Emerald Oasis Four: Rodger Bentley

There was a baby on the floor. Joyce had seen many bizarre things happen since she moved into Emerald Oasis Nursing Home, but this was beyond a joke. Joyce picked the baby up and tried to comfort it. He was still crying. Poor thing, she thought. The baby had nothing. His frail skin exposed to the cold breeze from the window. He didn't even have a nappy. Joyce removed her lime green cardigan and wrapped it around the baby's body. The baby's mother had to be young or somebody new to parenting. No decent parent would ever leave a child on the floor naked by the window.

"Don't worry," Joyce assured the child who was screaming. "I'm going to find your mother. She can't have gone far."

The doors were guarded. If the mother had brought the child with her into the home, she would doubt the staff would let her leave unless they knew where the baby was. With the baby cradled in her hands, she ventured around the home looking for anybody who seemed to have been missing a child.

The journey of finding the child's mother was going to be a daunting one. Even if the mother and child had been reunited, it wouldn't be for long. Joyce presumed that the child would be taken into care and adopted into a nicer family.

She saw nothing of the sort. The baby's bottom was still dry, but she knew it wouldn't be long until it would go. She went into the nurse's office, hoping that they could be of some assistance.

"Good morning Joyce," the nurse said. "What can I do for you?"

"I've found this baby boy on the floor," Joyce explained to the nurse. It was strange confiding in somebody younger than Joyce. She was so used to everybody else flocking to her for some wisdom. "I need to find his mother, but I also need some nappies for her. Do you keep any baby nappies in here?"

The nurse shook her head. "I'm afraid not. But we have pads in the cupboard if you need them."

Joyce squinted. "No, they're for the baby." She sighed. The nurse was going on about something else, but due to her thick African accent and Joyce's poor hearing, she didn't understand a word. "Well, I'm sorry for wasting your time."

She left the nurse's office and carried on walking down the corridor until she found the library where Larry the rabbit hopping about. Two old ladies were snoozing on the sofa near the window as a man sat by the table reading vintage books. It was Rodger Bentley, who once owned the toy factory in town.

The baby cried again. This time it sounded demonic and deep. Joyce's heart was pounding harder and her hands were beginning to tremble. She tried to comfort the boy. "Hush! It's alright. We will find mummy soon. If only I knew your name..."

"He won't have a name," Rodger said.

"He's got to have a name."

"Well, it's certainly not going to be Pinocchio."

"Don't beat around the bush," Joyce requested. "I'm really getting a headache."

"All right then, the truth is: you're not going to find his mother," Rodger Bentley roared, standing up with his hands on his hips. "That's a doll."

"It can't be a doll," Joyce said. "It's moving and crying."

"I've worked with toys all my life," Rodger said with his eyes popped open. He confiscated the baby off Joyce. "I know what I'm talking about. This little boy needs some new batteries." Rodger unwrapped the toy and slammed the doll on the table with his back facing the ceiling. He pulled the back and it revealed two pale batteries. Rodger dug deep into his pocket. "I think I've got some in here. Ah! Here we go."

Within five minutes the baby doll was back to life. He giggled and Rodger placed the doll on the floor and began to move. Joyce was stunned. She couldn't believe what had just happened.

As the robotic doll crawled upon Joyce's feet, she was reminded of happier times when were two children were young. Their earliest memories; Joyce's sheer delight.

"Hello Mrs Patrick," a man behind her spoke. Joyce quickly became puzzled until she turned around and saw a man in a black tuxedo. The chunky badge on his breast pocket stood out from the dapper clothes. "I'm Dr Abbey."

"Hello dear," Joyce said with a smile on her face. "Have we met before?"

"We have," Dr Abbey responded. "But that was when you were in the hospital. Following your fall."

Joyce's mouth dropped. "I had a fall? I'm sorry Doctor, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well it was a while ago," Dr Abbey said. "Shall we have a sit-down or would you like to go to your room."

"Don't mind me," Rodger said, putting his tools back in his pocket. "I'm going back to my room."

"Your daughter asked me to see you."

"She did?"

"She said you appeared to be more confused nowadays."

Joyce shook her head. "No, I'm not confused. It's this place, weird things are happening here."

"Okay then," Dr Abbey said. "Can you give an example of weird things happening in the home."

Joyce couldn't get the image of the robotic baby out of her mind. "Well, before you came, there was this baby on the floor. I picked it up and looked around and tried to find his mother and then I found out that it wasn't a real baby."

