Henry

It was a hard job; there was no denying it. But the families made it harder. Henry should have been in a home by now but his daughters were still clinging to his ‘independence’. The fact that he was clinically dependent upon Mara made no difference; he was, and had always been “a private man, not one to make a fuss”.

Mara sat down on the steps outside his ground-floor flat and scrolled her phone for a bit. A couple minutes of ‘me-time’ was alright; she wasn’t very late this morning. Janet had been quick and Cassandra’s shower had felt, for the first time, manageable. The moments ticked by numerically. The work-phone clock was two-to-three minutes behind. This was one of the best things about the job, to be fair – the free phone with data.

Hadia: 08:22 : hows the old fogeys

Mara: 08:23 : youre up early lool

Hadia: 08:23 : fuckin lecture init

Mara: 08:23 : old fogeys are old

Mara: 08:24 : cass didn’t poo this morning tho!

Mara sat for two more minutes. Hadia didn’t reply. She was busy - off in Brunel doing ‘fashion technology’. Funny, of course, as Hadia always wore the same thin, cheap clothes Mara did. Mara stood up, sliding the phone into her long polyester tunic pocket. Hadia had had the “authentic” idea to use the uniform in one of her designs. The real thing was hideous; lurid cyan clashing with the black trousers everyone was supposed to wear. Mara’s were grey today, as her old black school ones were in the wash. She was going to buy some more – maybe black jeans if she got paid enough this month. There might be extra hours on Saturday, she’d heard.

At Henry’s door, she faffed about with her plastic shoe-coverings before giving up on them. One had a massive rip – it wasn’t going to protect his carpet much. As ever, her stomach flipped slightly at the thought that he might be dead. Thankfully, he wasn’t; he was awake and in pain. Mara greeted him gently and ran to get the folder from the kitchen table. Seven minutes late, she scanned the clock-in barcode with the phone app and set about making tea and punching pills out the weekly packet. Mon: Morn. First five out of 105. She’d done the maths; 5x7+3x7+6x7+7 = 105 pills a week, rattled out into paper cups and “down the hatch” with a drink. No wonder the poor old man barely ate anything.

Mara helped Henry to sit up against the pillows, where he swallowed his pills with sips of water. The glass was too cold; Mara was very sorry. Who was she again? She was Mara – she had put him to bed last night. No, Henry was sure she was some other person. Mary had been there last night, of course.

Mary had died five years ago, of stomach cancer, but Mara didn’t mention this. She was sorry that she wasn’t Mary. Mary wasn’t here right now. “Of course not,” Henry snapped, embarrassed. Mary had died; he wasn’t demented. Mara knew he wasn’t; it was early morning and things were foggy. It wasn’t anything to worry about – Mara was foggy too – she’d forgotten the tea. Mara was a lazy idiot. That wasn’t anything to worry about either; it was early morning and things were hard.

Henry drank his tea while Mara scrambled eggs and prepared a basin to wash him with. The washing and changing pads was difficult for them both, but not as difficult as helping him to walk the agonising few steps across the bedsit room to his chair. Set up for the day, though, with his plate of eggs and a fresher body, Henry was perkier. Alert and apologetic for all the fuss, he wanted to know how Mara’s weekend had been. Mara was harried, not by his question, but by the silently ticking phone clock in her pocket. She was bundling the wetted sheets into the washing machine and he couldn’t hear her from the other room – he didn’t want to shout – what was she doing? The sheets didn’t need washing – they were new on yesterday! How wasteful!

She had to leave him now but she knew she hadn’t put fresh sheets on the bed yet. Was she just going to leave, just like that, without a chat? Henry supposed she was rushing off to some boyfriend; he didn’t mind; he would just sit here like this all day with the television. He didn’t really like television, but what else was there to do, with no one to talk to all day? Perhaps one of the girls would ring, but they didn’t really do that, much. He didn’t want to make a fuss.

Mara ended up being rather late to see her next client. The day went: Janet – Cassandra – Henry – Sarah’s shopping – quick break (extra brief today) – Janet – Henry – enough time to dash home and heat something up – Janet – Henry – Sarah – break in the park or a bus shelter – Henry - Janet. Sometimes, she just did mornings.

Hadia : 12:38: ahahha wow

Mara : 12:45: im knackered lol

Hadia : 12:45: how many hours they paying now

Mara : 12:46: well been on since 7 loooool

Mara : 12:47: but janets and cass’ were half hours, henrys an hour,

Mara: 12:47: sarahs hour but I couldn’t get the right butter and she flipped (lol), janets half

Hadia: 12:48: ITS ACTUALLY A FUCKING JOKE, THEY’VE PAID YOU £24.50

Mara: 12:48: no like they pay £8.20/hr

Mara: 12:48: like they pay 18yr olds 21s wage not 7 pounds

Hadia: 12:50: MINIMUM wage its exploitation mate

Hadia: 12:51: you got to get out of there

Mara: 12:51: i know, i know its shit but im late for henry g2g love u tho, gl with lectures!!!!

