

MISTY FALLS

By

Shaun Whittington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The author uses UK English

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MISTY FALLS
PART ONE

The Healthy Gang
Chapter One

A mixture of negative emotions seems to suffocate me whenever I think about my first year in Misty Falls, and a pretty ugly year it was, too. It was a delightful building to look at from the outside, and the architect and builders should give themselves a pat on the back for the work they had done nearly a hundred years ago. Even though on nighttimes the place was at its ugliest, I always admired it as a building, especially when I used to come back from excursions and had to walk up to the entrance to get back into the establishment.

When I say excursions, I, of course, mean trivial things like going to the shops, breathing in the fresh air and getting a newspaper. I'm pretty up-to-date on my technology, but I still like the feel of a newspaper in my hand. Sometimes the black print coming off onto my fingers when I turn the pages takes me back to when a newspaper was the only source of information you could get, before twenty-four hour news, online sites, and headlines getting immediately sent to an individual's iPhone. I was, and still am, a stickler for tradition, but at the same time I'm not one to moan about the rise of technology like some of the old folk. I say old folk, but what I mean is that some of the guys in Misty Falls are in their late seventies, early eighties and late eighties. I, on the other hand, was sixty-nine years old when I first arrived, fit as a fiddle, and shouldn't really be in here—yeah, yeah, I know, that's what they all say.

My children had decided that for my own health and for my own safety, I should be in a place where there were other people my own age which would hopefully stop me from what I had been doing before, which was drinking myself into a stupor for most nights and drowning in a well of self-pity. It never occurred to me that sending me, or persuading me, to move to Misty Falls would be a good thing, and for the first year, overall, it wasn't.

My wife had died in 2010, ironically on Valentine's Day, and since my beautiful Emily passed away to the other side to be with other relatives and friends that had gone over the years, I found it hard to handle. Five months after the funeral, I realised time wasn't such a great healer as every one seemed to claim. One day I went back to my bungalow and drank a full bottle of scotch in hope that I would collapse and never wake up the next morning. Obviously, I did wake up the next morning and the only thing that greeted me was a massive headache and a nauseous feeling, which I managed to overcome.

After my wife had died, I still had my good friend, Jack Palin to have for company. Jack was also a widower, which was unusual as most of the times the women usually outlived the men. Unfortunately, over a year after I had buried Emily, Jack dropped down dead. According to the hospital, he had died from natural causes—whatever that meant—and his heart had decided to give up. Personally, I think they should find a cure for 'natural causes,' as it seems to be the biggest killer of us old folk.

For those many months after I had lost my wife, Jack was my saviour in many ways as he prevented me from drinking myself to death; my kids couldn't be with me forever, and once they returned to their own families after their mum's funeral, it was then I started to realise how lonely life could be. The incident that happened months ago after her funeral, where I downed a full bottle of scotch, was the last time I got drunk until I heard the news about Jack's death that happened in May 2012.

In the space of just over a year, I had lost my wife and my best friend. I know people can't live forever, but I felt that it was possible for us all to get another twenty years out of life. Their deaths was a painful reality check, and once my neighbours had contacted my kids about certain drunken shenanigans I had got up to such as, falling asleep in the back garden, pissing up the garden fence and one evening, starting a fight with a dog walker who didn't pick up his animal's shit after watching it crap on the pavement, I was 'encouraged' by my beloved children to sell my house, put the money towards my savings and relax in a lovely place they had found called Misty Falls.

I have to admit; I did fall in love with the place when I was first arrived, which took me by surprise. I had met some nice people and had a little 'gang' where we would sit next to the huge bay window at a table and talk, play cards, watch TV or sometimes just look outside and watch the crazy world passing us by if conversation wasn't top of the agenda.

The TV was usually depressing and most of us would opt for a film, whether it came from the TV itself or a DVD brought in by one of ours from the library. Misty Falls was an open nursing home. It wasn't people being incarcerated; those of us, who could walk and had no mental problems, were allowed to go where we pleased, providing we were back at a reasonable hour.

It was like a hotel with carers.

We paid for our lodgings, but coming back late would result in being locked out. Not that that ever happened, as there weren't many people who could keep awake beyond 11pm.

The people in Misty Falls were good people. I didn't mingle with most of them, only a selected few. A lot of the residents needed extra care than the likes of me, as some suffered from early form of Alzheimer's, bladder problems or had strokes amongst many other things; this was when the carers were needed. The more severe cases were transferred to St. Giles Hospice in Cannock, which was for cancer sufferers mainly.

The 'crew' that I was involved in contained five other residents. The five residents and I would spend most of our evenings together. It was a good crowd, and although we weren't together for very long, the early part had been the happiest I had been for a long time. None of us were getting any younger, and some days it did feel like we were on death row. What would be my method of death if I had a choice? That depended on the Lord himself. Personally, I was hoping for what most people wanted, and that was to die peacefully in my sleep. Of course, it never usually worked out that way, so long as it wasn't cancer or Alzheimer's, which is a punishment I wouldn't even have wished on Joseph File—I'll come to him later.

At sixty-nine, I was considered to be the baby of the group, and a minor few of the residents never spoke to me, even when I would say 'good morning' or 'good night.' I couldn't understand why, but my good friend, Jason Duke, had come up with a theory of his own.

He claimed that the reason why they shunned me was down to good old-fashioned jealousy. Because I was sixty-nine, I had twenty or so years left on the earth, if I was lucky, and the residents in their late seventies, early and late eighties, had a touch of the old green-eyed monster. So once they were pushing up the daisies or sitting on someone's fireplace, in theory, I should be still kicking about in Misty Falls. Is that why elderly people always moaned about the youth of today? I thought. Were they jealous that while their life was coming to a close, others were just beginning?

When I first arrived at the home, it was relaxed and nothing ever exciting ever happened. The only subject that would cause a stir was if a death had occurred during the night or day. The discussion afterwards would be about how they had died, if they had suffered, who was going to replace them, when was the funeral, who was going to the funeral from the home and what kind of refreshments would be put on.

This had recently happened to 'Old Joe' who passed away in his sleep. It was amazing; it was my first time that I had experienced a resident passing away, and everyone in the home claimed to be a friend of the deceased, which was a load of old rubbish as he always sat by himself. The truth was that the residents would fake grief when the children of the deceased would come to collect their belongings in hope to be invited to the funeral.

Why?

A funeral equals a day out. This day out would include a church service, a trip to the burial/crematorium, refreshments afterwards followed by many alcoholic drinks. Of course, the next day the attendees would have many a story to tell and a captivated audience would be lingering on every word that they would reveal of their over-exaggerated tale. Everything from the service, what songs were sung, what was in the sandwiches they had and how many drinks were consumed, would be a central part of the discussion.

I had been in Misty Falls since July 2012, and the last week of November changed our lives forever as the company employed another carer. His name was Joseph File, and he was the most evil man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Joseph File was a man—and I use the term loosely—that stood at six feet in height; he seemed reasonably muscular but I never knew how. He struck me as the type of guy to spend his spare time boozing and chasing women. But nevertheless, you could see he was in decent condition, not too bulky, but not obese either.

Considering the people that stayed in this establishment, any young man under the age of fifty with a chip on their shoulder was a dangerous individual to any of us old timers. His dark hair was longish and looked like it was in need of a haircut. His appearance was very unusual for the year 2012, as he sported one of those moustaches that Dennis Hopper had in Easy Rider.

_Hopper_ was his original nickname when he first joined; his other unofficial occasional nickname became Stalin, because his name was Joseph and he was an evil bastard; however, I preferred, and will refer to him throughout the book mainly as, Hopper.
Chapter Two

In Misty Falls, there weren't many of us that had our own laptops, but it was good to have, especially to download and watch old classic films on an evening. On the odd occasion, I would have five or six people in my room watching _The Graduate_ or _Apocalypse Now_. Of course, with it being December, _It's a Wonderful Life_ was going to be on the list eventually, and I had no problem watching James Stewart running through that snow at the end for the eightieth time; it was a film that made you feel good to be alive.

The first day that Hopper joined Misty Falls wasn't hard to remember. It was November 30th, just over five weeks away from 2013 and he walked in on his first day as if he owned the place. From day one, you could see his heart wasn't in it, and the job seemed nothing more than a stopgap until something better came along. But who could blame him? Some of the older folk in the place were challenging, cantankerous and downright rude, even to me, so it was understandable that most members of staff who turned up were hardly looking forward to their shift the way some folk looked forward to their jobs. It was a job for people inbetween jobs or for people with little or no qualifications—people like Hopper.

My first altercation with Hopper was on his first week. One of the residents was having a stroke and had pressed the emergency button in their toilet, which alerted staff. The carers began to quickly head to the first floor to the room of the resident. I was walking from the main living room, which was basically a room where some played games and watched TV, and I was on my way to my room for a nap where I felt an almighty shove in my back. I went flying to the floor and looked up to see that lagging behind the staff, was Joseph File. He didn't even turn around to see if I was okay, he just kept on running.

I called out and scolded him as he was about to go through the double doors up to the next floor, but he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. As soon as he did this, I knew I was in trouble, and felt my heart giddying up to an alarming rate. All I said was: "Watch where you're going?"

Completely forgetting about the poor individual having a stroke, he turned to look my way and with fists clenched, he strolled down toward me. I could feel my bowels becoming nervous. Contrary to believe about citizens of an older generation, my fitness for my age and my bowels were normally tiptop; but what I had noticed over the years was my bravado had diminished. I have never been a thug, but I've never been a coward either, and whenever trouble had come my way in the past, I would never shy away from a physical confrontation if need be, but as you get older in life, younger people seemed fitter and stronger. I don't know what people are eating these days, but some of these younger folk look massive to me as if they worked out everyday.

As for my first run-in with Joseph File, he never physically touched me, but I did feel the threatening presence he possessed and knew he certainly had the violence in him. As he towered over me, his mouth snarled like a dog infected with rabies, and a drop of saliva ran from the left corner of his mouth. His words were threatening and he grinded his teeth so hard whilst saying them, I thought some of his teeth were going to shatter. "If you ever speak to me like that again, I will break you in two, do you understand? Do you?"

I never responded to his verbal bullying; I continued to glare at him, although deep down I was extremely frightened, and as my stubborn glare continued, knowing that it could cost me a few broken bones, he turned around and started to jog to the first floor. I felt that if the staff had no emergency to go to that day, he would have done me some serious damage. The corridor was barren; it was just him and me and the place only had CCTV on the outside of the establishment, so this made me more nervous. It would have been his word against mine if anything had happened.

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and decided not to tell anybody about the incident—members of staff or any of the residents. At first, I thought it was a one-off, and that maybe he was having a bad day, or having trouble at home. At the time, I didn't realise that this was going to be the start of his violent tenure in the place. But another thing that bothered me about File in his first week was the way he spoke to some of the old folk; he would think it was funny to refer them to as 'senior shitizens.' Eva Morrison had been deeply offended when she overheard Hopper berating a resident in their room and she filed a complaint to the Misty Falls' manager, Lance Brannigan.

Brannigan did his best to avoid her and when she finally managed to corner him, he said he would have a word and reluctantly filed the complaint. For days she heard nothing and when she approached him again, Lance Brannigan told Eva in private that the report was void as it was her word against his, and the resident that was allegedly verbally abused by the carer had denied all knowledge of it. The report was still sitting on his desk.

We also heard that Residential Director, David Bentley, was retiring in July and that Lance Brannigan was the hot favourite to succeed Bentley for the position, and I came to the conclusion that a story about abuse on Brannigan's 'watch' would not be great for his reputation and could hurt his chances with the possible promotion coming up in the summer.

Other prominent members of staff in the place was a woman called Angela Fristoe, but we called her 'Frisky' or 'Frigging.' Like Hopper, she had two nicknames: an official one—Frisky—and an unofficial one—Frigging. The reason why we called her Frisky was because she used to turn up at the home sometimes stinking of drink, and we could hear her sometimes talk about her recent one night stand to another female member of staff in explicit detail.

She joined the place in December 2010; she was thirty-five years old, petite, had brown hair and wasn't what I would call attractive, but we all have different tastes, don't we? There was another member of staff that had joined in April 2000. She was a veteran of the job; she knew all the residents by name and always had time for us and was very approachable, unlike her younger counterparts. She was a heavy lady, wore glasses. I don't know whether she had a flatulence problem, but once in a blue moon, she would be known to release a loud botty burp when she would sometimes bend down. It mortified her, but it amused us enough to titter for a matter of minutes. You know you've had a banal day if the highlight had been a member of staff breaking wind.

Her name was Nadia Brown. We affectionately nicknamed her, 'Nads.' The other prominent member of staff was a young boy called John Sauce; his obvious nickname became, 'Ketchup,' a name that he probably had been called since he was at school and would have for the rest of his life.

John was a nice young lad, not a potty mouth like Frisky, or a violent thug like Hopper, he seemed like a gentle thing and was as nervous as hell. I pitied him, as I knew he was being bullied by Hopper the moment the thug started at the place.

Ketchup had started his job in January 2011, he was of average height, and was always clean-shaven. Occasionally, my elderly friend, Penelope, would tease him whenever he came around and she would make gentle sexual remarks with the usual inoffensive stuff, but enough to make Ketchup blush. Penelope would use the same old lines. If Ketchup was bent over near her vicinity she would cheekily say: 'Ooh, while you're down there, young man." And if her cat, Arthur, was sitting on her lap, she would predictably ask him: 'Do you want to stroke my pussy, John?'

He always took it well, and he knew that we—or Penelope—didn't mean anything by it. We had a good crowd and Nads had nicknamed us 'The Healthy Gang,' as not one of us was on medication for high blood pressure, Alzheimer's, etc. It was a crappy nickname she gave us, but it was a lot better than the one that _we_ gave her, a nickname the nice woman wasn't aware of.
Chapter Three

It was the eighth day of December, the last month of 2012, and I was quite happy to spend the day indoors as the weather report suggested that this was going to be the coldest winter for years—although they seemed to say that every year. It was a date I remember well, as it was on this day that my dear old friend, Don Swain, first broke down in tears; it was also the same date when Mark Chapman had killed one of my musical heroes.

Don Swain was seventy-eight years old, a thin gentleman with short grey hair. He was reasonably fit for his age and had been in Misty Falls since June 2011. He was an unusually thin fellow, as if he ran many a marathon, but he put it down to his lack of alcohol consumption and speedy metabolism.

Don had short grey hair and was a very likeable chap; he lived in room 2, on the ground floor. Don, like most males in general, kept his personal life to himself. All I knew was that his wife had died ten years previously, and as she came back from the shops, she was hit by a car that refused to stop for her. They never caught the person in the vehicle, which still irked Don.

He had a daughter that lived in Australia, we all knew that because he would mention her every now and again and his wall was covered in postcards from her that was attached to his wall by blu-tac. The postcards were full of banal chat, as most useful information and proper gossip was supplied by a rare phone call. We could see that he missed her terribly, and hadn't seen her in twenty years, which we thought was a ridiculous amount of time not to see your parents whether they were on the other side of the world or not.

It was around 3pm, and Don and I were the only members of 'The Healthy Gang' to be present. We sat in our usual seats in complete silence, next to the bay window. It was a comfortable silence, as we had known each other for a while, since I moved in July 2012. There were four empty red leather seats waiting for the presence of Grace Guerra, Penelope Crow, Jason Duke and Amanda Stabley.

"So where's the rest of the crew?" Don finally broke the silence with his words.

"Usual," I replied lazily, and released a strident and exaggerated yawn. "The girls are out shopping, and Jason's off for his usual two-hour afternoon nap."

The silence smothered us and although I was very fond of Don, when it was just the two of us the conversation never flowed naturally; it was forced and we both seemed more comfortable when there was other members around. I looked around uncomfortably and saw one of the temporary carers helping Billy Madison to the toilet, and another member of staff squatting down, chatting to Doris, one of the Alzheimer's sufferers. Doris was in the early stages of Alzheimer's, and was weeks away from being sent to the hospice indefinitely. I liked a lot of the temporary staff, but they never lasted long. They had either got better jobs, got sick of wiping the backsides of the ungrateful residents, or had been laid off by the manager, Lance Brannigan.

"So what are you up to today, Don? Anything?"

Don Swain pushed out his bottom lip in thought. He scrunched his eyes tightly, as if this particular method was going to help his thinking, and replied, "Nothing too exciting. I think I'll read the rest of my book and then I might turn in and have an early one."

At this point I had given up, and was contemplating on having a nap in my chair, as I wasn't sure how long the girls were going to be from the shops. I cleared my throat, loosened my neck and slowly tilted my head, and slowly, very slowly, lowered my head towards the back of the chair, informing Don in a subtle way what my intentions for the next hour was going to be: A crafty nap.

Before the back of my head managed to kiss the back of the chair, a sentence from the mouth of Don spilled out, and I immediately shot back up and straightened my sore back. It had been sore for years, but I never complained much about it. At the age of sixty-nine, I put it down to good old-fashioned wear and tear.

"It happened all too fast," was the first sentence that left Don's mouth.

I turned to him and never said a word. It was apparent that he wanted to get something off his chest, and maybe he felt more comfortable speaking on that particular day, as the audience was diminutive. If 'The Healthy Gang' had all been there, maybe he wouldn't have said anything. He then looked at me and became sheepish. It was as if he had no control over the sentence that had been blurted out, and now he realised what he had said, he was reluctant to continue the story.