Dr Abbey peered over Joyce's shoulder and found the toy in question. "It does very realistically from this angle. So I have to ask you, are you in any pain at all?"

Joyce shook her head once again. "No, as a matter of fact. I don't think there's anything wrong with me at all. I think I'm perfectly well enough to go back to my old home. But to be honest, I like it here. Better than being stuck up in my old flat. I like going into the garden to see the fairies."

"Yes," Dr Abbey said. "The fairies are wonderful. Is there anything that you'd like me to do for you?"

"You can come again."

"I'll tell them to inform your daughter that you're in good hands. As far I can see there's nothing wrong with you. You're improved greatly since coming out of the hospital."

Dr Abbey and Joyce said their goodbyes. She could see the staff racing with trolleys faster than the speed of light. So fast their bodies became blue blurs against the walls. Joyce was quick to spot Larry hopping about in his rabbit form.

"He was quick wasn't he?" Larry squeaked twitching his whiskers. "He was only here five minutes. How come you didn't tell him I could turn into a wolf?"

"I didn't think it would be appropriate," Joyce responded firmly holding onto the edge of the chair. "My daughter already thinks I'm mad, I'm not giving her the satisfaction."

"You told her about the fairies though," Larry pointed out.

"Just because I can't remember every single detail, it doesn't mean that I have dementia or any obscene illness."

Larry hopped onto Joyce's lap. "I didn't mean it in that way. I understand where you're coming from, but I feel left out."

"Why?"

"Because I always get left out," Larry sobbed, bopping his head up above Joyce's hand. "I haven't got anybody to talk to."

"You've got me,"

Rodger came back to the lounge with a packet of crayons in his hand. "I just thought you'd like to know that that is a real rabbit."

"I know. I've been talking to him." Joyce peered over at his crayons. "Where did you get those from?"

"One of the staff gave them me," Rodger responded. "I asked them if I could have something to colour things with and they gave me these. I wanted some paint to be honest."

"Why didn't you just ask for paint?"

"I don't want them asking too many questions," Rodger admitted. "I'm making a toy." He went on to whisper.

"What kind of toy?"

"It's a doll for my granddaughter, it's her birthday in a few days. It's a surprise."

"Can I see what you've made so far?" Joyce asked.

Rodger nodded and opened the second door to the right towards the dining room. His room seemed much bigger than Joyce's: it even had two beds. The beds were merged together by the window and resembled a double bed. In the middle of the room was his wardrobe with its doors wide open. There very few clothes but his wardrobe appeared to be piled up with endless art supplies and tools that many would consider junk.

The chest of draws had been converted into his own office. Old sheets of newspaper covered the blue carpet. Rodger strolled over to his chair and opened the top set of draws. Out came a rag-doll with heart-shaped eyes and plump lips.

"Not much left to do," he said. "Just need to give her some hair.

"Wow!" Joyce was amazed at the quality of the materials and the glossy shine of the doll's lips. "It's so adorable. I can't believe how realistic the lips are."

Rodger got out a piece of paper. "This is what my granddaughter drew for me." The woman in the picture looked so much like the rag-doll.

"Can I ask why her eyes are shaped like a heart?"

Rodger chuckled his eyes on the paper. "Because I told her that her granny had a very good heart and a lovely pair of eyes."

Joyce thought he was going to say something else. "How come you have two beds instead of one?"

"Tim used to live here with me here," Rodger explained. "He never married or had any children of his own. When my Mavis died, he took over from here you could say."

"Tim of any relation to you?"

"He's my twin," Rodger explained. "We always shared what we had. What's mine is yours is what he used to say. My girls were his as much as they were mine. Best brother anyone could ask for. He had plans. He wanted to get out one last time and see his favourite city. Fate had other plans. Just collapsed and that was that. So I decided to carry on where he left off."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm planning my escape," he said to her. "My brother died before he could finish the plan."

"Do you think this plan will really work?"

"Yes, we just have to wait for the right moment."

"We..." Joyce had no recollection of signing up to Rodger's plan. "Why would you want to leave a nice place like this?"

"Don't get me wrong, I love it here, but I'm just fed up being in here twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."

"Why don't you come out in the garden more often?" Joyce suggested. She loved the garden, she hoped to show them more of the fairies to prove that she wasn't barking mad.

