‘I know. Life is full of risk and it’s all relative, but I don’t want to be the one who gets the phone call telling him his mother has drowned.’
‘Look…’ There was a fire lighting in Olive’s belly and she needed to let it out. ‘I am here, you know, and don’t you think, as I’m nearer to death than any of the rest of you, that I should be the one who says how I spend my last years. And it might be the most selfish thing in all the world, but I think the idea of the ocean swallowing me up sounds rather delicious. I’m not going to let the risks of everyday life stop me from coming to the place I love.’
‘She’s got a point,’ TJ, Tony and Esme’s eldest son, said. ‘That would be way cooler than being run over by a bus.’
‘TJ…’ Esme chastised her son. ‘We don’t want anyone dying and we certainly don’t want Olive to lose her beach hut. There must be a way of making sure you’re both happy.’
‘I can look after myself, you know. I’ve only agreed to move into Oakley West so I can be lazy for a change. Not because I need supervising through every step of life. I’m perfectly able to look after myself while I’m here.’
‘She does a good job of looking after the rest of us as well,’ Tony said, raising a sandwich as proof.
‘My concern is the day you trip at five-thirty in the morning and not a soul finds you for another couple of hours.’
‘At least someone would find me. That wouldn’t happen if I stayed at home all day wrapped in a bubble like you’d prefer me to.’ She would chain herself to the beach hut if it came to it.
‘But that’s the whole point. The reason you’re moving to Oakley West is so that never happens. There’s always the staff there looking after you. They’re not going to be able to have someone with you all hours of the day while you’re swanning off to the beach. It defeats the point of your moving there in the first place.’
‘I haven’t moved there yet. I can soon change my mind if it means giving up every aspect of my life. That wasn’t my intention when I agreed to it.’
‘Hang on. Let’s not be hasty. All I want, Mum, is for you to stick to reasonable hours of the day. There are lots of activities to be joining in with at Oakley West. I won’t force you to leave your beach hut, but I will ask you to stick to coming here when you know some of your friends are around. And as we’re paying large sums of money for you to be at Oakley West, it seems only fair that you give their activity timetable a shot.’
Olive wondered if it was some kind of military workshop she was being signed up to. Wasn’t this move meant to be relaxing? She was much happier with her own company most of the time. It was why five-thirty in the morning had such an appeal.
‘That sounds reasonable,’ Esme said. ‘That way we’ll still see you and Richard’s mind will be at rest knowing there’s always someone here looking out for you.’
It wasn’t perfect. It was far from it, really. Olive didn’t want her freedom taken away, but then what Richard didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. ‘Okay,’ Olive said, knowing that at least if the beach hut was still hers, she would find a way to visit alone.
Olive had already seen the room she was destined to move into. When she’d visited, it had reminded her of a bed and breakfast: quaint in its own way, but it would take some time for her to call it home. Even with her bags now here and mostly unpacked it didn’t take away from the fact it felt like a temporary stopping gap. There was no escaping the sense it was a hotel room and she was on holiday for a week. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that Oakley West had once been a thriving hotel. The whole place had a very art deco feel to the interiors and was grand enough to be classed as five-star living. The building itself was rectangular with a turret on each corner of the building making it look like a miniature castle. Inside it was all high ceilings and every room was much larger and more imposing than it needed to be. It wasn’t exactly homely.
‘Can I help you unpack anything else?’ Richard asked, returning from placing her towels in the en-suite bathroom. Of course, they supplied their own, but Olive didn’t want to give up all the familiarities of home.
There were only Olive’s clothes left to unpack and after this morning, especially after this morning, she didn’t think Richard needed the added embarrassment of unpacking her smalls. ‘There’s just the pictures to hang on the walls.’
She said it without thinking about the photos or the memories they contained. She should have waited. Got one of the staff to put them in place later on.
‘Where do you want them?’
The first was an old black and white photo. It was the last taken before their world had changed. When their family was complete. A lifetime ago. The last evidence of a time when they were whole.
Richard didn’t even glance at the image. Just waited on directions of where it should be hung.
This was where they differed. Richard spent so much of his life sweeping it under the carpet. Pretending things hadn’t happened and then moving on like they never had. Olive wasn’t like that. She couldn’t forget. She didn’t want to. She immersed herself in happy memories from the past.
But what provided comfort for one was a source of pain for another. It had always been like that, the fractures the past had created still so apparent despite the years in-between.
‘That one can go by my bed.’ Olive scraped enough air from her lungs to create a sentence. She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to talk about the past without the fear of causing upset. Some days the tension wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but at times it was so present it affected their every interaction.
Rather than bearing the awkwardness of Richard ignoring the pictures, Olive went through them and selected two for the other hooks. She’d have to see if she could put more up in the room – either that or have the smaller prints upright in photo frames. As she propped them against the wall ready for him to put in place she realised they were all old photos. None of them was of recent times. They were all from decades ago.
‘Are we ready for the tour?’ Matron burst into the room without knocking.
In that instant, Olive decided she didn’t like her. ‘Do we really have to call you Matron?’ It seemed a little ridiculous considering they weren’t in a boarding school. The formality was unwarranted especially if they were trying to create the warm and welcoming environment all the brochures harped on about.
‘Everyone does. I like to keep this place as shipshape as possible and I’m sure it helps, knowing who’s in charge.’
It was a bit of a lame reason for making Olive feel like she was moving into a Carry On film, but she wasn’t going to argue. If it made the woman feel important then she wasn’t going to point out her role didn’t involve any nursing at all.
Oakley West was a retirement complex. If it was in America they’d be coasting around on buggies and spending their days basking on a golf course. But it was an old hotel on the British coast instead. It was being run by a new company who were selling it as the comfortable way to retire. Rather than warden-controlled flats where you sat by yourself, the hotel facilities allowed for a communal atmosphere where residents ate together and had staff on hand if they required help. It was for the active oldies of the world who wanted companionship and an easier way of life. And instead of golf courses, Oakley West had a programme bursting at the seams with activities on offer. It was enough to make a person want to retire all over again just looking at the timetable.
‘Shall we?’ Matron coaxed them to follow her, obviously in a hurry to get on with it. ‘I know we showed you when you came for a look round, but it’s good to have a refresher now you’re here, to help you settle