I gave Don a thin smile, and said softly, "Go on, I'm listening."

I could see his chest filling up with oxygen, and then he blew his cheeks out, slowly releasing the carbon dioxide out of his lungs in an attempt to settle his heart rate and prevent any tears from falling.

He continued, "I had just ran the bath for an unusual afternoon soak. Then I remembered sitting on my stairs and pulling off my socks. I sat there for a few minutes, before mustering the energy to get off my behind. That's when the door went." Although there was obvious noises going on in the background from the chit chatter of the other residents in the main living room, it felt like someone had picked up the remote and turned the volume down, as I was so intrigued in what Don was about to say next. I was intrigued to what was going to come next in one of Don's rare stories. When he talked, he stared into oblivion, as if he really wasn't talking to me, and was talking to himself or another entity that I visibly couldn't see. Nevertheless, I listened with no interruption.

He continued, "I walked to the front door and knew there was something wrong when I saw the two silhouettes standing behind the frosted glass of my door. I knew it was the police."

There was a long pause, but I felt in my heart that it was best for him to tell the story in his own time, so I remained silent. Then I could see the bottom lip wobble, the eyes filling and the hands shaking. He added, "As soon as I opened the door and saw them standing there, I knew from their faces that something was wrong. All that came out of their mouths was: 'Mr. Swain?' Then I collapsed to the floor and sobbed like...like a child."

Then I saw it. It was an awful thing to witness. A grown man—a seventy-eight-year-old-man, breaking down in front of me. Liquid came out of almost every orifice; his face shook, his whole body shook, and all I could do was gently place my hand on top of his.

As if the flow of his sadness had ran into my own body now that our hands were touching and had made a connection, I began to feed off his torment and could feel myself feeling emotional. In a selfish way, I was hoping he was going to hurry up with his breakdown, as I feared that the overall scene was going to be: two grown men—two elderly men, holding each other and crying their heart out in front of the bemused residents and the staff of Misty Falls.

In a masculine world, the simple gesture of holding another man's hand might have been difficult for the average man to do, but I was glad to have helped, if it indeed helped at all. I waited a while until he stopped crying and once he had calmed down and the embarrassment begun to sink in, I removed my hand and we sat in silence. I was thankful that no tears from my own eyes fell, but if Don had looked into them he would have seen that I wasn't far away. I could feel them stinging as if I'd rubbed chilli peppers into them, but I managed to compose myself.

I suppose we were all overshadowed with sad stories.

Most of the people in the place had lost partners, some had lost children over the decades as well, and although I felt hard done by because my Emily was reasonably young when she died, at least we never had to go through the torment and pain of burying a child. When I say child, I mean a son or daughter at any age. I have a forty-year-old son and a thirty-eight-year-old daughter, and if my thirty-eight-year-old daughter suddenly passed away, to me, I would still be burying a child, _my_ child.

I looked at Don with great sympathy, I had only known him for six months and had never seen him in such a state. I obviously knew his wife had died, but I never realised it was on the 8th December, and it was the tenth anniversary. What a thing to try and keep in, I thought.

I always thought it was funny how most men bottled things up, then suddenly release it all in one go. Surely that kind of incarcerated stress was no good for the heart, especially an old heart. Maybe if we were more like women, and wore our heart on our sleeve, we'd live longer.
Chapter Four

After Don's little breakdown, we sat in silence and an hour later the girls had turned up, which was a blessing, as that hour afterwards was long and uncomfortable for the both of us. Grace Guerra, Penelope Crow and Amanda Stabley came into the main living room empty handed, as they had already went straight to their rooms to drop off the extra food they had bought for themselves.

The establishment provided three square meals a day, but it was always nice to have a chocolate biscuit, a slice of cake, or a piece of apple pie with a cup of tea on an evening, and apart from issued TVs, we also had our own little fridge in our room as well. One by one, the girls sat in their usual seats near myself and Don. Five seats had been taken and the only person that was missing was Jason Duke.

Amanda was seventy-nine years old and was the quietest of the group; I never really knew that much about her. All I knew was that she stayed on the first floor of the building, in room 27. She never said a lot when she was around, but it never bothered us, as she was a lovely woman.

Penelope Crow was a colourful character. She was a heavy woman and wore thick-rimmed glasses, as her eyesight wasn't great at the tender age of seventy-three, but she was fit enough and had two sons who visited on a weekly basis.

Pets were allowed in Misty Falls, providing they had been purchased prior to the residents 'incarceration,' but no dogs. It wasn't something that the residents exploited as most of them weren't fit to look after themselves. One resident had a goldfish, another had a gerbil in a cage in their room, and dear Penelope had a lovely male cat called Arthur.

The cat was eight years old, black all over, and the management could hardly refuse the pet, as it had been with Penelope for five years before she moved to Misty Falls in January 2009. It was no bother, as it wasn't a house cat, and spent most of its time outside, but occasionally, especially through the day, it stayed in her room on the ground floor, in room 6.

Sitting next to me, to my right, was Grace Guerra.

Dear Grace, was the loveliest woman you could ever meet.

It's funny, when a person gets to an age like mine, you don't seem to notice an individual's sagging skin, extra weight or the fact that their hair is white and they shook nervously occasionally. Maybe if I was a man in my thirties or even forties, I would have looked at Grace and saw her as just another old woman; but to me, she was stunning.

She always kept herself clean, strange thing to say to some, but some of the residents didn't, or couldn't by themselves, and had a term of endearment sayings that always made me smile, as she was such a nice woman.

Grace was three years older than me and had claimed never to have married and had no children either, which could have been the reason why she never had any visitors. None of us were entirely sure if this was correct, but it wasn't a subject we pushed out of respect for the inoffensive woman, although it added to the mystification about her.

Grace stayed on the first floor of the building and lived in room 19. She had been a resident in Misty Falls since the beginning of 2010 and had applied for a place after she fell down the stairs in her house.

"So what have you little munchkins been up to?" Grace was the first of the women to speak. She stood back up, trying to adjust her white blouse as Penelope and Amanda had already sat down.

I shrugged my shoulders like a child, and mumbled something that consisted of just a noise. Grace wasn't stupid; she could see that I was a little uncomfortable and that Don had a face that looked like it had been splashed with melancholy, if that was at all possible.

Amanda placed her hands on my knees and gave me a smile. "Did you go out at all?"

I shook my head. "Nah, couldn't be bothered. What did _you_ get, anything?"

Don sighed and informed the girls and myself that he needed the toilet. I watched from the corner of my eye as Don left; then Grace smiled thinly.

She glared at me, willing me to speak, but her impatience forced her to sigh and said, "Okay, what's wrong?"

I looked around, making sure there were no unwanted ears in our vicinity. "It's Don," I said; then I turned around to make sure he was nowhere to be seen. "Let's just say he's having a bad day."

"Ah, is it because it's the anniversary of his wife's death?" Penelope chipped in, and both Amanda and Grace nodded sympathetically in unison. Penelope pushed her thick-rimmed spectacles back up to the bridge of her nose and shifted her heavy frame to get comfortable.

I was flabbergasted that they knew something as important as that, and yet, I hadn't been informed. "Err...yeah, you knew? And you didn't tell me?"

Amanda reached over and patted my knee as if to say, there, there. It felt a little patronising, although I was pretty sure that that wasn't her initial intention.

"My dear, Todd," Grace began. "We _all_ knew, but didn't think it was something that you men discussed anyway. If it makes things easier, Jason doesn't know either."

"That's not the point," I remonstrated, albeit a little pathetically. "We're all supposed to be friends."

"And we are," Amanda interjected. "But even friends...even lovers, have secrets from one another. Did you really tell your wife _everything_ about you when she was alive, really?"

It was a question that threw me and I answered it with my silence.

Penelope added, "I don't think it was a secret; it's just Don—men in general, don't really talk about their feelings and their past."

"So how did you lot find out?"

Penelope said, "We found out from an indirect source. Don doesn't know that _we_ know. So you should feel pretty good about yourself."

At this stage I was a little perplexed. "And why's that?"

"Because, as far as Don is concerned, he's told you a secret of his, and you're the only one he has told that to."

I sat back and couldn't shift the tiny smile that I tried to stop from forming on my face. The corners in my mouth creased and I cleared my throat out of embarrassment. I sat up to change the subject, but it had been changed for me when Penelope squealed, only the way a woman could. "There's my baby. Bang on time."

It was Penelope's cat, Arthur.

I looked at my watch and it was almost 5pm.

Everyday of the week, Arthur would be fed at 5pm and he never missed a day and was always on time more or less. I grunted and shook my head. "I swear that cat knows how to tell the time."
Chapter Five

It had been a good month and we had a very good Christmas. I had my usual winter clothes off my forty-year-old son who now lived in Glasgow, and some nice sweaters off my thirty-eight-year-old daughter. The residential home treated us to a proper Christmas dinner and we did what most people did, and that was to eat too much and spend the rest of the day in a hood of dormancy.

It had been a quiet affair, most probably because Hopper had had a week off with sickness. It was something we didn't believe, considering it was Christmas time, but we had no complaints, as we wanted the holidays as peaceful as possible. As far as food was concerned, we had been spoilt. The starter was a prawn cocktail, and had just enough seafood sauce on it, as I sometimes feel in some restaurants, not that I've been to many, they tend to drown the prawns in that sauce.

The main dinner was the usual mashed potato, sprouts, cabbage, carrots and a generous amount of sliced turkey covered in tasty gravy. It was heaven and I could have stopped there and been extremely pleased with my day, but then the option of dessert had come up. It was an option I was willing to take and I ordered the chocolate fudge cake covered in warm cream.

By the time the dessert had been devoured, half of the care home, including myself, Don, Jason and Penelope, were fast asleep with _The Sound of Music_ blaring in the background from the two TVs in the main area. After my dessert, the last thing I remembered was Julie Andrews singing that God-awful tune about a deer, and then I never woke up until two hours later.

*

It was January 7th 2013, and as per usual on an evening, the healthy gang—I promise I will use that annoying nickname sparingly from now on—was sat around the large bay window conversing with one another.

It was Monday, unusually humid for a January, and after a trip to Shugborough Hall with Grace, I returned with Grace in tow and turned up at Misty Falls where the other four members of our clan greeted us. The two red leather chairs were obediently waiting for our saggy behinds to be parked on them, and we slumped into them and both revealed a tired sigh. As you get older, even a little bit of a visit or shopping can wear you out for the rest of the day.

The Shugborough trip was a very rewarding, but expensive, day out. The money I had been given to me by my daughter for Christmas was spent on that day. If I could have taken the whole group, I would have, but I decided to take Grace. I wanted some company on the excursion but I only had been given enough for two people. I suppose I could have dipped into my savings but the group didn't mind, as they knew how close Grace and I were. Jason Duke probably would have fallen asleep anyway, as he always needed his two-hour afternoon nap no matter what he was or wasn't doing.

After a while of idle chat with my fellow comrades, a figure in the corner of my eye began making his way towards the group. I turned around and smiled at the grumpy looking figure; he had a face as if he had lost money. He stumbled towards us, grumbling something under his breath. We had to be aware that Jason Duke had just awoken, so he wasn't going to be in the most humorous of moods, but his morose face always made me smile. Miserable old bugger!

"What's up with you?" I teased. "You shat the bed again?"

The others laughed, and Grace swallowed hers and bit her bottom lip in order for it not to escape. Sweet Grace.

"Don't be daft," Jason said with a wry smile. "I haven't done that for weeks."

Jason Duke was eight-one years old, heavy, and bald without a single hair on his head. Jason, bless him, always liked to think he was the intelligent one of the group, and would spew out all kinds of sayings and most of the time got most of them mixed up. He was one of those types of men who was funny, but wasn't trying to be. We had a good laugh at him, but not in a cruel way, although Don was sure that after his first ever mistake in front of the group, he was probably doing it on purpose in order to get a laugh.

I wasn't too sure though, I thought he was genuine.

When the gang first got together, we were all at the bay window sitting in silence. It was July, and I had only been in the place for a matter of days. Jason stared out of the window and quipped: "What a beautiful morning." We all agreed and gazed out looking up to the red clouds as if they had been painted by God himself, as they stretched in a line in the centre of the blue sky with the fully bloomed trees at the front of Misty Falls where the car park was situated—a modest garden was at the back of the grounds. Jason then sighed and happily announced: "Well, you know what they say: Red sky...erm...shepherd's pie."

At this point our first reaction was bafflement. We all looked at one another while Jason continued to gawp outside with a small thin smile on his features and the muffled laughter began with Don, myself, and then the girls were next. Jason had looked at us and kept on asking: "What are you laughing at? What's wrong?" It was that day we began our bond, a bond that other residents sneered at through pure old jealousy.

Jason had been in Misty Falls since July 2008, and before we arrived it was said that he had spent most of his time staring into space and not interacting with any other residents. I don't know if this was true, as I never arrived until July 2012. One thing for sure, Jason Duke was responsible for accidentally forming the group that I grew to love. It was just a shame its lifespan was relatively short.

We sat and talked and young John Sauce, AKA Ketchup, walked past us and asked if we were all okay. It was our time for a bit of fun at poor old John's expense and true to form, Penelope glared at him seductively—as seductive as a seventy-three-year-old woman could be—and asked him, "You look tired, Ketchup. What's up? You been up shagging all night?"

"No." Ketchup shook his head and began to flush his cheeks with blood.

"Why don't you have a sit down on here?" Penelope patted her lap, and as per usual, Ketchup sniggered nervously before moving off and waving Penelope away.

"He's so adorable," she said; Grace shook her head at her. Penelope noticed Grace's slight mocking of her. "What?"

"Nothing, Penelope." Sweet Grace grinned. "Nothing at all."

"You need to have a laugh now and again. I could be dead tomorrow."

"Oh Penelope," Grace chuckled. "You can't go thinking like that."

"Well, if you did, then maybe we'd all live every day as if it was our last."

Penelope's statement silenced the group into thought. I could perfectly understand why people would have the attitude that Penelope had, because you really don't know when your time is up, no matter what age you are. But some days, it was nice just to sit, switch off your brain and gaze at the TV for a few hours.

Personally, if I lived every day as if it was my last, I would wake up, eat three trifles, drink a bottle of vodka, throw up on the miserable tosspots that ignored me whenever I would greet them on a morning, and then pass out on my bed.

Suddenly, from behind the group, we could hear the strident voice of an angry man who appeared to be arguing with one of the elderly residents. We heard the words: "And how the _fuck_ am I supposed to know that, you dopey old shit?"

The group sighed and two members of the group, Amanda and Grace, shook their heads with disappointment. He was back.

Hopper!
Chapter Six

After Hopper's return, a day had passed and I managed to spend some time with Grace by herself, as the others on the second day of the first month of 2013, had decided to get some air. Amanda and Penelope were spending time by themselves out in the back garden of the establishment. It was cold, but perfect for a girlie chat on one of the benches with a large flask of vegetable soup to warm them up every now and again.

Jason Duke was away for his routine 3pm nap, and Don was in his room—Room 2, Ground floor—and had excitedly received another postcard from his daughter, Becky, and had made his excuses that he wanted some alone time. The residential home had WiFi and also had access to skype; it was only myself that had a laptop and another resident, who I hardly saw, was bought an iPad by her son at Christmas, which she hardly used.

It wasn't really a place where a lot of internet surfing went on, apart from the staff in the offices when they were on their breaks or cheekily used it when they should have been working. A lot of the elderly people seemed set in their ways and spent so much time in the home that they seemed to have lost touch with reality.

The more you dwelled in Misty Falls, the harder it was to go out. Sometimes, just a trip to the shops was a day out—or sometimes even a traumatic time—for these people. Most of us still had our faculties, but it was like being out of work. The longer it continued, the harder it became to get out of bed and do basic things like going for a walk, catching a bus, purchasing a newspaper or going to the library.

A lot of the residents ended up living like a recluse—agoraphobic almost, and I promised myself that I wouldn't get that way, although I had a slight advantage, as I was a lot younger than some of them. Jason was the eldest out of our group at eight-one, and he also never went out much. He relied on his naps in the afternoon so he could function properly for the rest of the day. I was twelve years younger than Jason at sixty-nine and it was amazing how those twelve years seemed to make a difference.

Amanda also had trouble going out a lot of the time, and sometimes she would have to be talked round for ages by the girls to get her out of the care home.

On this day, it took Penelope twenty minutes to talk Amanda round to join her outside for a natter and some soup. Grace wasn't invited, as the group rightly assumed that Grace and I would like some time alone together.

Don't get me wrong; Grace and I were not lovers, but we could have been if we had met in a different life and at a younger age. I'm aware of the sayings, 'you're never too old' and 'you're as old as you feel,' but I really liked it that way. I loved Grace, but I wasn't _in_ love with her. And as for the sex, we laughed about it one day and I joked that I wasn't much good at it when I was a youngster. Then our conversation went off the rails and became silly and we giggled like children and laughed about the Hollywood movies, when the lovers would wake up first thing in the morning and start kissing.

In reality, most people had the breath of death first thing in the morning, and the last thing a couple would do in reality would snog each other's faces off.

We then stumbled onto the subject of erotic films and then began talking about the film, _Basic Instinct_. Every time I think about what Grace said that day, I always conjure up a smile.

