Assisted Living Facility? What they knew about humility you could write on the back of a cigarette packet.

Her mind wandered to lunch yesterday in the restaurant downstairs. She had sat next to Chris, a retired lawyer, who never missed an opportunity to remind you of that fact. Yesterday he was in full flow about Denise his eldest daughter who was a university lecturer and rising star in her faculty.

Linda tended to keep quiet about her own daughter who had never been particularly accomplished at anything. She hated the stuffed shirts who lived here. Pompous idiots!

After what seemed like an eternity the pious prayer ended.

“Thank you for praying for me” Linda said humbly, trying to stifle a yawn.

Paul nodded and made some polite conversation about the weather and the traffic on the High Street.

After a short while he stood and made his excuses to leave.

“Thank you so much for supporting the work of the Mission” he said out loud. “Remember you can watch us on Sunday morning online at 10”

“Oh I’ll be watching, thank you Paul” beamed Linda.

“Don’t get up – I can see myself out” and he set off leading with his white stick, tap, tap and tap.

Safely out in the corridor he tapped along to the lift, then navigated the reception area.

“Are you leaving us now, Paul?” shouted out Carrie, the receptionist.

“Yes, for now”

“Keep up the good work with the Mission. Your visits here are really appreciated by our residents.”

Out of the main door now. Tap, tap, tap.

A smile broke out across Paul’s features. Not long now.

Tap, tap, tap down the drive of the assisted living facility and then right onto the High Street. Forty steps and then left into “The Plough”. A fine hostelry on the High Street. He smelled the beer immediately he went over the threshold and his spirits lifted.

“Your usual, Paul” shouted out Dan, the landlord.

Tap, tap, tap and then he felt a bar stool and climbed up onto it. Reaching his hands out he felt the cold glass before him. A pint of lager, bliss!

He downed it in one, smacking his lips “Aaah” he sighed “Another, my good man”

Dan laughed “A rough day, eh?”

“They are all fucking rough days” smiling now from ear to ear so Dan could see he was joking.

Within an hour he had sunk 5 pints and was checking the time he had to leave for his bus to return home to his beloved Sheila. She would have made him a meal, and if he was lucky would be in the mood for a cuddle.

At the bus stop he accepted help from a young woman to get onto the bus. Sitting on the bus he dreamed of the cold beer and hot woman waiting for him at home.