Ibrahim has been quiet. I think he finds being around sadness very difficult. I think he takes it all very personally, loads it onto his own shoulders. I get sad when others are sad, of course I do, but life will give you enough sadness of your own to be getting on with, so you must be careful. Sometimes you just have to slip your big coat off, don’t you?
I saw he was having lunch with Computer Bob on Saturday. That made me happy. Ibrahim relies too much on Ron for company sometimes, and I think he and Bob have a lot in common.
The daffodils are out very early this year. I’ve seen the daffodils bloom for nearly eighty years now, and they are still a miracle to me. To still be here, to see the flowers that so many other people won’t see. Every year, poking their heads up to see who’s still around to enjoy the show. Though they are out
Alan has been to the vet after a cat scratched his nose. Ron was very mean, saying he can’t believe Alan lost a fight with a cat, but Alan is a lover, not a fighter. The vet said Alan was in fine shape, and that I was obviously looking after him well. I said that Alan was looking after me well too.
I think we’re due a period of peace and quiet now, aren’t we? A few months without murders, and corpses, without diamonds and spies, without guns and drugs and people threatening to kill us. Some time for Elizabeth to find her new feet.
I’ll tell you what I’d like instead. A few weddings. I don’t mind who. Donna and Bogdan, Chris and Patrice, Ron and Pauline, maybe Joanna and the football chairman. That’s what happens when you get older. Too many funerals, not enough weddings. And I love a wedding. Bring them on. Bring on love.
There’s something I forgot to mention. Do you remember, a few weeks ago now, before all this kerfuffle, I’d spoken about a man named Edwin Mayhem? A new resident, about to move in?
I’d got excited because of his name and had imagined so many wonderful things about him. A motorcycle stunt rider or TV wrestler.
Well, it turns out that it was just a typo, and his real name is Edwin Mayhew, which actually makes an awful lot more sense. When I went to see him he was just wearing a jumper and an old pair of cords. He is from Carshalton and used to be a quantity surveyor. His wife died about four years ago – a decent enough interval, I think – and his daughter, who is Joanna’s age and also lives in London, persuaded him to move in here. I asked if his daughter still drinks proper milk, and he said that she doesn’t. He said that last week she had made him a turmeric latte, and it had disagreed with him.
Anyway, Edwin’s daughter, Emma – lovely name, I would like to have been an Emma – thought that Coopers Chase might give him a new lease of life. I know that it will, but you could see that he has his doubts. No offence, he said, but I worry the pace of life might be a bit slow for me here. As if Carshalton was Las Vegas.
He was very grateful for my lemon meringue though, and he said if I ever needed anything fixed, that’s where his talents lay. Taps, shelves, you name it, he said. I said I had a Picasso that needed hanging, and he laughed.
He made us a pot of tea, then walked in with the tea cosy on his head and pretended he couldn’t find it. Alan was beside himself. I’ve promised to show him around, and to introduce him to a few people. He will fit right in, you can tell straight away. One day I will tell him that I thought he was called Edwin Mayhem. Not today but one day.
That’s the thing about Coopers Chase. You’d imagine it was quiet and sedate, like a village pond on a summer’s day. But in truth it never stops moving, it’s always in motion. And that motion is ageing, and death, and love, and grief, and final snatched moments and opportunities grasped. The urgency of old age. There’s nothing that makes you feel more alive than the certainty of death. Which reminds me.
Gerry, I know you’ll never really read this, but then perhaps you will? Perhaps you’re reading over my shoulder right now. If you are, then that silver gravy boat you bought at the car-boot sale is very fashionable now. So you were right and I was wrong. Also, if you are reading this, I love you.
I didn’t mean to sound morbid, by the way, I just feel tired, like I need a holiday, a nice little break somewhere. Joanna is buying a cottage in the Cotswolds, so maybe that will fit the bill. I really am very proud of everything she has achieved. She eventually replied to my message about the almond milk and told me I was now officially a hipster. I told Ron, and he said he was going to be an artificial hipster one of these days.