When talking about the film, Grace said to me: "You know that scene when Michael Douglas finishes...doing it with Sharon Stone? I'm sure he didn't wear protection, so surely when he hopped off of that bed to go to the bathroom, his little fellow would have been dripping all over the bedroom floor. _I_ would have been furious."

It was so out of character for someone like Grace to say such a thing, it made me laugh and also put me in a state of shock as well.

After she had made that comment, weeks afterwards, I would sometimes smile to myself in the home and if we were alone she would look at me and say: "You're thinking about that scene in Basic Instinct again, aren't you?"

I wasn't necessarily thinking about the scene itself, more what Grace had said about it. Priceless!

*

Grace sighed, but it wasn't one of those exhales of breath that suggested that someone was annoyed at something, it was a sigh of contentment.

I asked her, "You okay?"

"Yip," was the answer I was given. "Just happy to be alive, dear." She was lost in thought and I could tell she had a happy memory being played in her head and I didn't want to disturb the memory.

I took a look at Grace and although she looked lovely, I could imagine that when she was much younger, she would have been an absolute stunner. She lifted her nose and snapped out of her self-hypnosis and turned to smile at me.

"I wonder how the girls are getting on outside?" I asked, knowing that Amanda was hardly the greatest conversationalist.

Grace smiled, and knew exactly what I meant. "Amanda's okay, one on one. I think it takes her a while to get to know people."

"She's a lovely woman though," I added. "How long have we all been together now?"

"Mmm," Grace began to think, and put her forefinger on her closed lips. "It was a week or so after you came."

"Six or seven months then?"

"I think with Amanda, she doesn't like speaking in front of a crowd of people. She's just nervous, that's all."

"You never know, something could have caused her to be that way. I suppose you have to expect that people are different, and especially at our age, we all have tragedies that plague us."

"Wow, dear," Grace smiled, and sarcastically said, "this is cheering me up so much."

I gave off a chuckle, only because it was Grace that had said it. Anyone else would have got a smile, maybe.

We sat in a few more seconds of silence and I don't know what possessed me to do so, but for some reason, as if I couldn't stop myself, I blurted out the sentence: "How come you never married, Grace?"

I think it was my way of diluting the silence between the pair of us; I wished I had thought of something else to say.

It was a strange predicament, and I slapped the palm of my hand over my mouth in a pointless attempt to stop the words that had already tumbled from my lips. I had put it out there and it was too late to take it back. If I could have turned the clock back a minute and grabbed the words and swallowed them up, I would have.

Her reaction wasn't what I expected. She smiled at me warmly and knew that it was probably something that had been bugging me for a while, but with the group being away and with it being just the two of us, there was no sign of her cheeks flushing a red glow.

I lowered my head as a silent apology for being so damn nosey, but she tapped me on the left knee twice to tell me that it was okay and she wasn't offended by my inquisitiveness.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a nosey old bugger."

"You're not," Grace grinned. Her teeth were in an amazing condition for her age. In fact, I found it incredible that all six of us still had our own set of teeth. "You're just being curious." Then suddenly her tone changed. "We're good friends, aren't we, Todd?"

"Absolutely," I replied with no hesitation. "Why?"

Her head lowered and she smiled sadly. There was something she wanted to say to me, and I didn't know what it was, but was desperate to know what was on her mind. I allowed the silence to continue, to allow her to think before she opened her mouth, but the silence seemed to suffocate her and had forced her to retreat from her potential question or announcement. She eventually waggled her head from side to side. "It doesn't matter."

I decided not to press the matter any further.
Chapter Seven

It was January 30th, Wednesday, and the gang were sitting around the bay window. The month had been pretty quiet and no alarming incidents had occurred. The boys glared out of the window, watching the traffic go by, while the girls were nattering to themselves about a new admission that had been moved to the first floor. This new admission had had trouble operating the elevator and couldn't get any of the carers to help her.

In sheer panic, she had messed herself and we heard that Hopper had gone mad and took her back to her room with his hand under her elbow, forcing her tired legs to walk faster.

This was witnessed by Toby Robert, so we weren't sure how reliable his information was as he tended to exaggerate a story somewhat to give it more colour. It turned out that the woman was in the elevator and didn't know how to shut the doors, and she urinated over her clothes and onto the floor of the elevator. It was out of bounds for an hour while they cleaned it, which meant that residents wanting to go to their room on the first floor had to take the stairs.

Brannigan had pulled Hopper into the office and had given him a verbal warning for his inconsideration. We watched as a furious Hopper stormed out of Brannigan's office. I don't know who had grassed on Hopper, but if he found out who it was, I feared for their safety. I could understand why Brannigan had given Hopper a verbal, as there would be no record of a verbal warning, and Lance Brannigan had a promotion to think about.

*

I gazed at the TV, and promised myself that I was going to spend the following day out for tea and scones with the rest of the group, although I hadn't asked them yet. The TV spewed out its morbid stories, which reminded me of that old American saying: _Same shit, different day._

According to the news, the UK had deployed 350 troops to help the French contain the crisis that was occurring in Mali as they battled Islamic militants, the US economy was in a surprise downturn, Israelis had attacked a Syrian convoy on the Syria/Lebanon border, and...Prince Charles had taken the tube for the first time in 27 years.

It was typical news; they bring you down at the beginning and then try to lighten your mood with a pointless story at the end before the depressing weather forecast, which was either going to be too cold, too wet or too windy, or all three.

I turned away from the television once the overly cheerful weatherman, who pranced about in front of the TV, told me that I was going to need an umbrella for the rest of the week.

"It's gonna be raining cats and frogs all week," Jason Duke sniffed, and shook his head disapprovingly. "Looks like we'll be staying in all week."

"Not me," I announced. "And neither are you lot either." I pointed at Jason, Don and the girls jokingly. "It's gonna be tea and scones on me tomorrow."

"Can't make it," Jason announced.

"Well," Don sat up straight. "I'm not going to argue with that."

"You won the lottery or something?" Amanda smiled and awaited my answer.

"No, just realising that life is for living."

"Ah, look at Arthur, everyone." Amanda's comment forced the group to watch the black cat lying on his back. It was by their feet, lying on the living room carpet, its back and front legs stretched out making it longer than it actually was.

"That thing looks like a bloody panther," Don sniffed. I got the impression that Don wasn't a great cat lover. I wasn't either, but I wouldn't have liked to see any harm coming to the creature. It was Penelope's baby and Penelope was a lovely woman and didn't deserve any more heartbreak in her life.

I know we all experience our loved ones dying, especially when you get to a mature age, but Penelope had experienced in the last two years three family deaths. Her husband had died years ago and hardly ever got a mention. I had a feeling that he might not have been the best husband in the world, but I could be guessing wrong, so who am I to judge? But Penelope had also lost her sister to cancer eighteen months ago, her cousin had died from a heart attack only four weeks before Christmas and her childhood friend had passed away in her sleep a year ago.

It seemed trivial compared to the loss some of the other residents had experienced, but you don't want to see any of your friends upset.

Penelope's cat, Arthur, had now finished his stretching exercises and lazily got back onto his feet and jumped onto Penelope's lap as soon as she patted her legs. "You see," she said to Don. "He loves his mommy."

"No," Don responded sceptically. "He just wants fed."

Penelope scoffed, "Well, he's more reliable than any early-squirting bloke _I've_ ever had."

Penelope looked at the wall clock of the huge room and there was almost a tinge of disappointment on her face when it stated that it was nearly 5 o'clock. Don was right. Arthur always got fed a full tin of cat food at 5pm and then he would usually disappear for the night. Penelope would sometimes sleep with the window open, if it wasn't too cold, and it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for her to wake up to find Arthur sleeping on the bed next to her. So long as vermin wasn't being kept in Misty Falls, the management were relaxed on their animal policy on the place.

"Has anyone seen the film, _The Marathon Man_?" I asked.

Only Don nodded.

I added, "I downloaded it off my PC last night, so if anyone wants to come to my room at eight, after dinner, you're all welcome."

Grace, Don and Penelope all said that they would come. Amanda never answered, but I knew she always liked an early night. Jason, on the other hand, mentioned that it was overrated and said that he would like an early night anyway, as the next day was Friday, and his forty-nine-year-old daughter was taking him out for the day. It was a day of lunch and shops, and I wasn't too sure if Jason Duke was going to last the day if it clashed with his afternoon nap.

When we all finished our dinner and decided to retreat to my room on the ground floor, with the exception of two, we walked past a room that we all knew was vacant and heard the unmistakeable noises of grunting and groaning. We all looked at one another in wide-eyed surprise and Don whispered, "Which old dog is that, do you wonder?"

When we first heard it, I think deep down, Don and I were a little jealous. Grace smiled and shook her head, while Penelope mentioned how disgusting it was. Then as we continued to walk past room 8 to get to room 12, my own room, I heard an expletive being called out by a male, which was followed by a female voice screaming _yes_. Then I remembered that the room was supposed to be vacant. A resident had decided to move to another care home across the other side of the town days ago, and the room hadn't been taken yet.

I looked at Don and said, "That's Hopper in there."

He nodded and said, "He's in there with Frisky."

Don was referring to Angela 'Frisky' Fristoe, and I felt quite disgusted that two care workers who should have been working, were in that room having sex. I remember thinking to myself: _Christ! Don't they realise how loud they are_. It was as if they either didn't have a care in the world, or they were oblivious to their moaning because of the good time that they were having. Okay, I'll admit. I was a little jealous, too.

Angela was a nice enough woman, although a bit foul mouthed and said 'frigging' a lot when speaking, but compared to Hopper, she was an angel. As far as I was aware, they were both single, but nevertheless, they were still at work and that's what bothered me the most. Imagine if someone had an elderly mother or father and they suddenly had a heart attack and died, and after the inquest it was found that it took ten minutes for an ambulance to be phoned because the carers were banging one another. I think it's fair to say the son or daughter of that elderly person would be non-best pleased. Sure, a handful of residents had cell phones but _they_ were supposed to be the carers!

I had a cell phone given to me by my daughter, but I never used it and neither did my gang possess one either. Nobody called me, I never called anyone either, and as for the internet on the phone, I always thought that that was a waste of time. My eyes aren't terrible, but all that scrolling and tapping to change pages and enlarge pages got on my nerves after a few days. It was too quick and was giving me a headache, so I put the phone into my drawer and it became flat and devoid of any battery life.

As we continued to walk away, I shook my head at the action of the two carers. _Animals!_
Chapter Eight

After the sex incident we all joked that if any of us had had phones, we could have burst in and took photos of Joseph File and Angela Fristoe and possibly bribed the pair of them. Jason Duke, ever the optimist, then shot down our theory in flames, by saying, "Yeah, and what would happen next? _I'll_ tell you what. Hopper would get the skeleton staff key, then beat the shit out of us while we slept."

He was right. Even though Jason Duke and the girls didn't know what Hopper was really like—only Don was told of the story when Hopper verbally abused me in the corridor—he had guessed correct. We all had our own keys to our room, but the care staff had skeleton keys in their office. The keys would be used if there was a suspected death, fire, etc, or any other kind of emergency. The keys, when taken, would have to be signed out in a book, so the management knew who was responsible for opening that specific door without the permission of the paying resident.

The last thing the owners needed, especially in the suing society that we now dwelled in, was for members of staff to walk into residents' rooms to take a tea bag or borrow a utensil, or worse!

*

It was February 14th, and I hated Valentine's Day for many reasons.

Valentine's day for me was a sad day as it was the day when the famous Liverpool FC Manager, Bob Paisley had died; it was also a day related to a massacre in 1929. But more importantly, it was the second anniversary of the death of my lovely wife, Emily. But even without all of that, Valentines Day was never a day that I particularly liked, even as a youngster.

The day for me was a reminder when I was young that I had no girlfriend, and every year that day would come around, I would be asked by my classmates if I had received any cards. The answer to that question was no, as it always was, apart from one year.

When I was sixteen, I found a sealed card sitting on the carpet under the letterbox of my front door on the morning before I went to school. It had my name on the card, so I naturally opened it and shook with excitement when I read what was inside. It was a lame "Roses are red" poem, but it was mine, and it was for me, so I didn't care.

I took the card to school awaiting the usually dreaded question during registration, and this time I had evidence that someone liked me. Two days after receiving the card, my mother announced that she needed to go to the shops for food and asked if I would pass her the shopping list she had written out that was sitting on the fireplace. It felt I'd been punched in the stomach when I realised that the writing on the list was the same as the one on my treasured card that was standing proudly on my bedroom windowsill.

I handed her the list, ran upstairs, threw the card in the bin and cried into my pillow. I know that seems really pathetic now, but at the time my hormones were all over the place, I was desperate for a girlfriend yet petrified of the species and thought that a knock on my door was a matter of days away from my secret admirer. That card had given me hope, it had given me a few days of unbelievable happiness and it had all been turned upside down from that shopping list. I understand that my mother meant well at the time, but it didn't stop me hating her for the rest of that week.

"I don't give a shit, old man, I'm on my break!"

I heard the unmistakeable voice of Hopper in the background. It was a Thursday evening, and Hopper and Frisky was on another shift together. John 'Ketchup' Sauce and the lovely Nadia 'Nads' Brown had just come off their morning shift, and amongst a handful of temporary staff, Hopper and Frisky were up on another afternoon shift, which usually lasted from 2-10 pm.

"Ah, he's on form," Grace joked, which forced the rest of the group to smirk amongst themselves.

"He's ever the smooth talker." It was Penelope's turn to make a comment.

The fact was that we secretly feared him a little, but nobody would admit it. We were in a private care home and the last thing we should have been concerned about was verbally abusive staff.

At that time, Hopper had never raised his hand to any of us, but we knew that the potential was there as his anger was ever present when Lance Brannigan wasn't around, and that was proved on my least favourite day of the year.

It was a cold evening and myself, Amanda and Don were in the main living room watching the TV that was attached to the wall. It was a documentary on the NHS and although I was doing my hardest to try and listen to the programme, a lot of the other folk in the room were nattering over it. I knew that turning up the volume would only result in them speaking louder, so I gave up. This was exactly one of the reasons why a lot of residents on an evening went to their own rooms, so they could go and watch their programmes in peace with their own portable televisions. I decided to do this myself and was about to make my excuses to Don and Amanda, when I saw Amanda rubbing her forehead with the fingers of her right hand.

"Are you okay?" Yes, it was a stupid question, but a natural one. If someone was lying on the floor with a hand missing, that very same question would probably be asked as well.

"Not really," she answered. Her voice sounded weary and her hands started to judder. "I think it's just a migraine. I don't have any tablets either."

Don turned to me. "Come on," he said. "Let's get her to her room."

"I'm okay," she protested meekly.

"I don't give a shit," Don scolded gently. "We're taking you to your room; we'll get some paracetamol from the staff office and that's that."

Don stood Amanda up and wrapped his left arm around her waist. They seemed to be doing well without my help, and I felt a little useless and wondered where all the carers were.

Too guilty and too concerned to sit back down, I walked next to Amanda and placed my arm on her shoulder. We popped our heads into the staff office, which was in the main living room area, but there was no sign of anyone. Hopper and Frisky were on afternoon shifts together, so it didn't take a genius why they were missing and were probably playing 'hide the sausage' in some vacant room.

I told Don that I would knock the doors of Penelope and Grace who were in their rooms, to tell them that Amanda was feeling unwell, but he told me not to bother as they might be resting. I looked at my watch; it was after nine so he had a good point.

Using the elevator, we eventually got to the first floor. Amanda stayed in room 27, so we prepared ourselves for a decent walk. The place was designed like a hotel. There was a main hall, and on either side of the hall as one progressed down it, there were doors on either side, which were rooms belonging to residents.

Finally, we got to Amanda's room, and to tell you the truth, my back was aching and soaked with sweat. We took the key off Amanda and opened the door; we then helped her onto her bed and she waved us away as soon as her head touched the pillow.

I saw a photograph sticking out from underneath her pillow, and I went to take it out. I managed to get a quick look at it before Amanda viciously snapped it out of my hands. It was a black and white photograph of a boy on a slide. She took another glaring look at me, and I decided not to say a word. I think she just wanted to be left alone.

She took the photograph and put it in her side drawer, and then slammed the drawers shut. She then closed her eyes and looked like she was wincing with the pain being produced. I turned to Don, who looked genuinely concerned for the seventy-nine-year-old woman. "I'll go back to the staff room and see if they have any headache tablets," I said.

Don nodded. "If there's still no one there, ask James Barclay if he has any. After all, that's why they nickname him the doctor, his room is like a chemist."

Suddenly a familiar sight walked past Amanda's opened door. A man donning light green overalls walked by and without thinking I called out, "Hopper!"

As soon as those words left my mouth, Don gazed at me devilishly like a parent would gaze at a child if they had said something offensive in public, but refrained from verbally scolding them.

Hopper poked his head around the doorframe.

I held my hand up apologetically. "I mean, _Joseph_."

"What?" he said with a huge dose of attitude, as if I had interrupted something really important.

"We need you to do us a favour," I said, angry with myself that I shuddered while speaking to him. He appeared in the doorway now, revealing his six-foot frame, which did nothing to appease my nerves.

Then Don intervened. "She's got a terrible headache, Joseph. We need you to get some headache tablets from the staff room. Do you have any?"

"Might do." And that was that. He walked away from us and left us in limbo.

Then he said it.