"I've been there many times. Nothing special once you get used to it."

"You haven't seen the fairies have you?"

"No, because they don't exist!"

"Don't say that!" Joyce snapped. "You kill a fairy every time you say that."

Rodger put his hand on his hips. "And I suppose Santa Claus is going to drop down dead if I say he isn't real?"

"He might do," Joyce said. "He's getting old now."

"Time's getting on," Rodger hissed, taking the topic to a close. "They'll be calling us for tea soon."

"I fancy a fry up right now..."

"Good luck with that," Rodger said, following Joyce to the dining room. "They only do fry-ups on a Sunday morning."

Just as Joyce was about to leave, she noticed Rodger picking up a samurai sword from out of his closet. "Wait! Where did you get that sword from?"

"Oh, you mean this? Do you know remember Maurice Badger?"

"Yes, I do. His nephew was an author."

"I got this from his collection."

"But Mr Badger said to me that the rumour about his samurai sword collection was a lot of baloney."

"Well you sit down," Rodger said. "I'm going to tell you a story about the real Mr Badger." 

Samurai Badger

Mr Badger liked his bed. Of course, he loved his wife, but his bed was what he loved the most. He had a long-lived affair with his bed. Who could blame him? He dedicated sixty years of his life towards the creative arts and child welfare. When he wore his Salvation Army uniform for the last time, he envisioned a quiet life in the countryside.

It was easy to spot him anywhere; leopard-striped shorts, white vest, and a heart-shaped beard. His wife and son used to say men of his age should dress sensibly: he took no notice. And that was another reason why he liked his bed: nobody could tell him what to wear.

He never did move to the countryside as he spent most of his life savings on frequent holidays, samurai swords and a motorbike. His wife had traded him in for a younger model but didn't bother divorcing. 

A policeman knocked on his door.

"Are you Maurice Badger?"

He went blank, then shook his head. "I've never heard of a Maurice Badger."

"That's funny," the copper snapped. "We only know of one Mr. Badger in this property."

"Yes, I'm Mr. Badger."

"Well, we've had reports of a man matching your description wandering around Bicester Village waving samurai swords."

"Really?" Mr Badger acted surprised.

"I have a warrant to search the property. If we find anything, we can charge you for holding a dangerous weapon."

"Be my guest!"

The police were there for about half an hour. They couldn't find a thing. Mr Badger was furious, he had only made the bed nice earlier and now it looked like a bomb had hit it.

"You found anything?" Mr Badger asked with a toothy grin and folded arms.

"No," the copper shouted. "I'm off. I've got better things to do then follow old nutters like you."

Mr Badger jumped straight back into the bed again. "Don't forget to shut the door behind you."

He waited until the police had left before calling his son.

"The person you are calling is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the beep."

"All right Son? Don't forget to bring my swords back when you've got the time."

His neighbour, Stephen Duffy, barged through the door, squeezing through the narrow corridor. Behind him was his wife, Ai.

"Mr Badger! We're here!"

He groaned. Will he ever be able to get his peace and quiet, he asked himself. Mr Badger sat himself up as Stephen and Ai took a seat on the green chairs in the corner of Mr Badger's room. Ai's emerald dress blended with the chair. "You've been painting again," she said. "I love that picture of Kyoto Bridge: takes me right back to my childhood."

Mr Badger nodded. "Thank you. How did the case go?"

Stephen leant over towards Mr Badger.

"It's a happy ending! Take away the fees, I'm getting £25,000 in compensation."

Mr Badger raised his fist in the air. "You teach those heartless bastards a lesson," he roared. "I just had the police round."

"What for?" Stephen asked.

"For waving swords about in Bicester Village," he laughed. "Why would I be in Bicester Village for?"

Ai shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know."

Mr and Mrs Duffy thought that Mr Badger was sensational—he knew it more than anyone else. They thought that he couldn't even hurt a fly.

"These coppers don't know what they're doing," Stephen was interrupted by a knock on the door. "I'll get that!" He opened the door. "Hello, Audrey!"

"Hello, I've brought Mr Badger's shopping."

"Audrey!" Mr Badger squealed in delight with the soft sound of her voice and the rattles of glass bottles. "How lovely to hear your voice."

Audrey was so thin and small that Mr Badger couldn't spot her behind Stephen's bulky frame, he was amazed his chairs could even hold his weight.

"Where are you, Love?" Mr Badger called.  