By the time she made it back to Henry’s for lunch, she was sweating heavily from the long walk from Janet’s. It would be much easier if she had a car, Mara knew. She was saving up - £10 a week into her separate account. The bank had helped her set it up to come out automatically. She had to pay for lessons, of course – then a car and insurance. She was going to do it in the next few years; she was determined. It really would make such a difference, day-to-day. Mara never thought she’d say it but she missed school.

Henry really didn’t want his pad changed. Mara really didn’t want to have to make him let her change it but it was for his health – he’d get sores, sat in the wet. They sat, afterwards, with tea. She apologised first. There was nothing for her to apologise for – he was sorry. She was sorrier. They laughed. Henry had something for her, he said. He was grateful for all she did, even if he was a grumpy old codger. Of course he wasn’t a grumpy old codger. She was happy to do all she did. Someone else would do it for her, one day. They laughed again. Henry had a little black book somewhere – in his desk drawer, he thought. He didn’t know where the key was. Mara didn’t, either. There was a blue varnished dish in the kitchen, she knew, with a yellow rim, containing various little keys and bits. Mara wondered if it could be in there. She brought it through, at Henry’s insistence. He was very perky now. She made sure to make a note of this in the folder. Mara had to leave but she left Henry with the dish and a fish pie for one – the fancy kind of microwave-meal.

She managed to get home for lunch; her mum was awake and having a good day. Mara wheeled her into the kitchen to eat: minestrone and that good crusty bread from the big Asda. Her mum looked like she was about to tear up as Mara trollied her back into the living room. She really was proud of her. Well, SHE really was proud of HER. They hugged and decided to get a takeaway later. Girls’ night in.

The afternoon was relatively uneventful – Henry made her try a few different keys in his desk drawer without any luck. He seemed to be really quite disappointed and grumbled something about “it” being “not their money anyway”. Mara was intrigued; was Henry showing signs? He was ninety-four - it was hardly unexpected. She wasn’t intrigued by his decline exactly but by her burgeoning skills in spotting problems before they arose. She wanted to be good at this. She dreaded and accepted his decline at the same time – resolving to ‘make a difference’ to his time. Everybody gets there in the end.

At nearly 7.30pm that night, Mara was late again for Henry. Hadia tried to ring as she was punching in the key code to let herself into his flat, but she had to decline the call.

Hadia: 19:26: oiiiiii guess what i got the part!!!!! lady macbeth!!!!!!!!! imma be a star lol

Mara was pleased for her. She would reply later – the stupid barcode thing on the folder wouldn’t scan. She had to ring the office; she said she’d been there twenty minutes already. Henry was as happy as she’d ever seen him, though the pad change made apparent he needed another wash. He made it as easy for her as possible and jovially chatted about some programme about the Nazi’s he’d seen on BBC2 earlier. Mara made a big dinner, hoping he’d at least eat the tinned macaroni cheese. Apparently the posh pie had been horrible. She remembered the bedsheets she’d forgotten this morning after staying to chat – about Henry’s time in the war and about Mary. Henry didn’t comment on her wasteful laundry system – he was eating the macaroni with surprising gusto. Mara felt calm and relieved, for the first time that day. The summer evening sun streamed in, still-warm and she smiled out into the communal garden before drawing the curtains.

Henry was not a child; he would go to bed when he pleased and not before it was dark. It was very difficult for him to get himself from his chair to his bed, but his evening care was meant to end at half seven. It usually ended up being later, but Mara had to walk to Janet’s before half eight at the very latest. Sometimes, on days when he’d seemed particularly frail but still been insistent upon staying up for a while, she’d come back again after Janet, to get Henry into bed. Other days, he’d somehow manage by himself. Mara suspected he crawled, at times. Or he would sleep in his chair and still be there in the morning. It was something she was keeping on at the office about. They, in turn, had to keep on at his daughters. However, tonight, Henry said he was happy to “turn in” with Mara’s help. She had to do something first, though. He’d remembered – the key was in the wooden box at the top of the bookshelf, next to his and Mary’s wedding photograph.

In the box was his little black book. It wasn’t a diary or a notebook, as Mara had been expecting – but a chequebook. Henry somehow knew the spelling of her full name: Mara Wholeskyne. He wrote out a cheque for £20,000 and placed it in the polyester pocket of her tunic. She had to accept, he said, as she protested, or he wouldn’t get into bed. He did, and said he was comfortable. Mara kissed Henry goodnight on the cheek.

Mara stepped out into the summer evening. This was everything; this was a future – help for mum, a car, a life for Mara. She could go to London; she could go to college; she could do anything. She was going to Janet’s now – she was late but she was going to get Janet into bed.

She couldn’t take the money. She knew she wouldn’t.