I loved Don, and wish I had his nerve. He was seventy-eight years old but still yelled out after Hopper, "You useless shit!"

As sure as taxes, Joseph File reappeared from around the corner and stormed into Amanda's room, grabbed Don and forced him up against the wall with just the one powerful hand.

Don was on his tiptoes and I feared that Hopper was going to kill him right there. Don's face began to go through every shade of red as the hand gripped his throat and slowly squeezed. The thing was, Hopper never yelled or screamed, his anger was within and quite controlled. I don't know whether that was because where we were, or he really was some kind of sociopath. I didn't know, and still don't, as I'm unaware of his history. He obviously hadn't spent time in prison, as the company should have done a CBT check on him, like they did for all individuals working in care homes amongst other organisations.

While all this was happening, Amanda was oblivious to all of it and was half-passed out on the bed, fighting the tiredness.

I felt paralysed seeing my friend being choked like that and could only pray that someone—another carer—would walk in and stop him. I had to do something, so I went over and before I even had the chance to say or do anything, Hopper's free arm pushed me away from him and I stumbled back, clattering into Amanda's cupboard.

Hopper eventually released Don, very, very slowly, and he glared at the old man. Don's face went through every shade of red once more, but this time the shades were getting lighter, which was obviously a good thing.

"You don't speak to me like that," Hopper snarled. "You're just an old fuck waiting to die in here. Don't make me do something _I_ might enjoy."

At this point, Amanda had been disturbed by the fracas that was occurring, and she began to sit up on her bed and asked hazily what was going on. I looked at her and shook my head at her furiously, telling her not to get involved. I remained sitting on the floor watching all of this after being pushed over, and glared at the unfair standoff between the carer and the resident.

Don was stroking his throat and slowly began to get his breath back and looked Hopper up and down and said, "Seriously, out of all of your daddy's sperm," he pointed at Hopper's chest, "and this was the one that won?"

I looked at Amanda who was half asleep; I then closed my eyes as soon as Don had uttered those words and I genuinely feared for my friend's life. I heard a thud and then opened my eyes to see Don slowly slide down the wall that his back was pressed up against, clutching onto his stomach that Hopper, had clearly punched.

I could see the rage in Don's eyes and those very same eyes began to move away from Hopper's frame and gawped at the bulb above us, its glow brightened and dimmed every other second, which forced Amanda to wake up again.

Hopper grabbed Don to pick him up, but Don snapped in a husky voice, "Leave me alone!"

The bulb suddenly shattered loudly into a hundred pieces, making Amanda and myself jump with fright. The shattered glass sprinkled over us like confetti. Surprisingly, Hopper also let out a surprising shriek, and his voice had climbed a few octaves and what was released from his mouth was reminiscent of a young girl.

Within a second, the room was drenched in almost darkness, apart from the light that tried to spill in from the hallway through the opened door of Amanda's room.

Don began to cackle a little, although he looked tired, and then Amanda followed suit, but her laugh was raucous and even though the room was a lot dimmer than before, I could see that Hopper was infuriated—most probably with himself—that his little girly yelp had been heard by myself, Amanda and Don.

Don then said to Hopper, "And you go on about us lot pissing and shitting ourselves?"

I couldn't bring myself to laugh, as right there, I still feared for our safety. Hopper looked around and then suddenly his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment; I then saw Grace standing in the doorway of Amanda's room. Grace was based on the first floor in room 19, and was wondering what the commotion was about.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Are you okay, Amanda?"

"Fine," Amanda mumbled.

"Oh, okay."

Hopper looked around the room confusingly as if he had just woken up. Still confused, he stormed out of the room wordlessly, and Grace moved out of his way, which was a good move, as I'm sure he would have knocked her over to get past.

Once Hopper had disappeared, I shook my head at Amanda and Don who was still chuckling, but it was beginning to die down. I had noticed that Grace had decided to go back to her room, and I was furious about what had happened. And although this was completely out of character for me, I grabbed Don by the shirt. I yelled in Don's face, "What the hell have you done? He's not gonna let this go now."

"I can handle him," Don sniffed, and gave me a look telling me to let go off his shirt. I assumed he had been manhandled enough for one night, and I immediately looked at my hands as if I didn't have control over them and released Don.

"You can handle him?" I questioned with a huge slice of scepticism. "You didn't look like you was doing a good job back there."

"If I'm pushed hard enough, he won't know what hit him."

"What?" I was baffled at what this seventy-eight-year-old man was telling me. "Are you some kind of secret martial artist or something? Because if you are, you better start using it."

Don then lowered his head, his anger had clearly subsided and there was almost regret on his face at what he had just said, "Just forget I said anything, please. You're right. Probably best if we steer clear of that psycho from now on."

I looked at Amanda, whose eyes were struggling to remain open. I then turned back to Don. "If that's at all possible."

"What do you mean?"

I sighed, "It's not just you, Don. You've ridiculed him; he might take this out on the group. In his mind, this episode of him screaming like a girl because of a popped light bulb is going to be the talk of Misty Falls."

Don shrugged. "And?"

"And, it means that crazy pig's gonna flex his muscles even more, to regain some of the pride that he's lost tonight. Whether we do or we don't, he's gonna think that we're gonna tell everyone what has happened."

Amanda stroked her banging head. "What happened? How does a bulb just pop like that?"

Don said, "Probably just a cheap bulb. It's rare, but it happens." There was a slight change in Don's voice.

I looked at Don's face. His eyes refused to meet mine; I loved Don to pieces, but he was a hopeless liar. There was something he wasn't telling me.
PART TWO

Amanda's fall
Chapter Nine

It was the middle of February—the 18th to be exact—and Joseph File hadn't uttered a word to the group since the attack on Don four days ago. Grace had asked what had gone on and Amanda was practically unconscious during the assault, so Don had managed to convince the girls that it was a verbal disagreement between Hopper and ourselves that had escalated into raised voices.

After a heated discussion between Don and I, we had decided not to go the authorities on this, which I know sounds crazy, but at the time we were convinced that Hopper had learned his lesson and that physical violence was never the answer, and it was also our word against his.

Because it was Don that had been manhandled by Hopper, he had the last say, and he decided that the matter should be forgotten, as he had also goaded Hopper and insulted his dad to a certain degree, not only that, we felt that going to Brannigan would be a waste of time with the job vacancy coming up in the summer.

The problem I had was that if Hopper did continue with his violent tirade, the tirade would be sneakier. The sneakier _he_ was, the less chance of getting caught and having potential witnesses. I was eventually proved to be right, I'm sad to say.

We did discuss the idea of re-charging my cell phone and beginning to use it, as there was a recording system on it. Don argued that if ever Hopper verbally abused us we could record the abuse on the phone and then we'd have evidence to hand to Brannigan. But to tell you the truth, everyone in Misty Falls just wanted an easy life and I felt that if we avoided Joseph File then we shouldn't have any problems. It wasn't a perfect scenario, but it was the only plan we had, and for a while it worked.

After just a few days since the incident, we got back to our old ways and on this particular Sunday, I had spent most of my time in my room and watching TV. To be perfectly honest, despite the good facilities and the great company, I would still get bored once in a while. I missed my wife; I missed my son, Sean, and my little girl, Donna, who wasn't such a little girl anymore at the age of thirty-eight.

I had no grandchildren, and knew at the age Sean and Donna were at now, it would never happen and I had given up on the dream. I couldn't blame them really; they had decent careers and had put their careers first. In _my_ day, careers were a rarity and my jobs entailed working in factories while Emily brought up the kids. There was no childminders back then in the seventies and eighties. Also, back then if I wanted to go anywhere, we would have to hire a car. Our holiday wouldn't be in Spain, Greece or Portugal; it'd be in Margate, Blackpool or Great Yarmouth. And our house didn't have a phone until 1981. Before then, we would have to rely on public phone boxes and pray that they hadn't been vandalised.

Nowadays, everybody had a career of some kind, and pretty much everyone possessed a Blackberry or iPhone. Also in the seventies only the local farmers possessed jeeps, now everyone had one, even the moms who had trouble seeing over the steering wheel and seeing out the back, had one, and would terrorise people with their erratic driving while doing the school run.

It's not that I'm envious of the facilities people have these days, it's just that I think they don't appreciate it and take it all for granted. This sounds really trivial, but I remember back in the late seventies going to a bookshop to purchase the new book by the late James Herbert—I think it was called _Lair_. Once I purchased the book, I went home and read it on a night. These days, I could go to an online bookstore and have it wired to my phone or iPad, if I had one, within seconds. How can bookstores compete with that?

On the 18th February 2012, after watching _Questions of the Day_ with host, Nicky Campbell, I left my room on the ground floor and shuffled my way out of my room at precisely 11am. Apart from the presence of Agnes McCabe in front of me, who was notorious for taking a dump while she walked, I was pretty much all alone walking down that huge corridor. I didn't mind though, it was probably the only decent exercise I had all day. I kept an eye on Agnes and made sure my eyes flitted to the floor every now and again in case of any unusual surprises.

Honestly, sometimes she was like a horse.

I eventually entered the main living room area and produced a smile. The room was so warm and snug it had forced some of the residents to have a cheeky nap. Some dozed in their chairs, and some salivated while they waited for their 5pm Sunday dinner. It was the only highlight of the day with some of these old folk, and the best way to speed time up for them was to sleep and try and reduce the hours as quickly as possible. It sounds a bizarre thing for elderly people to do, speeding up time in their stage of life, but food was sometimes all they talked about and all they had to look forward to.

As soon as they finished their dinner and their trays were taken away, you could always guarantee that the topic of conversation would be about what they might be having the next day. The dinner was amazing as it usually was. We had Yorkshire puddings, mashed potato, carrots, peas, a breast of chicken smothered in gravy and I helped myself to a generous dollop of mint sauce and English mustard, which made Jason screw his face up in disgust.

We had our dinner round the window in our usual seats, although some liked to go back to their room to eat. Then the kitchen staff would do their rounds and collect the trays and cutlery and disappear into the kitchen to wash the utensils up. I would sometimes go back to my room for a little lie down for half an hour then returned back to the main living room area of the establishment.

When I got to the area where the bay window was, I noticed that all the gang were there and one solitary red leather chair was waiting for its sixty-nine-year-old master. We weren't a fickle bunch, and we didn't have our 'own' chair the way a lot of people did, we sat wherever there was a seat available, but due to habit everyone pretty much sat in the same chairs, the area by the bay window was ours.

If a group of people decided to sit there one morning, there'd be nothing we could do about it, but nobody did. We had claimed that area of the main living room, but only unofficially.

Jason was talking to Amanda and Penelope was in a world of her own, petting her beloved Arthur. I saw the back of Grace's head and saw her turn to her right and drew breath as if she was about to talk to Jason, but my jolly salutation had ruined that.

"Morning, shagwits!" was my humorous greeting. "Sorry I'm late."

"Morning, dickhead!" Jason Duke was the first to chip in, and revealed another 'Dukism.' "Better late than pregnant, I suppose."

"Honestly," Grace tutted, but with a smirk on her face. It looked like she was pleased to see me. "You men never grow up, do you?"

"You wouldn't have us any other way, Gracie darling." Don winked.

Amanda smiled at Don's comment and began speaking to Grace while Don looked up and gawped at me and nodded at me to look behind. I did just that and saw Hopper seeing to one of the female residents. He was smiling and as he sat the woman back down into her comfy chair, she patted him thankfully, and he walked away from her and gave her a wave. The woman leant over and began talking with her friends and it was obvious that she was talking about Hopper and what a lovely gentleman he was.

I had no clue what was going on, and neither did Don. Nobody seemed to be bothered by this apart from Don and myself. Everyone else was pleased to see a nicer side to him, as he usually was verbally aggressive whenever Brannigan wasn't present and nobody, except one, had been brave enough to put in a complaint.

The cynical side to me thought that this behaviour of Joseph File was unnatural. Had he really changed? Was the incident in Amanda's room just a one off, as far as physical violence was concerned? Was it the turning point for him? I wasn't convinced and neither was Don Swain when I looked into his eyes. Only time would tell, I thought.

"So who's coming to the shops tomorrow, girls?" Penelope asked. She picked Arthur up off of her lap and gently placed him onto the floor. The black cat trotted through the living room and although we didn't see him leave, we knew he would find an open window to jump through and trot through the grounds of the home or even risk going out onto the streets. Penelope joked that she would love to put a secret camera around his neck to see what kind of mischief he got up to while the rest of the world was sleeping.

"Me," Amanda snapped.

"And me!" Grace shrieked. "I've had a boring weekend, may as well blow the cobwebs off tomorrow."

"I hear there's a new shop opening at the mall." Penelope shifted in her seat. "That should get us in the mood," she said cheekily with a smirk.

"Oh yes?" Don began to tease. "And is it one of these sex shops that you'll all be visiting?"

"Never you mind, you dirty old man," Penelope jested, and playfully slapped Don's arm. "Anyway, at your age I'd be surprised everything is still in working order."

Jason chuckled at Penelope's cheeky remark and chipped in. "He's only seventy-eight. You're in your prime, aren't you Don?"

"Sure am." Don nodded over to Jason appreciatively.

"Anyway," Jason sat up with his back straight. "Who needs women, eh lads?"

I took a peep over towards Grace and felt my face immediately blush when our set of eyes clocked one another. We both gave off a shy smile and this was noticed by Jason who couldn't help himself. "Although, I think young Todd wouldn't say no to a bit of Grace, ain't that right you two?"

"Jason!" Grace scolded. "That is so unfair, me and Todd are very good friends. Besides, Todd only lost Emily two years ago, I'm sure the last thing he's thinking about is...is...a lady friend."

Jason apologised to both Grace and I.

I thought about Grace's comment and although she was right about Emily, I couldn't help feel disappointed about what she had said. Emily had been dead for a while but the clock was ticking and if I could choose anyone to be—using Grace's words—my lady friend, it would be Miss Guerra without a shadow of a doubt.

I remember a few years ago, a good friend of mine called Donny Henshaw had lost his wife to cancer and had re-married within six months. At first, I was shocked by the quickness of it all, but Emily had told me that if _she_ went first, then she would want me to find love and wouldn't want me to be on my own for the remaining years of my life.

"Okay you miserable lot," Don interrupted the silence. "Here's a question. If you had a choice between world peace and Hugh Hefner's fortune, what colour would your Porsche be?"

We all burst out laughing and as I clutched my sides, my laughing had diminished a little when I saw Don's face. His eyes looked past me, and still laughing I turned around and saw Hopper glaring at all of us.

I knew immediately that he thought we were talking about him and he probably thought that we were more than likely laughing about the bulb episode where the so-called macho hard man yelped like a girl once the thing popped. But it probably made it worse that we were all snickering and Don and I turning around and looking at Hopper while we were doing this, probably fuelled his paranoia.

We were the same men in that room that witnessed his shriek, and once I turned back round to Don, he nodded his head at me, and even though no words were exchanged, I knew that nod of the head was Don telling me that Hopper wasn't finished yet. And he was right. He wasn't finished, in fact, he was just getting started, and Don and I were on top of his list, and our laughter hadn't helped matters.
Chapter Ten

It was Monday morning, the next day, and although there had been a few minor problems with the electrics, the company had decided that the problem was under control. But when the electrics in the cooker that was situated in the main kitchen had died, Lance Brannigan—the manager of the establishment who we rarely saw—asked members of staff if they knew a good electrician, otherwise we'd be getting sandwiches for our evening meal.

Hopper had told the manager that he knew the perfect person.

We were unsure about Hopper's recommendations but you have to be aware that some members of staff and Lance Brannigan didn't know what Hopper was like and what he could be capable of.

*

Two hours had passed and it was after midday. Grace had decided to go for a walk, and nobody had seen her for at least an hour. The rest of us sat in our chairs and made conversation as our eyes occasionally flitted through the huge bay window.

Suddenly a white Transit van pulled into the main entrance and parked up at the front of the building where visitors and staff parked. It had no graphics on the side of the van to suggest what company they worked for, who it was, and what they did for a living, but we knew it was Hopper's friend.

Larry Evans had walked into the reception area and the whole of the living room watched his every move as he signed himself in and began to walk towards the staff room. He looked nervous, mid-thirties, and according to the women he was quite handsome.

He came into the main living room area and introduced himself to some of the residents. I still don't know why he did this, as at the time he was just a handyman coming in to do just the one job. Maybe he was hoping to win the residents round and if anything else went wrong, he'd be called. He never came over to us in particular, but we all looked around to see him talking to the others.

"Creep," Don sniffed.

"Prick," Jason snarled.

"You're just jealous," Penelope giggled, and adjusted her thick brown rimmed glasses. "It's about time we had a bit of talent round here."

Amanda laughed at Penelope's cheeky comment, and she didn't stop there.

Penelope added, "I'll tell you what, if I was thirty years younger, he'd be getting straddled."

"Penelope!" I said in a fake shocked voice. "Honestly, you've got a mind like a sewer."

"You have to get what you can when you get to my age. I'm soaked just thinking about it." John Sauce walked past the group and Penelope looked round to see him and said stridently, "And I still haven't given up on you yet, young man."

We giggled to ourselves and could see Ketchup blushing even though he had his back to us. Poor John Sauce, he was a lovely lad really. I kind of felt sorry for him; I thought he was too good to be working at Misty Falls. He was a nice character, inoffensive, but nervous, but I wished he stuck up for himself a bit more when Hopper occasionally berated him, but it was easier said than done I suppose.

