Page 17 of The Stranger in Room Six

The nightmares seem to go on and on. Clarissa is running towards her, knife in hand. ‘If you don’t do what I say, I’ll …’

‘NO!’ she screams, sitting up, rigid with terror.

The door bursts open. ‘It’s all right, Mabel. You’ve had another bad dream.’

Trembling, she sees it’s the new carer again. With a flood of relief, she remembers that Clarissa is long gone. No one can hurt her now.

But she can’t stop shaking.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I’d rather have my Scotch.’

Belinda laughs. ‘It’s only just gone 7 a.m., Mabel! In fact, I thought I’d pop in before my shift starts, so I could check on you. You can’t start drinking at this time of the day!’

‘I’ve had a tot or two earlier than that, I can tell you. Not just for the nightmares but for the tedium in this place. One can die of boredom, you know. In fact, I probably would if it wasn’t for my friend here.’

She raises her voice. ‘Alexa, who gave you to me?’

‘I’m right here. But also in the cloud. Amazing!’

Mabel shakes her head with a ‘don’t you know anything?’ expression. ‘It was Harry, my brother. Or half-brother, I should say. If he wasn’t such a busy man, he would visit me more often. When he does, he takes me for drives along the coast.’

She looks out of the window wistfully. ‘I wish I could get down there more often. My aunt used to own that small private beach you know, and now it’s mine.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘Of course I do.’

But she says it as if humouring Mabel; treating her like some of the other residents who make up things, either deliberately or because their minds are going.

‘Well’, continues Belinda, ‘we should get you dressed so we can get out for an early morning walk before breakfast. How about this pretty skirt? The colour matches your beautiful eyes.’

‘Brilliant blue like cornflowers – always twinkling’, her Antonio used to say. Mabel pushes the thought of him aside and turns back to Belinda.

‘Hah! Flattery gets you everywhere.’

‘I mean it. Now, shall we get going?’

As Belinda pushes her chair through the grounds, Mabel lets out a sigh of relief. ‘It’s so good to breathe in the fresh air,’ she says dreamily. ‘Sunnyside can feel like a prison sometimes.’

The chair wobbles as if Belinda has taken her hands off the handles. For a moment, Mabel feels herself tipping sideways.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Belinda says, righting it again. ‘I didn’t realize the path edge was uneven.’

‘Well, please be careful.’

‘Of course I will. How clumsy of me.’ Then, as if to hide her embarrassment, she adds, ‘Aren’t those beech trees beautiful?’

‘Yes,’ replies Mabel, still a bit shaky from her near-tumble. ‘I remember when they were half that height. In fact, I knew the young man who trimmed them during the war. He was an Italian prisoner of war, actually. They helped maintain the land for us.’

‘Weren’t you scared of them? Being out in the open like that?’

‘No, they were all very nice.’

Then Mabel leans forward in her chair, her eyes sparkling like a child’s. ‘Look! We’re getting closer to the sea! I can breathe it. Smell it. You know, it was one of the first things I noticed when I came here during the war.’

She reaches out for Belinda’s hand, her voice full of emotion. ‘Thank you for bringing me out here, even though your driving skills could do with a bit of a polish. Often the carers are too busy. In fact, sometimes I feel like I’m going mad in that bloody house.’

Belinda squeezes her hand back. ‘I’m glad to see you looking happier, but I thought you loved the place. Your face lights up when you talk about the past: the chandelier; the trees being trimmed by Italian prisoners; your excitement about the sea.’

Mabel’s voice quivers. ‘I do love Sunnyside at times but at others it brings back bad memories.’

‘Maybe that’s what leads to your nightmares,’ says Belinda kindly.

She hesitates before continuing. ‘I used to work in a place where people had been through some very difficult experiences. Going back to their childhoods always seemed cathartic. I’d be very happy to talk about those things with you, too. ’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Or I could help you write your life story! That’s another thing I used to do when … when I was a volunteer.’ Belinda’s voice seems to rise with excitement. ‘You could leave your memoir for your children or grandchildren.’

‘I don’t have any,’ Mabel says shortly.

‘Oh! I’m so sorry, I just assumed …’

Mabel sniffs. ‘Not everyone has children, you know. Do you?’

‘Two daughters.’

‘And are you close?’

‘We used to be but … well, things are a bit different now.’

Belinda’s expression darkens, and Mabel can’t help but think there might be more to this woman than meets the eye. How intriguing!

‘Well, why don’t you tell me a bit about your life too?’ Mabel probes.

‘It’s pretty dull, really.’

‘I’ll bet it isn’t.’

A flush crosses Belinda’s face, confirming Mabel’s suspicions.

This is far more interesting than any of Butlins Bill’s games! It would certainly pass the time to find out more about the new carer. She seems different from the others, though Mabel can’t pinpoint why.

‘I tell you what,’ says Mabel, ‘How about we each tell the other a bit about our lives? No one needs to go into things that they don’t want to, but it’s a way to pass the time.

It will make a nice change to talk to someone younger.

How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?

I know Butlins Bill said it was rude to ask but I like to be straight about such matters. ’

‘Sixty-four.’ Belinda flushes as she speaks.

‘Hah! You’re a spring chicken. I’m going to be ninety-nine on July the 12th, the day of the summer barbecue.’

‘Ninety-nine. Wow! You don’t seem it. What’s your secret?’

Mabel touches her cheeks. ‘I never listen to the news because it’s too upsetting. I try to get as much fresh air as I can, even though I need a wheelchair outside. And I make my own facemask from honey and oatmeal. I learned that tip in a woman’s magazine back in the fifties.’

‘That’s amazing. You could put that in your story.’

‘You start yours first,’ Mabel says firmly.

‘We have to promise that we won’t tell anyone,’ Belinda says, sounding nervous.

‘Naturally.’ As for her own past, Mabel tells herself, she’ll share the ‘small stuff’, as they say nowadays, but the big secret she’ll keep to herself. Wild horses won’t drag that out of her. It’s more than her life is worth.

She claps her hands. ‘Let’s go then!’

Mabel has a delicious feeling that Belinda, with a slightly haunted look on her face, has got her own secrets too. She can’t wait.