"I'm in the fridge putting your stuff away."

"Thank you so much!"

Then there was another knock on the door. This time it was his nephew, James Dozen. He was an aspiring author.

"Uncle Badger! My, you're popular today."

"Oh James, it's you. Have you got anything new for me to read?"

"Yes," James said as he ran to his uncle's bedside. He presented his uncle with a blue paperback.

"A Journey Through The Haunted Country by James Dozen... this looks exciting. How is your biography of Alan Rickman getting on?"

"Selling reasonably well," James admitted. "Not quite the bestseller yet."

"And what's this novel about?"

"It's a ghost story mainly: all the characters are dead."

Mr Badger chuckled. "I better be careful, or else I'll be in the sequel."

The next two hours felt like mere minutes. He was happy to have visitors, but even more happy to have that tranquillity that he always wanted. He could finally go to bed, he thought. He didn't care that it was only three in the afternoon. By the time he woke up, the sun was down. His fingers twitched out of boredom. He didn't fancy reading anything or staying in the house, so he hopped out of bed and took a ride on his motorbike. 

He drove outside his wife's bungalow and noticed her standing outside the window. He pulled over to her window. If the motorbike's engine didn't wake her up, he didn't know what would. It was his turn to knock the door for a change. 

"What do you want, Maurice?" 

"Sylvia!" Mr Badger squeezed her with both his arms. "I missed you so much." 

"I didn't." 

"I've been quite lonely without you."

"Stop playing games," Sylvia shrieked. "You come driving into my house in the middle of the night and act as if nothing has happened." 

"But you love me..." 

"Not anymore," Sylvia hissed. "You've changed Maurice. You used to be a nice and gentleman. Now you wave swords about in public and pretend to be bedridden so half the street worships you." 

"I don't do that," Mr Badger said. "Now don't be silly. I've got the kettle in at home. Let's have a cup of tea together." 

"It will get cold by the time we get to yours." 

"It will be fine: I will ride fast on my motorbike." 

"That piece of junk?"

"It's not junk - her name is Sylvia II." 

"As daft as it is, it's..." 

"Sweet like you?" 

"Took the words right out of my mouth there." 

Mr Badger took Sylvia by the hand. "Let's go home." 

The deal was sealed with a kiss. 

End

"I didn't know Sylvia got back with him in the end," Joyce noted. "I thought she filed for divorce." 

Rodger shook his head. "The divorce was never finalized. You know this is all based on a true story. The day after this they rang their solicitors and said they've chosen to stay married. And as you already know Sylvia died the following month." 

Joyce jumped as her hands trembled into her lap. "No...I didn't know. Oh, what a shame." 

Joyce had her tea with Rodger in the lounge that night. Victoria Knight and Dorothy Milkman were also sitting on the same table. The dining experience would have been more pleasant if it wasn't for the lady in the corner of the room wasn't stripping off and tossing her bra onto people's food.

"Doris!" the nurse said. "Please put your clothes back on."

Joyce nudged Rodger's shoulder. "Don't be so disgusting."

"I can't help it," Rodger shouted. "It's right in front of me. Not a bad pair are they?"

"You dirty man!"

Victoria sat back in her wheelchair and looked away from Rodger. "Nothing's changed since school. You were always sneaking in on us in the girl's changing rooms."

"Don't be daft," Rodger snarled. "I was a good boy at school."

Victoria laughed. "Explain why you got all those lashes from Mr Moody."

"I think you've got me confused with somebody else."

Victoria shook her head as Joyce and Dorothy observed the quick quarrel with a dash of entertainment. "I'm so disappointed in you Rodger Bentley. I was your first love: Vicky Andrews – and you don't even remember me..."

Rodger stopped.

Joyce pushed herself into the conversation. "So you two knew each other from school?"

Victoria nodded. "I know all of you from school. Don't you guys remember me? I was the most popular girl in the school."

"No," Joyce had to be honest. "Sorry about that."

"We were all friends at school," Victoria ranted on. "It's a real shame that we're reunited after sixty odd years of being together, and yet we don't recognise each other." She pointed at Joyce, which made her feel uneasy. "You're Joyce Puddle. You married my friend's brother, Oscar Patrick. You used to sit next to Dorothy David in class. I was behind you and Rodger was in front."

Dorothy tilted her head at Joyce. "You know I thought I knew you from somewhere."