I looked over and noticed that Larry Evans reminded me of someone; to me he looked like a young Burt Reynolds but with more hair and no dodgy moustache sitting under his nose.

He then disappeared out of the living room and was taken by Lance Brannigan to—I assume—the main kitchen. Once the excitement was all over for the patrons, everyone turned around and began yacking amongst themselves as if his arrival had never happened.

"I wonder what's taking Grace so long," I queried to nobody in particular and looked at my watch. I was getting concerned.

"She's a woman in her seventies," Amanda spoke. "She'll be absolutely fine."

"Where did she go? Did she say anything to anyone?"

Penelope and Amanda both shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads. I looked at their faces, and although I was no expert, I could see that they were telling the truth and genuinely didn't know where she was.

"Maybe she's at the shops?" Don spoke up.

"For what?" Jason asked. "Her fridge is full, she said so herself yesterday."

"Maybe she's gone to get herself a nice dress, for a special someone," Penelope joked and looked over my way and gave me a cheeky wink. I was in no mood for Penelope's naughtiness and never so much raised a smile at her comment. They could all see I was concerned, but they continued to attempt to massage my nerves with more light-hearted banter.

"Maybe she's in the pub?" Amanda spoke up, trying to lighten the mood.

"That's exactly where we'll be tomorrow, eh lads?" Don winked at myself. I had completely forgotten about that.

There was a local pub only a half a mile walk from Misty Falls called, The Pines, and I couldn't wait to get out of the place to sup on a couple of cold ones. I was quite happy for the girls to come along, but Don insisted that it was a lads get together only—not that any of the ladies were bothered anyway.

"Maybe she's got herself a secret bloke?" Jason was as tactful as ever.

I felt two sets of curious eyes on me. I looked up to see Penelope and Amanda glaring at me; I could tell what they were thinking. If she did, would I be jealous? It wasn't as if we were lovers or lifelong friends who had a history that went back decades. She was just a woman I cared for greatly; maybe there was a big hole in my life and it was missing Emily that felt me drawn to Grace. The truth was, I loved Grace, and I felt terrible for it, as every time I thought about Emily, guilt would suffocate me.

I was married when I was twenty-five-years-old. Emily was twenty-one. It was 1969 and up until her death we had lasted over forty years without any of us lusting after anybody else in those four decades. We were married in the September and it was an active year in the world, as I suppose it always is.

It was the year when John Lennon and Yoko Ono were married, when Judy Garland died of an overdose, where Brian Jones was found dead in his swimming pool, and where the followers of evil mastermind, Charles Manson, butchered Sharon Tate and her friends in her home in California.

It was an eventful year to say the least, but for me it was the happiest year of my life. Even though the birth of my son, Sean, and my daughter, Donna, was a special day, the wedding just about topped it, which I know some would disagree with.

How can you put your wedding day at the top of the pile ahead of the birth of your children? Some would say.

Simple.

Emily was the love of my life, and if I had never met her and hadn't married her, my kids would never have existed.

Emily and myself did discuss death for many a year and what would we do. Like I had mentioned before, we both agreed if one of us passed away, it would be tragic if neither one of us met anybody else. I would have wanted the same for Emily if I were to go first. I wouldn't want my Emily to be alone for the last ten...fifteen...even twenty years of her life.

I suppose I was really lonely.

I had a good crowd in Misty Falls, which was a lot more than what most residents had, but I did miss the closeness of a woman, a cuddle even, and having feelings for Grace had taken me by surprise and never even realised I had any for her until November. The rest of the group had noticed my fondness for her, and she did also. I think she felt the same way, but we were too old to be carrying on like a couple of teenagers. We both liked one another, but never took it further. Maybe because we were both scared. Getting really close to someone in our twilight years was a recipe for another heartbreak. We didn't have time on our side, and I'm not really sure I was equipped to lose someone else that I loved twice.

A taxi pulled up outside the establishment, and our inquisitiveness had got the better of us and we all smiled when we saw Grace get out of the cab. However, there were no shopping bags in her hand, no smile being worn on her own face, as a matter of fact, she looked morose.

Our eyes followed her as she headed for the entrance of the building. When she entered the building, she walked past the reception area, and kept on looking straight ahead, her eyes refusing to look at anyone. Right there, we knew there was something wrong, but we had no idea what it was.

She turned right and we all knew that she was heading for the first floor, room 19. Neither one of us said anything and whatever had happened or whatever Grace had been told, it produced a black cloud over our heads and we pitied her, although we didn't know what we pitied her for.

I got up out of my leather seat, and pretended to stretch my legs. I put my arms in the air and stretched the whole of my body, while producing a fake yawn.

"Don't bother," Don snapped.

"Don't bother what?" I snarled, still standing, knowing that immediately I had been caught before I had chance to do anything.

" _You_ know. Don't bother her. She'll come out when she's ready." Don coughed a little, turned his hand into a fist and gently punched the middle of his chest, as if that would help. He then turned to the rest of the group. "And if she has something to get off her chest, she'll tell us all in good time."

"Maybe I'll just—"

"Maybe you'll do nothing," Don continued, as the rest of the group glared at me. It was apparent that they were on Don's side. "Just sit tight and leave her be."

I sat down slowly and Penelope leaned over and patted my lap. "I'm sure she's fine, darling. Just give her some space."

"Well, maybe if I pop my head round her door and say hello."

Don impatiently huffed at my persistence and said, "Just because you fancy her, doesn't mean she wants to see you. Maybe you're the last person she wants to see—"

"Don!" Penelope tried to calm him down.

Added Don, "Stop hanging around her like a fricking leech. It's pathetic. Leave her alone."

I have to admit, I was taken aback by Don's little tirade against me, and so was the rest of the group, judging by their shocked faces, but I took no offence strangely enough, as I knew he was right. I was behaving like an idiot and smothering Grace was only going to make her snap at me. Even though that really wasn't in her nature, no one liked to be smothered.

I sighed in defeat after our small heated discussion and we refrained from speaking and sat for a long twenty minutes before Jason got up to go to his room, followed by Amanda, Penelope and Don. When Don got up he patted me on my shoulder without saying a word, and I knew what that meant: _no hard feelings, pal_. And there wasn't any.
Chapter Eleven

The Pines was one of those places where they did family meals and had a lounge area for where they served those particular meals. There was also a bar area where people would drink, and drink only.

It would have been a nice treat and a change to spend money on a mixed grill or a surf and turf, but we paid our money every month into Misty Falls and the money we paid included lodgings and food. So out of principle, we decided to go to The Pines _after_ our evening meal, and save our money for real special events like the one we had coming up with all six of us. Eating out was something we did once a month if we were lucky.

When we entered the bar area we were pleased that the pub was relatively empty, although the lounge sounded like it was doing a roaring trade. I was first to the bar and ordered us three pints of bitter, and took them over to a table where Don and Jason were sitting.

"Well, this makes a nice change," Jason beamed, and took a noisy slurp of his cold beverage, the froth temporarily giving him a white foamy moustache.

"It is for you," Don sniped at Jason. "You never go out usually, I'm putting this day in my diary. _Jason Duke goes out_ "

I chuckled at Don's ribbing and asked him, "How's Becky getting on, over in Oz?" I knew she had called Misty Falls from Queensland on the morning, and Don had been on the phone to her for twenty minutes.

"She's peachy. She keeps pestering me to get an iPhone and talked about this skype malarkey, but I can't be bothered with all that. A phone call is just as good, it's not as if I've forgotten what she looks like."

"How long has it been?" I asked him.

"Since I saw her? Properly?"

I nodded, and took a large gulp of the cold beverage myself, immediately licking the froth off my top lip.

Don blew out his cheeks and released an elongated exhale of breath while he thought. I knew the answer to my question, I just wanted to hear him say it, and he did. "Nearly twenty years."

I falsely raise my eyebrow in surprise. "Wow, that's a long time." I didn't want to rub salt into Don's wounds, I just wished either he or Becky would get their finger out of their arses and visit one another before it was too late. Don lowered his head sadly.

"No kids?"

"Nah, she won't have any now. She's forty-three. Bloody kids today. In my day they bred like rabbits, now you're lucky to get even one grandkid." Don sounded a little bitter, but I knew exactly what he meant. I had two kids, but not one grandchild between the pair of them. It was the sign of the times, I suppose. Careers came before having children, but I wasn't too bothered about passing on my family name and all that bollocks. So long as my children were happy, I couldn't care less, honestly. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing overall considering the ever-increasing world population.

"I think if I don't have any in the next two years, that'll be me grandfatherless," I sniggered; wondering if 'grandfatherless' was actually a word.

"Well, you never know," Jason piped up. "Never underestimate the power of termites."

Strangely, Don and myself nodded our heads in agreement to Jason's dippy remark, and then once we did, we both scowled in confusion and looked at one another and then turned to Jason who was already halfway through his drink.

There was a silence that suffocated us in the pub, and it was only something that could happen to a group of men, I thought. You'd never walk into a pub and see a bunch of ladies sitting a table in complete silence. Not that I'm insinuating that all ladies can be gobshites—that is not what I'm saying.

While we sat there we began to chat once again, and I was kind of hoping that Jason was going to sneak off with his weak bladder to the toilets to give me a valuable minute or so with Don. That time took a while, but it did eventually come. Although Jason announced he was going to take a trip to the toilet in a typical man way.

"Right, I'm off to shake the snake."

Both Don and I chuckled at his announcement and I did wonder why Jason didn't go out more, as he was decent company—or was that because he had a drink inside of him?

We hardly went out for a drink, but I thought it would be a good little tradition for us blokes to go out once a month as a little treat.

"Well this is nice," I spoke out.

"We should do it more often," Don said, as if he had just read my mind.

I nodded in agreement, turned behind me and then shifted in my seat uncomfortably. Don knew something was up, and asked me before I had chance to open my mouth.

"Something you want to say?" My thin friend looked at me with his wide dark eyes awaiting an answer.

I knew I didn't have much time before Jason came back, and I didn't want to ask the question with Jason there as I didn't want Don to be uncomfortable, so I just came out with it. "The incident in Amanda's room."

"Incident?" Don played dumb, scratching his short grey hair.

"When Hopper was there."

"I know, funny wasn't it?" Don took a slurp of his beverage and placed the glass down on the table a little too hard, his eyes never leaving mine during the process. I sensed he was a little annoyed.

"Well..." I shook my head. "That's not what I mean. I'm talking about the bulb. How did that happen?"

"I told you, probably a faulty bulb or something." He shrugged his shoulders, but I could tell by his face that he was lying or at least hiding something.

I sighed and glared at him, my face telling him that I wasn't happy with his answer. He glared back and refused to back down.

I cracked a false smile. Don cracked one back, mistaking by false smile for a genuine one.

"Tell you what," I said. "Forget it. I'm just a stupid old fool."

Don's beam widened with relief and gave me a wink. "I dunno, Todd. What did you actually think? That I was some kind of magician or something?"

I half-laughed and played along, although the doubts were creeping in. "I haven't a clue, I was just a bit confused."

"Maybe next time I'll pull a rabbit out of a hat, or saw Grace in two." Don chuckled and seemed relaxed once more. "I could try and catch a bullet in my teeth."

"All right," I snapped jokingly. "Enough." I then looked up to see Jason coming out of the male toilets and he sat next to us.

We continued to chatter amongst ourselves and during the talk Don and myself glanced at one another. I then thought long and hard about what I was thinking. Here was an old man at the age of seventy-eight who was present when a bulb popped. That was it! It wasn't as if he picked up a cupboard with the power of his mind or I had caught him levitating.

I told myself that it was a subject that I was going to forget and began to smirk at myself.

Todd Seaward. You're an idiot!

*

Although we hadn't supped that many ales I think it was fair to say that we were all drunk. We arrived back at Misty Falls at around ten and entered the reception area where only four residents were sitting in the main living room. The telly was blaring, but the four were asleep in their chairs, minutes away from being ushered to their rooms by the staff.

I could vaguely remember Don being the first to go to his room, complaining that he was ready to piss himself. Don was in room 2 on the ground floor, so he had a short walk to his bed. We drunkenly and loudly said good night to one another, and them Jason and I headed towards our own room on the ground floor.

The only people in our group who were based on the first floor were Amanda—room 27, and Grace—room 19. I had offered to swap rooms in the past, but not only would the proud girls not allow it, but apparently it was against the establishment rules anyway. All the rooms were exactly the same, and as far as I was aware, they also cost the same, but because Amanda and Grace had no qualms being on the first floor, it was a matter I never investigated further with the management.

When I got into my room, I shut the door firmly behind me and the first thing I did was drain my aching bladder. I flushed the toilet and sat on the foot of the bed, ready to take off my shoes. Two minutes had passed and I then suddenly heard footsteps going past my door, which was followed by a muffled voice.

It sounded like Hopper.

For a reason I still don't know why to this day, I decided to leave my room and see what he was up to. I looked down the corridor and could see that Jason's door was ajar, and from behind it I could hear a muffled snigger, but it wasn't a snigger that had been released by my eighty-one-year-old friend.

I walked—or staggered—towards his room along the corridor and placed my fingers on the door, it was ajar by a few inches. I knew Hopper was inside, and it was probably him that had opened the door with the spare key, but arrogantly didn't shut it properly as it was at that time of night that nobody was really about, apart from the members of staff who were working.

I gently pushed the door open, which opened by a few inches per second and couldn't believe what I saw. It half-sobered me up and I was bewildered why a human being would do such a thing to another human being. It disgusted me so much, my voice was stolen from the shock, and the nausea began to snowball the longer I looked at what was happening.

Jason was lying on top of the bed, fully clothed and still wearing his shoes. He was out cold. To be fair, he had two extra drinks than me and Don, and we told him at the time that the two whiskies at the end of the night was a bad idea. But we were talking to a soused man who never got out much, so our advice fell on deaf ears.

Hopper had his back to me and it was clear that his trousers were undone and this animal was giggling and urinating on the belly of my good friend, Jason, who was oblivious at what was happening to him.

I shouted at Hopper, "What the hell are you doing?"

It was the most revolting thing I had ever seen, and was sickened by what I saw.

Hopper twisted his neck and glared at me briefly. He turned back round and finished himself off casually. I could see that poor old Jason was still snoring like a drunken pig, but his shirt was saturated in Hopper's piss.

Hopper then zipped himself up and walked over to me and sneered at me, and said in sharp whisper, "Keep your voice down." He then cleared his throat. "You're lucky; I thought it was _your_ spare key I'd picked up at the office. And once I realised it was your dippy friend, I thought: _oh well, I'm here now_."

I was flabbergasted by his casualness and continued with my rant. "Is this because you think we were laughing at you the other day? In the living room area? Because we weren't."

He grabbed me by the arm and escorted me out of Jason's room, shutting the door behind him, and threw me back into my own room with so much force that I stumbled to the floor. Because I had had a few cold ones myself, I'm not entirely sure what Hopper said afterwards.

I think that Hopper might have mentioned something about me keeping my mouth shut or he was going to stab me, but I'm still not sure to this day.

Although I was a little drunk, the incident had woken me up a little and it took me an hour to get to sleep. The last thing I thought of was how Jason was going to react once he woke up in the morning, unless the putrid stench of Hopper's urine didn't wake him up before that in the middle of the night.

He's going to be so confused, I thought. I was unsure whether or not to tell Jason about what had happened. I wasn't sure, but I had already decided to tell Don and see what he had to say.

It appeared that Joseph File's revenge of being ridiculed had already started, and it appeared that in his twisted mind, we were all laughing at him, and with his revenge plot it appeared that Don and probably myself were on his main hit list. He had urinated on Jason, but he admitted himself that he thought that the key was to _my_ room, not Jason's.

I didn't fear for the girls; I thought that he was going to be paying more attention towards Don and I. Again, I briefly thought about reporting him, but I knew that it would make him worse and even if he were suspended pending investigations where there was no hard evidence of the abuse, it'd only be a matter of time before he returned with a bigger vendetta than before.

The situation scared the shit out of me.
Chapter Twelve

It was the next day and I woke up with a mild headache. At first I had completely forgotten about the incident with Hopper in Jason's room; I went to the bathroom and did my usual things. I went for a pee, brushed my teeth, and it wasn't until I felt my sore arm in the shower that the scenes from the night before began to resurface.

Stunned by the flashbacks, I dried myself and wearing only a pair of shorts, I went over to my laptop to surf the net and see what was happening in the world.

It was February 19th, and the news was full of its usual bullshit as normal. These were some of the news headlines according to the AOL News on my laptop: _Hugh Grant announces arrival of new baby_. Who gives a toss, right? _X Factor star Rylan to make a million_. Who? _Obese children should be offered stomach surgery_. What? And at last something that I was interested in. _Tribute paid to late actor Richard Briers_. The latter had died the day before, and I was a big admirer of _The Good Life_ so I was sad to hear of his passing. He was the same age as Amanda.

Once I logged off and closed my laptop, my thoughts went back to the previous night and although I was a little tipsy, I was certain that it was something I hadn't imagined. This was confirmed when I touched my sore forearm once again, and realised it must have been smarting because it was the arm that protected my face when Hopper threw me across the room. I'm just surprised the discomfort I was feeling never woke me up during the night. I must have been drunker than I thought.

There was a knock on my door and I knew it was the new woman that worked in the kitchens. I opened the door and was greeted with the woman's beaming face. She was very attractive, slim and had a Mediterranean look about her with lovely dark skin as if she walked around with permanent fake tan, but her colour was definitely genuine.

Before she had chance to speak and come inside my room with her trolley, I said, "Delia. I don't have breakfast in my room. I also don't have breakfast in the living room either. I told you this yesterday, and the day before that."

"Oh?" she said, looking confused. "But your payments towards being here in Misty Falls includes your meals as well. You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I know that. I have my lunch and evening meals in the living room area most of the time. But on a morning, I prefer to sit and watch a bit of TV on my own, and have a bit of toast with a cup of tea."

She made her apologies, again, and sauntered off to the next door. I have to admit, I took a glance down the corridor as she walked away. She had a lovely bottom and was probably in her mid-forties. I may have been sixty-nine, but Captain Winkie was still working and was starting to misbehave, and I tried to shake off the images in my head as if my mind was an etch-a-sketch.

Down boy!

Once I got dressed, I decided to go down to the main living room area. Once I entered the area, I found that our little space was unoccupied and that there was six empty red seats sat facing the large bay window. I looked at my watch and wondered where everybody had got to, as it was nearly eleven.

I went over and sat in one of the chairs and felt a little sorry for myself and felt alone. I suppose I was missing Emily that day, and more than likely my kids as well. Well, I say kids, but they were adults heading towards middle age. As I had mentioned previously, they were still kids to me though, regardless of age.

As I sat and peered out of the window and watched the traffic go by, I jumped slightly by an entity to my left. It was Ketchup—John Sauce, and he was wiping down the tables ready for the residents to have their lunch in an hour or so. He was a nice lad and the twenty-five-year-old gave me a smile.

"Where's all your pals?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and murmured something along the lines of, I don't know. I didn't seem to be as chirpy or talkative with other people, but when I was with the other five, Grace, Don, Amanda, Penelope and Jason, I was a different person.

"Where's Penelope?" Ketchup continued to query. "She out with the girls?"

"Why?" I smirked. "You missing her?"

Ketchup half-laughed and shook his head, probably trying to reduce the redness that was blossoming in his cheeks. "Just wondering, that's all."

"I dunno where any of them are."

"Your friend, Grace, got into a cab this morning," Ketchup announced.

I scowled in confusion and looked at the young man, who now had his back to me, wiping down another table.

I said, "Did she say where she was going?"

He turned around and shook his head and shrugged his shoulders at the same time, as if he was saying: Why would she tell _me_ where she was going?

Although I had noted the advice Don had given me yesterday, it seemed unusually strange for Grace to jump into a cab to an unknown destination for the second morning in a row.

The next carer to turn up in the living room was Nads—Nadia Brown. "Right, John," she said, addressing Ketchup. "That's Mrs. Sanders having a lie down, she's not well at all."

"What's up with her?" I chirped in; Eleanor Sanders was a woman that I knew and would briefly talk to now and again. She was one of the rare people I did talk to outside my group. She was a nice woman, but extremely obese and didn't do herself any favours that she chose to invest in one of those motorised scooters instead of using her feet to get to the shops—or wherever she went during the day.

Tit tattling about other residents from the staff wasn't a professional thing to do, but Nads told me anyway. "She's in a bad way, Todd," she spoke with concern etched on her face. "I think it's going to be hospital for her, if these pains in her legs continue."

"Can't you get her into the clinic to see a GP?"

John tutted and waggled his head as if I had just made a stupid suggestion; he continued to vigorously wipe down the tables and chairs.

"We tried," Nads said brashly. "Haven't we, John?" Ketchup nodded his head while continuing his cleaning frenzy. Nads continued, "She refuses to go, and she also refuses to allow one in here to see her in her room." Nads pushed her thick glasses up to the bridge of her nose and looked over my head and produced a warm beam. "Here's handsome Mr. Duke."

I turned around and saw Jason. He staggered towards our area and looked perplexed. Did he know what Hopper had done?

"You okay, mate?" was my greeting.

"Yeah." was his short reply, and he sat in one of the chairs and gazed into thin air.

"Anything wrong?" I knew exactly what was wrong with him. He had woken up in the morning to find himself still in his clothes and covered and stinking of piss. I wanted to tell him, but I didn't want to kick the hornet's nest and enrage Jason so much that he would end up verbally attacking Hopper. And I knew how that would end up.

I decided to discuss it with Don when he turned up, as I was unsure of how this could pan out. Two things could happen. If I kept quiet: Hopper might even let bygones be bygones, as not only did he piss on Jason, he also assaulted me as well. If I kept my mouth shut, it could benefit the whole group and maybe the mad bastard would leave us alone in future. Or, I could report him; but would it be another report Brannigan would ignore? There were no witnesses and reporting him would only fuel his anger and he might continue is little rampage. If only that bulb hadn't of popped, I thought, we might not be in this predicament in the first place.

Don was the next to show some twenty minutes later. I knew he would eventually, as lunchtime was approaching. I decided to keep my mouth shut on the Grace thing, but decided to lazily chat about poor old Eleanor Sanders and that there might be a spare room by the end of the month.

*

Once Jason, who had hardly said a word, stood to his feet and walked away, claiming that he needed the bathroom, Don turned to me and asked, "What's up with him? Hangover?"

He could tell by my face that I knew something, and I decided to tell him what had happened now that the coast was clear. After I finished my brief summary of the events from the night before, Don put his head in his hands and shook it. He threw his hands up in the air and confessed, "I never heard a thing. In fact, I think I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. Are _you_ okay?"

I nodded. "But _I_ was the intended target, not Jason."

"So what are we gonna do?"

I shrugged my shoulders in silence. "If we report him, he may go on the warpath."

"True," Don nodded. "But he may also be suspended."

"But for how long? He could still come back though. It's my word against his, also, we were drunk which means our story would be considered unreliable, and people in here know we don't like him."

Don agreed and said, "If we report him, he could say in his defence that on the night we were all drunk, which we were. If you bring up the subject of Hopper pissing on Jason, that could be twisted by Hopper and he could tell the authorities that Jason might have pissed _himself._ Think about it; an old man with a weak bladder, drunk? There could be only one outcome, right?"

"I don't know what to do," I confessed, and placed the palms of my hands on either side of my cheek, lost in thought on how to tackle this dilemma.

Don added, "As far as your assault is concerned? Well, there's no bruising as such, and even if there was, they may come to the conclusion that you fell over, drunk. Let's get one thing straight; Lance Brannigan or other management members will do their utmost to persuade you to keep your mouth shut even if you did report this. They don't want Misty Falls dragged through the news. Even if the rumours are false, which in this case, of course, they're not; these kinds of stories can damage a place like this. Elderly residents will go elsewhere, and in order to fill the place, Misty Falls would have to drop its rates in order to fill the place. Either way you look at it, the place could lose money and Brannigan could lose his job."

"And if they believed us and fire Hopper, it could still make the news." I nodded in thought. "And Brannigan would be seriously pissed off with us two."

"It doesn't matter who's believed. Do you have evidence that Hopper pissed on Jason? Did you film it with your phone?"

I shook my head even though Don knew the answer to his question was a negative anyway.

Don finished off by saying, "If you want rid of Hopper, you need hard evidence. And even if we did have evidence, do you think Hopper is the kind of man to go quietly? He could cause trouble for this place, and I think _Brannigan_ knows it."

"Should never have employed him in the first place," I scoffed.

"True." Don smiled in agreement. "The best thing for all of us is if he decides to leave on his own accord. Which he will, eventually."

"You think?"

Don nodded with confidence. "Absolutely." Don then pulled out a hankie from his pocket and blew his nose. He screwed up the tissue and placed it back into his pocket. Don continued, "Do you honestly think a guy like _that_ wants to be here? Don't you think it's embarrassing for his macho image to admit to his friends when he's out that he wipes old peoples' arses for a living?"

Although Don's statement was a little harsh—most of us were more than capable of going to the toilet without assistance, as far as Hopper was concerned, I thought he had made a good point. He had only joined three months ago and I was certain that it would only be a matter of time before he quit, or Brannigan had finally found a reason to fire him. And the only two things I could think how that could happen was if Brannigan physically saw Hopper attack—verbally or physically—one of the residents, or catching him and Frisky at it in one of the rooms.

I was hoping the latter would never happen; despite our desperation of seeing the back of Joseph File, I wouldn't like to see Angela Fristoe lose her job, despite her occasional unprofessional ethic to her work when she should be caring for the population of Misty Falls. Despite her extra curricular activities, she was actually a nice woman, just a little wild.
Chapter Thirteen

I pondered for days on what was the best thing to do about the Hopper incident, and agreed with Don that the best thing to do was bide our time and hope he left pretty soon. Maybe it would increase respect between him and us, I thought. I feared that it also could do the opposite. If he thought we were too scared to report him, then maybe he would continue with his bullying. Only time would tell.

It was now Thursday the 21st February and I hadn't seen Hopper for three days. The staff were on a rota, and most of the time we didn't know who was on what shifts. I checked my laptop once I woke up and checked the news. I sat in my room for hours and was pleased that there was no knock on my door from the new girl in the kitchen with her breakfast rounds. I always wanted to be left in peace on most mornings, and sometime after reading the news online, I would stick the television on and watch crap while lying on my bed. Boring, I know, but it was relaxing and killed a few hours until lunchtime.

The headlines on this day were: _HMV confirm another 37 shop closures_. It was sad to see people losing their jobs, but I always found that store expensive. _Ancient badge linked to Robert The Bruce_. Apparently it was a pendant that belonged to a nobleman that was stabbed to death by Robert The Bruce, and it was found by a metal detecting enthusiast in Kinross. It had been a strange week or so for historic discoveries as the skull of Richard III had been found under a car park in Leicester as well. There was more headlines about the South African athlete, Oscar Pistorius, who had shot his girlfriend dead, but I couldn't be bothered to read the article as I was getting tired of the whole story to be honest.

It was a laborious day for me, and I don't think I've ever had such a boring and non-eventful day. The girls had gone out for the day to do...well, girly things, like shopping and having lunch. Don wasn't feeling too good and had decided to spend his day in his room. I think he was suffering from what the girls called, Man-Flu.

Jason was nowhere to be seen, as it was just after three, so Jason was in his room for his usual two-hour nap. God, I was bored, and even though there was a chill in the air, I decided to grab my paperback, _A Catcher in the Rye_ , and head towards the back entrance of the place and have a bit of alone time in the grounds' gardens. It was a humble and basic setting and I was pleased that there was a bench free. Only two people were stupid enough to be outside and both of them were temporary staff who I'd never seen before. They were both out having a crafty ciggie and I ignored them while I tried to finish off a book that was frustratingly taking me an age to get through.

As I became engrossed in the book, I could sense a presence coming nearer to me. I looked up and could see a six foot fellow, his dark greasy hair all brushed back, and lying under his nose was a long moustache, similar style to Tom Selleck in his Magnum PI days, but maybe a little longer. He stood staring at me, and I stared back, but it was obvious in my quavering face that he had something over me. I think it was his unpredictability that was the more scary. He kept on looking over his shoulder at the building to see if anyone was watching, and this unnerved even more, especially now that the two temporary staff had gone back inside after their cigarette break.

He stood with his hands on his hips and snarled, "I hope you haven't been talking about me to anybody important, after my little accident the other night."

I gulped hard and half-scoffed, "Little accident? You peed on an eighty-one-year-old man. Do you know how sick that is?"

"When you've got to go, you've got to go," he chuckled. He then leaned over; his face was now inches from mine.

I put my book down on the bench next to me, and placed the palms on my hands on top of one another and onto my lap. "Look," I tried to speak in a relaxed and calm manner, but the nerves were getting the better of me, as they usually did in a hostile situation, "if this is about us laughing in the living room the other day, we weren't laughing at you."

"Bullshit!"

"We were laughing at..." I couldn't actually remember what we were laughing about. I knew it was something to do with a Porsche and Hugh Hefner, but the joke had escaped me.

Casting my mind back to the living room where we all burst into hysterics, I desperately tried to appease my forty-year-old aggressor. "We were laughing at a joke about Hugh Hefner," I said with a sigh, and produced a smile, and snapped my fingers. "That was it."

Obviously unconvinced, and thinking I was trying to make something up, Hopper took a step closer. "You and that skinny twat think you're fucking _it_ , don't you?"

"No," I half laughed. "Look, the group don't even know what you've done, only Don and me know, we haven't even reported you, even when—"

"Of course you ain't. Who's gonna believe a couple of senile old fucks like you and that Don? You guys don't even know what day it is half the time."

He continued with his rant, but it was so vituperative and filled with rage, it scared the life out of me. "You know what I'm gonna do, fucker?" he snarled, and took one more look behind him. "It might be tomorrow, next week, or I might even make you sweat it for a month. But one night, I'm gonna get the skeleton key from the office. I'm gonna calmly walk to room 12, ground floor, and I'm gonna sneak in. Once I've shut that fucking door behind me, _you,_ you old cunt, you'll be mine. And do you know what I'm gonna do?" I never answered him. I didn't want to hear anymore, although I didn't have a choice in the matter. "I'm gonna grab one of your cushions and smother you until you are dead. They'll all think you've died in your sleep; another senior shitizen bites the dust. But to tell you the truth, I don't really wanna do that at all. What I really want to do is stab your fuckin' balls in!"

When he snarled that last sentence, spit flew from his mouth and he made the stabbing actions with his right hand. Boy, he really wanted to do it. And why? Because he had jumped from a popped light bulb and he thought we were laughing about it afterwards? Because his hard man image had been damaged by shrieking with fright once it had popped? Or because he was insane?

I went for all three rolled into one.

He remained glaring at me, spit was running down the left corner of his mouth and the redness in his face and the anger was starting to dissipate. He leaned up and straightened his back. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and turned around and slowly headed back to one of the doors with the large glass panels that led back into the back of the building. I blew out my cheeks in an effort to cool them down, and I happened to look up to see a curtain twitch on the first floor. The window was slightly ajar, and I knew that the room was empty, so I was convinced it was a member of staff probably cleaning the room out for another future resident.

Whoever was behind the curtain, probably didn't hear the conversation, but I was convinced they had witnessed Hopper's aggression towards me.
Chapter Fourteen

I remained silent on the old 'Hopper's going to kill me' speech and decided to shrug it off the best I could. I kept my head down and tried my utmost not to make eye contact with the crazy dick. Even when having a laugh with my friends in the main living room area, I would find myself turning around to see if he was about and to make sure that he didn't think we were laughing at him.

It was a nervous time for me, and although I wasn't entirely convinced he would ever sneak into my room and suffocate me, the look on his face in the garden suggested that if he did lose it, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

The six of us sat in our usual places and we all looked tired, as if we were ready for our bed, but the truth was it was only six in the evening and I put it down to post-full bellies from the lovely dinner we had.

Don made his excuses to leave for the bathroom.

Penelope created a smile on her face. Arthur was sitting on her lap, making those horrible annoying purring noises that was making it impossible for me to finish my book. I had read the last paragraph a dozen times and was getting nowhere fast. And once his slight snoring occurred as he slept on her lap, I shut the book in anger and placed it down by the side of me. I would have gone to my room, but I didn't want to appear to be rude. Amanda finally asked Penelope why she was wearing a smug smile on her face.

"Let's just say, I've been making a few phone calls to Australia in the last few days or so."

"Australia?" Jason sat, his wrinkly fingers clasped together and resting on his large belly. He scratched his bald head at the side and shrugged his shoulders in puzzlement. "Why Australia?"

Amanda's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What have you been up to?"

So Penelope told us exactly what she had been up to, and we were pleasantly surprised that she had gone out of her way to do such a nice gesture.

*

The group, one by one, left their chairs to do whatever needed to be done. Penelope and Amanda wanted to get milk and bread for their room from the supermarket, which I thought was probably just an excuse to go out and take in some fresh air. When Penelope left, she walked bow-legged and made a quip that she felt like she had been gangbanged by the cast of the Chippendales.

Jason wanted to rest in his room and Don never came back from the bathroom, so we all assumed that he also went back to his room. The only two people that were left in the group were Grace and I. We both smiled quickly at one another, the way you do to a stranger when you don't know what to say to them to break the ice. She gave a long sigh, and a thin smile developed under her nose.

"Anything wrong?" I asked. I knew there wasn't, or at least I thought there wasn't. I was desperately trying to budge the stubborn silence.

"No, dear," she said softly in her sweet voice. "Just thinking about things."

Her smile continued, almost as if it was forced, but I could see sadness in that smile. I was dying to ask her about her trips out in the black cab, but Don's voice boomed in my head to leave it be. _If she wants to tell us something important, she'll tell us herself_. She wasn't like a man, who would bottle up their feelings until they exploded or died from heart failure. Grace was a woman, a true elegant woman, and I feared that if I pushed her, I might see a side to the woman I wouldn't like.

I was concerned, but in all honesty, I was being nosey as well. Thinking about the groups' teasing a few days ago, I wondered that maybe she may have met a gentleman friend. Just the thought of it made me feel sick, and I don't know why. Emily had only been dead two years, and Grace didn't seem the type to be bothered about having a partner in her time of life—not with me anyway.