Joyce began to picture herself as a fifteen-year-old girl. She was walking down the hallway with two other girls and a boy around her age. She couldn't remember what they were talking about, but she could remember the thick black uniforms and hand-knitted scarves from their mothers.

Joyce began to nod. "I remember you now! I can't believe we never actually met each other since leaving school."

"None of us ever did keep in touch," Victoria admitted. "Well Dorothy and I lived next door, and went on trips together, but we still could have done more."

"I was busy with my toy factory," Rodger admitted.

"I was..." Joyce paused. "Wait, what was I doing?"

"Busy looking after the kids?" Victoria suggested. "I heard your daughter was quite an unruly child."

"That's right," Joyce responded. "But Cleo, he was so lovely. He still is."

"A silly name for a child," Rodger said, stuffing his face with crisps.

Victoria pulled a face at Rodger before she spoke. "Well, I think it's a lovely name. Very unique. And I saw him when he brought you in. He's very handsome. He showed me a picture of your granddaughters. Oh my word they look just like you when you were young."

"My daughter lives in Spain," Victoria said. "Good girl she is. Always sends me letters."

"My grandson is going to university," Dorothy said with a smile. "He wants to be a fashion designer. But it's ever so expensive. My granddaughter got a part-time job, and my son and daughter-in-law are working double shifts just to help him manage, but they're still struggling."

"They work too hard nowadays," Rodger said, crunching on what was left of his crisps. "They don't have enough time to enjoy themselves."

The discussion of kids and grandchildren reminded Joyce of the grandson that she never heard of. She knew that Maxine had a daughter named Whitney, but they never mentioned what happened to the boy. She didn't want to mention him because she felt ashamed – she couldn't even remember his name. To make it worse, he was her first grandchild.

"I've got to ask you something," Joyce said with a deep breath. "Have any of you seen the fairies?"

"What fairies?" Dorothy said. "You asked me yesterday and I said no."

Rodger rolled his eyes. "You're still going on about those bloody fairies."

"Funny you say that," Victoria chuckled. "I had a dream last night about fairies.

Rodger glared at Joyce. "Great – now you've got her started!"

She shook her head. "Just ignore him, Victoria. Now tell me more about this dream."

"There was five of them," Victoria began to whisper. "Their father was the emperor of fairies. Anyway, he dies and he splits his empire between the five daughters. Then an election takes place to see which of his daughters will succeed him."

"Interesting." Joyce wondered if Emily knew anything about the dream or if it signified anything.

"What happens next?" Dorothy asked.

"Then along comes this Arabian prince," Victoria continued.

"Killing Adrian Price?" Dorothy asked, almost shouting. "You'll have to speak up, I can't hear very well."

"Well we can hear you perfectly fine," Rodger sighed.

Victoria leaned over towards Dorothy. "No, an Arabian prince."

"Oh a prince," Dorothy nodded. "Was it Prince Harry?"

"You better carry on," Joyce said. "Try not to whisper too much."

"He was an exceptionally handsome prince with a bronze tan and clothes the colour of pearls. His belt was dripping with diamonds. Four of the fairy queens fell in love with the prince, but it was the one that didn't, that succeeded her father. She became the fairy empress."

"Did you just make that up?" Rodger spat out in disbelief. "You lot are all mad."

"Rodger!" The nurse called him out. "Stop being horrible."

Rodger took the last bite of his sandwich and stormed off, leaving his plate empty.

"I wish he would listen," Joyce said. "If he wants to escape, he should listen to us. Maybe the fairies can help him."

"No change of any of us leaving," Dorothy said, clutching onto a cold glass of juice. "It's very secure and most of the doors are locked. There's always somebody watching. Only the senior staff know all the codes to get in and out.

"I still don't understand why he would want to leave a beautiful place like this," Joyce said. "It's a bloody paradise."

"We're all here for a reason," Victoria said with her eyes closed. "Best to accept it and move on."

One of the carers tapped Victoria on the shoulder. "We can take you to bed if you want."

Victoria shook her head. "I'm not ready for bed yet, I think I'll stay up."

"Me too," said Joyce. "We wouldn't mind a cup of tea though."

"You read my mind," Dorothy laughed.

"Have you seen the new rabbit downstairs?" Victoria asked. "She's lovely. White with black spots. She was quite sleepy earlier."

"That's so sweet. I'm glad Larry's got a new friend. I think he's been hinting at a girlfriend."