I looked at her with affection and my own face dropped with concern when her smile evaporated and her eyes became glassy. I could see water filling in the bottom of her eyes but they refused to fall. I had to ask. "What's wrong, Grace?" I lifted my quivering left hand and placed it onto her lap affectionately. I looked down onto my wrinkly hand that looked like neglected custard and could see my wedding ring gleaming from the light above. I nearly removed my hand when I thought of Emily, but I told myself that all I was doing was comforting a friend.

She took out a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes, and said, "I'm okay, dear. I'm just a silly old fool."

"There's something wrong," I persisted. "Isn't there?"

To my surprise, she nodded and looked at me. Oh, sweet Grace, she looked amazing, despite the heartache she was feeling. I wanted to stroke her head and kiss her and tell her that everything was going to be all right, but instead I listened.

"I'm just having a bad day, that's all." She cleared her throat audibly, and gawped at me and said something that almost made me gasp. "I think I need a cuddle."

I smiled and lowered my head, a tad embarrassed. "Of course." I stretched my arm behind her, but she then shook her head. I was confused and shrugged my shoulders. I asked, "What is it?"

"Let's go to your room," she insisted. Then, probably realising how that may have sounded, she spoke, "Not for..."

I shook my head. "I wasn't thinking about that," I defended myself, without sounding too...well, defensive.

She nodded with a smile, which convinced me that she believed me. I was bemused by her suggestion, as she had never said anything like that before, we never even held hands before, even though it was obvious there was a generous fondness for one another.

We got out of our chairs and wordlessly walked out of the living room. I noticed one or two sets of eyes glaring at us, but I chose to ignore them. We entered the main corridor, and usually at this point, Grace and I would say our farewells and she would get into the elevator and get to the first floor and finally into room 19. This time we both walked along the quiet corridor of the ground floor to the short walk to my room.

I opened the door to room 12. Without breaking the silence, we both took our shoes off and I got to my feet to make sure the door was shut properly. Grace was lying on the left side of the bed, and I sat on the right, and slowly went into a horizontal position and lay next to her. It was a single bed, so there wasn't much room. She went onto her side and placed her head onto my chest, her right arm was draped over my torso.

At that point, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know whether to make conversation or just lie there and enjoy the quietude. With a hesitant hand, I began to gently caress her hair and she never purred in delight or moaned negatively to let me know what she thought of my touch, but neither did she hint at me to stop what I was doing either, so I continued to stroke her hair.

Then she suddenly began to speak. "I could have been _Mrs. Jeremy Houston_."

Her announcement baffled me and she never followed her comment with any more words, so I had to ask her, "What do you mean?" Grace always kept her cards close to her chest as far as her private life was concerned. She was one of the rare women in Misty Falls that seemed to have no family; she hadn't been married and had never had any offspring that we were aware of. It was out of respect that we never pestered her about her life, whereas the rest of them flagrantly talked about their children and their past lives that they had had with their ex or deceased partners.

She finally continued, and I mentally promised myself that I wouldn't interrupt her with any questions of my own. "I met a lovely man many years ago. We courted only for a matter of months and I immediately knew that he was the one." She paused for a few seconds, and I remained silent. "We decided to get married, and two days before our wedding, I got the dreaded knock on the door. It was Thursday morning. Back in 1965 car accidents weren't really something that you ever thought of, but he was hit by one when crossing the road. He was dead on arrival. Sometimes it breaks my heart with some of the things that he's missed over the years that could have delighted him. He was the only man I've ever been with."

I remained silent and thought how sad it was for a woman to not experience the love of a good man for the last four or five decades, to live alone and watch others be happy, have children even.

Eventually I spoke with a broken voice, "Didn't you want to meet anyone else?"

"No," she spoke with little hesitancy. "He was my soul mate, _my_ Jeremy. When you lose your soul mate, you can only settle for second best. That wouldn't be fair on me, or the gentleman that I might have settled down with after Jeremy."

She slowly took her head off of my chest and sat up, and allowed the tears to spill out onto her lap, and looked at me with her distraught face. It was a horrible thing to see. Someone you cared for, being an emotional mess and not being able to do anything about it, was a difficult quandary to be in.

It briefly took me back when Emily told me that she had pancreatic cancer. I'll never forget that day. I had come back from the allotment and walked into the living room where she sat crying. I didn't even know she was visiting the hospital. She said she had kept it a secret, because she didn't want to worry me in case it was something trivial. Well, it obviously wasn't and it had spread too far for anyone to do anything about it. When Emily broke down, and although comfort was the only thing I could give her, I had never felt so powerless and useless.

I choked back the tears and Grace continued to speak. "This was forty eight years ago, and I still haven't got over it. He would have been eighty years old today."

I lowered my head, and knew that it didn't matter if I had met Grace ten, twenty, even forty years ago, she would never have fallen for me. She was like a modern day Miss Havisham, and she still mourned for her loss. Even now, she called him _my_ Jeremy. It was a sad thing to hear from a woman that I cared for to be so open and reveal her wounds that she had carried for decades, but I was glad I was there for her.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on my door, which made us both jump and Grace told me to get off the bed in case it looked bad. I understood what she meant by this. I sighed impatiently because of the interruption, and reluctantly got off of the bed. She went into the bathroom to splash her face and once she came back out, I shuffled to the door and opened it with a little anger inside of me because of the interruption, even though I didn't know who was behind the door.

I opened the door to be greeted by Hopper's friend, Larry Evans. I didn't really understand what the girls saw in him to be perfectly honest. Okay, he looked a _little_ like Burt Reynolds from the early seventies, but he had short un-styled hair and was of average height. He was thin, but he was only in his thirties so his metabolism was a little speedier than us old folk.

I didn't _feel_ sixty-nine; in my head I was still twenty-one, but seeing Larry Evans standing at my door with his thick smile, unwrinkled face and brown short hair that possessed not one single strand of grey, made me wince slightly with a bit of envy. Especially when I looked at him then began to look down at my wrinkly hands and slightly bloated waistline. It was a reminder that I was no spring chicken anymore. My time had passed.

He was there to fix the plug in my lamp, and I had forgotten all about it. I could have done it myself, but the establishment insisted that any major or minor faults that occurred would be dealt with by a professional. It was all about protecting themselves.

If the company allowed us to fix televisions, unblock sinks, etc, there'd be carnage and a lot of accidents. And accidents led to suing, and suing led to the place losing its finance, which could cause its eventual closure. I told him to come in, and he came in with a small smirk on his daft face once he saw Grace in the room with me.

I knew I wasn't going to hear the last of this.
Chapter Fifteen

It was February 25th and a Monday morning, and all the news was about the Oscars, so I chose to avoid it. Now that I wasn't being disturbed by the new woman serving breakfast, I made myself two slices of toast and a piping hot cup of tea with confidence that the door was going to be left alone.

After I finished both, I began tip tapping on the keyboard on my laptop and this lasted nearly two hours before my eyes were beginning to sting. I think I was needing glasses, but at sixty-nine, I was holding out from visiting the opticians. I had lasted this long without having to wear glasses, so my pride put my impaired vision down to glaring at a bright screen for hours rather than having eyes that were ageing along with the rest of my body.

I got up to make myself a second cup of tea, as my throat was dry as sandpaper, when I heard a knock on my door. Cursing the woman from the kitchens about her forgetfulness, I stood to my feet, and remembered spilling out a couple of expletives under my breath, so that she didn't hear from behind the door. I was obviously going to put a smile on my face once I opened the door, but deep down, I was raging.

Once I did open the door, I took a massive gulp and felt my tummy doing cartwheels as I stood and stared at the menacing site of Hopper glaring at me, his smile almost being covered up by his thick moustache. "And how are you today, Mr. Seaward?"

Hopper's niceness was most definitely false; he was trying too hard and I thought that even if somebody didn't know the guy like _I_ did, you'd swear that he wasn't genuine. "What do you want?" I decided to put my good nature to the side, after all, what was he going to do, beat me in my room during the day?

"Just seeing how you are. Are you well?"

I sighed; I wasn't in the mood for his games. "Is there anything in particular that you need?"

Then there it was, as predictable as ever.

"I heard that you and Gracie are getting it on these days?" He laughed and gave me a wink. Somehow I actually preferred it when he was being nasty rather than being in a mocking mood. I felt that his tone was a little strange, and for some bizarre reason, it made my body shudder as I thought that his attitude was disturbing. At least when he was aggressive I knew where I stood with him.

"I don't know what you mean." I could feel my anger rising, but I knew I couldn't act on it, especially against a man of Hopper's size. I knew that Hopper's friend, Larry Evans had been tit tattling after he had fixed the plug in my room.

"Aw, come on," he began to tease. "I hear you've been getting a bit of old saggy pussy these days."

Incensed by his comment, I stammered through the next sentence due to anger. "Grace and I are friends, and I would appreciate it if you kept your disgusting thoughts to yourself."

He glared at me, almost in a mocking kind of way, and began to rub his crotch with the palm of his hands and snarled, "Maybe, I'll have a bit of Gracie myself, seem as though she's up for it. Dirty old slag." He continued to talk, but what he said afterwards was so disgusting, so vile, that I can't even type it into the keyboard without boiling with anger, so you'll have to use your imagination. It involved Hopper talking about sneaking into Grace's room and spitting on his fingers, and that is where I will go no further.

If I had a shotgun there and then, I would have happily have blasted him in the stomach with a cartridge, despite the hefty prison sentence afterwards. It would have been worth it. I didn't really believe the things he was saying about Grace was going to happen; he wasn't a pervert, he was a bully, but nevertheless, to allow those kinds of words to tumble out of his mouth was still sickening to hear and he was obviously trying to get a rise out of me.

"Joseph!" a voice bellowed down the corridor. It was Angela 'Frisky' Fristoe, Hopper's bit on the side.

Hopper, who was still standing in the corridor, near my door, turned to his left and asked, "What is it?"

"Brannigan wants to see you." His face suddenly dropped and his arrogance, his snarling and his threatening look, had all evaporated. He took one look at me and then walked away from my room, which I responded by slamming my door shut, trying to release a little anger from my body.

I sat down on my bed and tried to shake off the things that he had said to me about Grace, but I was finding it very difficult to control my anger and my increasing heart rate. An increased heart rate is never good for a man heading for his seventies and while it happened, I reprimanded myself to calm down, otherwise I might be near my first heart attack, and I reminded myself that when it came to heart attacks it wasn't always 'three strikes and you're out.'

A work colleague of mine dropped dead on the shop floor ten years ago without any sign of a warning. He was fifty-nine years old. And Hopper would love that, and strangely enough so would some of the older residents. The youngest member of The Healthy Gang dropping down dead would bring a wry smile to the bitter ones who never gave me the time of day since my arrival in July.

I decided to try and relax myself, and went over to the kettle and filled it with cold water. I then sat at the foot of the bed and stared into nothingness while the noise from the kettle grew and grew. Once minutes had passed and the kettle had boiled, I poured the scolding water that smothered the fresh tea bag that was sitting at the bottom of the cup. As the tea bag surfaced, I stared into the cup and could feel my emotions getting to me. My anger was turning into tears, but I managed to fight them back.

It baffled me why someone could be so evil, and in my sixty-nine years, I can honestly say that I had never met anyone quite like Joseph File, and I don't mean in a good way. Once I managed to make my tea, I sat in my comfy chair in the corner and slurped on my hot beverage and enjoyed the serene pleasure of being alone.

After two minutes of blissful peace, it was shattered once my door was being knocked. I had locked the door in case I fancied a snooze afterwards, but before I could open the door, the knock appeared again, but it was a longer, angrier knock and I knew that it was going to be my second visit from Hopper in the same morning.

I eventually opened the door to see the forty-year-old seething. "What's up?" I asked.

"What's up? You know what's up. Grass!" He then suddenly looked to his left then his right, making sure he wasn't being monitored. I thought for a second that he was going to punch me. "You and that skinny twat, Swain, is gonna pay for this."

"Pay for what?" I was really beginning to be confused in what he was talking about, and I could see that he was also beginning to think that my face was genuine, either that or I was a bloody good actor. He backed down a little, and said, "Our little spat in the garden a few days a go. Someone reported it." He could see my facial expression was telling him that I had no idea what he was on about.

He scrunched his eyes, and it was almost as if common sense had already prevailed. I think Hopper knew that I wouldn't be suicidal or brave enough to report him. I could see the redness in his cheeks beginning to die down and then he said, "If it wasn't you, then who was it?"

I told him, "It could have been anyone from the ground and first floor looking out to the garden."

He thought and half nodded in agreement. I then remembered the curtains twitching from a room on the first floor. I was pretty certain that it was John Sauce, but didn't want to say so even if it was, as I knew that Hopper would beat him within an inch of his life. Maybe I would have told if I thought that I was in danger, but I knew that he was aware that I wasn't the guilty party. And even if I was, could anyone blame me? A muscular forty-year-old man who was getting paid to look after me had threatened to smother me in my sleep. I was thinking about reminding him of this, but I had a feeling that he already knew, plus, I didn't want to turn the temperature up on the situation, if that at all was possible.

I could see that his anger had dissipated and he was now more confused than anything. He walked away without uttering another word and I knew he was on the warpath, but what was he going to do? Beat up and torture every resident on that side of the ground and first floor for information? I didn't think so.
Chapter Sixteen

"Just listen to his little purring," Penelope gushed, as she petted Arthur who lay on her lap. "Isn't he just adorable?"

We all half agreed with Penelope, although the effort from Jason and Don could have been more enthusiastic.

Penelope patted his black furry head and said, "Do you love me, boy?" There was a meow or a cry of some sort from the cat in response to the question, and Penelope persisted with the _do you love me?_ and _who's my favourite boy?_ questions. Each question was answered by Arthur with a meow and she bent over and kissed the top of his head. "You see," she said with a little smugness in her voice, and mainly looked at the sceptical Jason and Don. "He loves his mummy."

"He's probably just hungry," Jason miserably tried to put a dampener on Penelope's relationship with her 'boy,' but in a funny way, not in a way that would seem resentful and spiteful.

"You're just jealous that I have someone that loves me, no matter what."

"I have a daughter that loves me," Jason scoffed. "And besides, how do you know that Arthur isn't really saying: _Just feed me you daft old boot and be done with it?_ "

We all laughed at Jason's scepticism and even Penelope joined in with the laughter.

The conversation eventually dried up between all six of us, and our eyes were hypnotised with the black cat that began to clean itself and gnaw at its claws with precision. It gnawed and licked each individual claw on its front paws to remove some of the dirt it had picked up on its nightly travels. It was also incredible to see the thing licking its back by twisting its head; it was like a contortionist.

Arthur had his own special routine that he stuck by when it came to cleaning himself. His routine was so rigid that we all knew what he was going to clean next. We knew after the claws, the back and the front of its paws was to follow, he was so predictable, yet efficient. Then it was time for Arthur to drop the hint to Penelope that his belly needed filling.

He stood on all fours on her lap and jumped down onto the floor, then arched his back to stretch and looked up at the seventy-three-year-old woman and began to...I don't know....meow? Cry? Beg?

Whatever it was, it was the same noise as he always made, but what he was trying to tell her, we were unsure.

Jason told her exactly what he thought. "There, I told you. He wants fed. And as soon as you do, what's the betting that he scarpers."

"Ah, you don't listen to them," Amanda chipped in. "Arthur's a very loyal cat."

"Loyal?" Don guffawed. "They only go where there's food available."

"That's not true." Amanda began to scratch at her short white hair.

"Isn't it?" Don queried. "Me and the wife used to have a cat many moons ago before we had our daughter, Becky. It was a horrible scraggy, ungrateful little bleeder. One night I forgot to feed it and we never saw it for three days. The wife was on tenterhooks, so I had to go round the houses of the streets and ask if they'd seen the bloody thing. Guess what? We found out that he had been staying with an old woman seven doors down from us. She'd been cooking him fish since he turned up at her house, no wonder he never came back."

"So what happened?" Grace asked.

"We hardly saw it. Can't compete with boiled fish, especially when we were giving it cold tins of rabbit in jelly. So ask yourself one thing Penelope: if anything happened to you tomorrow, God forbid—"

"Don!" Amanda snapped.

"Now, now." Don held his hand up in defence. "It'll happen to all of us soon enough. So to reiterate, if anything happened to you tomorrow, do you think Arthur would pine for you the way a dog would pine for its master?"

"Well..." Penelope already knew the answer to the question. She slowly got to her feet, and said to Arthur who was on all fours, looking up at her, "Come on, boy." She looked at the living room clock, and appeared to have hurt etched on her face. "It's feeding time."

"Well that went well," I chipped in, a little disappointed with Don's remark. Arthur was all Penelope had left, and there he was putting a dampener on the relationship they had—although secretly I thought he was correct.

"Honestly, Don Swain," Amanda struggled to get her frame out of the chair. "You crossed the line this time."

Jason spoke up in Don's defence. "Oh well, if you can't stand the heat, stay out of the smoke."

"Kitchen! You buffoon!" Amanda scolded. "It's: get out of the kitchen."

Amanda shuffled towards the ground floor corridor, trying to hurry after Penelope. Grace, ever the neutral one in these situations, smiled and her hands grabbed the arms of the chair in preparation to get to her feet as well.

A minute of silence had passed and then I heard Penelope call out. "Don!" she yelled. "Todd, Jason, help!"

We clambered to our feet and ran as fast as men in their twilight years could run, which wasn't very fast, and saw at the bottom of the staircase leading to the first floor and next to the out of order elevator, Amanda, lying on her front and moaning in pain.

It was plainly obvious to everyone that she had tumbled down the concrete stairs. I saw Angela Fristoe and Joseph File surrounding her with concern on their faces, and Hopper correctly told Angela not to move Amanda in case she had a neck injury of some sorts. He then told the ever-increasing crowd to stand the fuck back—his words, not mine. And suddenly for a few seconds, I actually had an ounce of respect for Hopper and the way he was handling things, despite the unnecessary profanity that was released from his mouth. He genuinely looked concerned and also told Angela to call an ambulance, which she did on her cell phone.

It only took three minutes for the paramedics to turn up, and Penelope and Grace were both crying and being comforted on either side of Don, both his arms were around the shoulders of each woman. I felt that _I_ should be comforting Grace, but it wasn't the time to be acting like a jealous teenager.

Once the paramedics turned up, we were all told to go back to our rooms, which we all reluctantly did. I was one of the last to move, because my room was near the staircase itself. As the crowd began to disperse, I stood by my door, seeing a badly bruised Amanda put on a stretcher and Angela looking concerned and telling Hopper that she was going to call Lance Brannigan who was at home with a rare day off. Hopper nodded in agreement and released a sigh.

I continued to peer out of my room as I was certain that most people on the ground floor were; I watched the paramedics delicately seeing to Amanda and after putting her neck in a brace, they slowly placed her onto a stretcher with wheels and took her away. And then I saw it.

I heard doors on the ground floor shutting once the 'show' was over, but I continued to glare out with my door only a centimetre—if that—open. I saw Hopper standing with his hands on his hips, and then saw him mischievously staring down the ground floor corridor. Why? I don't know. Checking if all the residents were back in their rooms, maybe?

Once he finished scanning the corridor area, a slight, but noticeable smirk appeared on his stupid face. Why was he smirking? I wondered. Because one of the people that we cared about was hurt? Because it was _him_ that pushed her?

He then looked up at me, standing in the doorway of my room; he was still wearing the smirk. He knew I was watching him and my breathing increased its heaviness, but I refused to shut my door. He then gave me a little wink with his left eye, and strolled away back into the living room, whistling the hymn, _Abide With Me._

I couldn't believe what I had just seen.

_Bastard!_ I screamed inside my head. I was convinced he had something to do with the fall, yet I had no evidence, so I had to keep my mouth shut rather than spreading a potential slanderous remark.

You evil bastard!
PART THREE

A Fire in the Garden
Chapter Seventeen

It was the last day of February, it had been a miserable February and I was glad to see the back of it. The news? Well, when I looked on my AOL website to check any emails from Sean and Donna, I began reading some of the headlines. Ikea had withdrawn their sausages and meatballs from their stores because it contained traces of horsemeat. UK Armed Forces faced a further 1.1bn cuts. On a slightly lighter note, The Spice Girls were going on tour without Victoria—yawn! And Brazilian footballer Ronaldinho was taken down in a horrific tackle by Diego Braghieri.

It had been a while since I had visited my old haunting ground of The Wayfarer public house that was situated in my birthplace of Stone; it hadn't changed a bit, apart from the staff. The staff seemed to have got younger and prettier, I have to say, and this was a special treat for all five of us.

We had been saving up for this day out for a few weeks now and it was well worth the wait. We arrived by bus and with the bus stop only yards away from the pub; it wasn't a big walk for us, which suited Penelope who had to shuffle her heavy frame towards the entrance; she seemed to be taking forever but refused any help from any of the guys, including myself.

Don was getting impatient with her and muttered under his breath that the place would be closed by the time she got to the entrance, which, of course, was a massive exaggeration.

It had been a few days since Amanda had been at hospital and she had received a broken hip, severe bruising to her body and a sprained wrist. It was terrible, but it could have been a lot worse. I never revealed my suspicions to Don that there was a small chance that Hopper could have been involved, as I didn't want to slander someone, even _him_ , as there was zero proof of this. I decided to wait and see what Amanda had said at the hospital. Maybe she _did_ fall. Or maybe she saw who was responsible for her tumble. Only time would tell, I thought at the time.

When we got to the hospital for our first visit, she was in a pretty bad way and in a lot of pain. It was a good job I kept my mouth shut about my suspicions of Hopper to Don, because when we visited Amanda in hospital, she told us that she indeed slipped, and had fallen backwards when climbing the stairs.

She told us that she felt giddy, and the next thing she knew, she was in hospital. Nevertheless, Hopper may not have been guilty of pushing Amanda, but he still wore that smirk on his face while she lay there all damaged and broken, so he was still evil, but on this occasion he never got his hands dirty.

We had visited Amanda everyday, and she told us that she could be in hospital for a few weeks; she was sad that she was going to miss the day out and slap-up meal. She wished us a good time, and told us that once she got out, she'd take us out somewhere and spend her own saved money on tea and cakes.

Once the five of us got comfortable, we were all approached by the waiter and asked if he wanted drinks. It was six in the evening, so some of us opted for an alcoholic drink. Don and Jason asked for a pint of beer, whereas myself, Penelope and Grace opted for wine. Penelope ordered a 175ml glass Chilean La Manda Cabernet Sauvignon Rose. Grace asked for a smaller glass of Italian Viala Sangiovese, whereas I had been looking forward to this for weeks and decided to splash out and go for a bottle of red wine. I informed the ladies that they shouldn't be shy and help themselves if they wanted. I ordered the bottle of Runamok Shiraz; it was Australian.

Jason gazed at the menu, and once the waiter walked away he said, "For God's sake. We've spent over thirty quid already, and we ain't even ordered food yet."

"Now, now Jason," Penelope reprimanded light heartedly. "We've saved up for this. We knew it was going to be expensive."

"I'm just saying, we could have bought a bag of chips with the price of a glass of wine."

"You're a miserable old bugger, ain't you?" I quipped. "Right, who's having a starter?"

Don't ask me why, but all three men ordered the sesame coated crispy duck with plum sauce, whereas the girls opted for the homemade seasonal soup. After ten minutes had passed and more moaning from Jason about the price, we ordered our main meal. Don and Jason ordered a Staffordshire beef burger, with hand-cut chips and coleslaw. I was a little suspicious that they both ordered this because it was the cheapest thing on the menu. Don never moaned too much about the prices like Jason, but I could tell by his face he wasn't impressed that he was going to have to part with his money.

The pair of misers was ruining it for me. Grace went with the baked fillet of hake with bacon mash, clam and creamy shallot and spinach sauce. Penelope was undecided, so I stepped in and ordered a freshly beer battered haddock with hand-cut chips and pea puree. When Penelope eventually ordered her homemade cheddar cheese, parmesan and onion pie with chive sauce, broccoli, carrots and hand-cut chips, we all relaxed and began to chat about Amanda and what we should do for her once she got out of hospital.

We knew that she would be well looked after with the carers, excluding Hopper, and agreed that when she was eventually out, we should come up with a routine to help her out with basic things like shopping and reading material, amongst other things.

Once we got outside with our full bellies, we waited for only a matter of minutes before the bus turned up, and within twenty minutes we were back at Misty Falls. Waiting for us in the reception room was Lance Brannigan. The middle-aged man wore his thick brown-rimmed glasses and had the same old tweed jacket that he never seem to part from. I knew he was waiting for us in particular, and his face suggested to me that he didn't have good news for the gang.

I was right.

Everyone could see him waiting in the reception area, and we could all sense that something bad had happened, so we were all reluctant to be the first individual to enter the establishment and hear what he had to say. I decided to take control as the rest of the group shuffled slowly behind me.

We didn't know what to expect. Was it Amanda? Had she more fractures than originally suspected? People tend to forget the fragility of our brittle bones when people got to a certain age, and a fall down those hard stairs could easily have broken every bone in someone's body, regardless of age.

Personally, my fear that after the results, they had found damage to her back and that she'd be paralysed for the rest of her life.

I was the first person to speak once we got inside. "What is it?"

Lance refrained from telling me anything until Grace, Penelope, Don and Jason were present. He said nothing, and I didn't persist, as I knew what he was waiting for.

Once the team arrived, Grace was the next person to lightly interrogate Lance Brannigan. "Is it Amanda?" Grace asked.

Lance nodded his head sadly.

"For Christ's sake, just tell us," I demanded.

Lance said, "Amanda died a few hours ago."

I can't explain what we were feeling when those words left Mr. Brannigan's mouth. I think it was a numbness of some kind, and the first thing I did was look at the reaction of the other four just to make sure that I had heard right. Lance Brannigan did say that Amanda had died, didn't he?

Once Grace and Penelope begun to hug one another and spill tears onto each other's shoulders, that was the moment I realised that I hadn't dreamt what Brannigan had just told us.

Don, Jason and myself stood motionless, like typical men not knowing how to react. Do we comfort the girls? Each other? Do we cry or do we stay strong? All I could do was puff out my cheeks, and I left the group and headed for my room, alone. I never thought to ask the reason for her unexpected death, but it became clear that she had suffered a stroke in her sleep and her heart had stopped working.

Some would say that she had died peacefully, and others would say that she had a good innings at the age of seventy-nine, but we had still lost a friend and we were all upset at losing her.
Chapter Eighteen

I thought that Tuesday was a strange day to have a funeral, as most that I have attended usually were towards the weekend, a Thursday or a Friday for example. But Amanda's funeral was Tuesday 5th March, and the day started pretty similar to most of my mornings.

I got up to make myself a cup of tea and had two slices of toast with it. Once I finished my drink, I drained my bladder and sat down to switch on my PC to see what was happening in the world. Once I took myself away from the depressing reality site of war and destruction, I switched the laptop off and realised that I had another depressing reality of my own to face. This was also highlighted when my door was knocked and a sweet voice came from behind it.

"Are you okay in there?"

I couldn't answer Grace's question straight away, as I found the huge lump in my throat hard to shift. I tried to clear my throat as if it would miraculously loose the tears that were waiting to fall at the bottom of my eyeballs. It was almost as if she knew what state I was in as she never knocked the door again, she simply stood patiently waiting for me to answer it.

When I finally did open the door, she gave off a warm smile and we naturally embraced one another. God, she smelt good and she looked amazing for a mature woman of her age. I jokingly thought that if she had asked me to marry her, it would have been hard to refuse.

Knowing about her history, and Jeremy, I knew that would never happen, and mentally apologised to Emily for thinking such a thing, again. I think in truth, for the companionship alone, I would have been happy to settle down with Grace Guerra, but so long as she was alive and staying in Misty Falls, then that was good enough for me. If ever she left for whatever reason, I knew I'd miss her terribly, probably enough to throw me into a pit of depression.

I shrugged off my black thoughts and gently broke away from our embrace. "You look stunning," I said.

She responded by lowering her head. I had embarrassed her, not intentionally, but enough to make her cheeks go pink. I was about to say something else, when I heard a yell through the corridor, "For God's sake, Jason. Hurry up, will you?" It was Don's unmistakeable voice, and despite it being a sad day, Grace and I both managed a smile when we heard Don's voice. Some things never change, I thought.

*

We were the only residents allowed to go to Amanda's funeral, although about a dozen or so protested and told Lance Brannigan that it was an outrage that they weren't allowed to go to their own 'friend's' funeral. Then the five of us approached Brannigan in his office and told him exactly the reason why these so called friends of Amanda wanted to come. It was a day out for them, a bit of gossip and free food and drink at the end.

We managed to get our own way; our relationship between a handful of people from Misty Falls had never been so frosty as Brannigan told them that there was little space left and relatives of the deceased only wanted close friends there. When we left our rooms, our frames were being watched by jealous eyes in the living room. I could feel them and managed to control myself, but Don couldn't.

As we got into the cars, the girls went with Nadia in _her_ car and we were going with John Sauce in _his_ car, Don still look enraged as we left and I knew it would be something that would plague the mind of my good friend, whose temper was one of his flaws, not that he had many.

The funeral was like any funeral. Hymns, stories and tears was the main thing for this day in particular, and even a little laughter afterwards when reminiscing about a person we loved, yet had only known for a short time.

Once the day was nearly coming to a close, all five of us travelled back to Misty Falls by car, which was driven by John Sauce and Nadia Brown. When we arrived back, we thanked John Sauce. Even though Ketchup and Nads were getting overtime for taking us and attending the funeral, we were grateful nevertheless.

When we arrived back, we slowly trudged into the establishment, exhausted, mentally and physically. It was the evening and we had missed our meals, but we had eaten at the community hall where we all went after the crematorium, so we weren't too despondent.

Jason was especially tired as he had missed out on his afternoon nap, and he was the first to walk to his room. The girls also retired to their room and I noticed that the living room was full with about thirty or so residents. We could see and feel that seventy percent were glaring at us with envy and I tried my best to calm my temper, but Don wasn't so successful. We had managed to get past the living room and onto the corridor where the rooms were situated. Then suddenly, Don turned around and began walking the other way, back towards the living room.

"Where're you going?" I called out. I don't know why, because I knew exactly where he was going. I ended up following him back in.

Don stood at the doorway of the living room and bellowed, "What were you all looking at?"

I went over to restrain him back, but he viciously shrugged me away. He continued to glare at the sea of faces; one or two glared at Don, while the rest lowered their shamed heads. Some of them were pretending to do something, like scratching their legs or inspecting their nails, while some simply kept their head down and waited for Don's tirade to finish.

Added Don towards the crowd, "Do you think we were going out for a laugh? Well, do you?" His voice boomed through the hall. I had never seen him so angry, even _I_ was a little frightened. "We were off to bury our friend today. The same friend that you lot never gave the time of day. So the ones that complained that they weren't invited to this funeral; hang your heads in shame!"

The blood in Don's face increased and I was beginning to be concerned in case he had a stroke himself. He turned around and stormed past me and headed for his room, clutching onto his head as if he had developed a migraine. I was about to follow him to see if he was okay, and was hoping to calm him down.

What people have to remember is that it isn't advisable for us old folk to lose our temper much; we were all getting to our stage in life where our heart is a weak as it had ever been. I remember England's world cup hero, Alan Ball, had suffered a heart attack and died just for running outside to put out a bonfire he had made. The bonfire became out of control and spread to a nearby fence, and while he tried to put out the fire, he collapsed and died. He was eight years younger than me. It was as simple as that.

All it took was for me to lose my temper, to run up the stairs or to have a fall or a scare. All of these things could easily wipe me out, and I was aware of it and paranoid about it. But having said all that, I didn't go and see if Don was okay. The reason? After his scolding towards the residents, my eyes were captivated by the living room's swinging chandelier that swung lazily like a pendulum. But how was that happening?

All the windows were shut, so there was no gust of wind in the room. The chandelier was ten feet above our heads, so it couldn't have been touched by anyone. It was bizarre. I didn't know what to think. Then my mind went back to the popping of the bulb in Amanda's room on Valentine's Day. Were the two incidents related? It seemed ridiculous and I shrugged off what I had just seen; I made my way back to room 12 on the ground floor and prepared myself to make a cup of tea. I lay on my bed waiting for the kettle to boil, when I dozed off. I was more exhausted than I realised.

That night, I even dreamt about the chandelier.
Chapter Nineteen

It was March 7th. We sat around in the living room area and some of us peered out of the bay window, watching the traffic going by. Don was the last to sit down, and when he did, there was a tinge of sadness as the last member of our group had sat down, because when the last remaining member of our group had sat down, there was still a chair available, a reminder of Amanda's demise.

We all looked at one another and Penelope wept a little while simultaneously petting Arthur who laid his black furry body across her lap. Grace sat up straight, but her right hand gently and comfortingly patted the only bit of Penelope's leg that wasn't covered by her cat. Don looked around all of our sad faces and began to speak up.

"Well, that's room 27 from the first floor officially vacant." he said sadly, referring to Amanda's old room.

No one said a word in response to Don's ramblings. Jason looked to have opened his mouth to speak, but closed his mouth immediately as if he was doing an impression of a goldfish.

Don continued, "I was talking to Nads; Amanda's stuff has been sent down to her sister's in Basingstoke. You remember her sister, Janice? That nice woman at the funeral, the one with the straight white hair?" Only Jason and Grace nodded, but it was a lazy nod. "I heard something interesting from Nads as well...well, it was more sad than anything else."

Penelope looked up with her rainy eyes and finally said, "What is it?" While waiting for her answer, she placed her hands under Arthur, gently picked him up and placed him onto the floor. He didn't look impressed, but I got the impression that Penelope's lap was getting too warm with that fury thing sprawled across her lap.

Arthur trotted off unhappily, and even took a glance back and if it was possible for a cat to produce an expletive in English, I believe he would have done.

"Well," Don began. "It appears that Amanda had a son way back."

"A son?" Grace snapped out of her sombre mood, and turned to Don. "And how do you know that?"

"Nads told me."

"And how did _she_ know?"

Don shrugged his shoulders and was eager to get on with his story. "Apparently, when she was twenty-three, she gave birth to a boy. Unfortunately, when she was thirty-one, and the boy was just eight, he drowned in a swimming pool. I don't know the specific details. I think Nads told me this was around 1964, I don't think her husband ever got over it, and that's why he turned to the drink."

Penelope shifted in her seat and dried her eyes. "Poor Amanda. She told me her husband was an alcoholic, but nothing about having a child. She told me she never wanted children."

Grace scratched her short grey hair and asked, "Why did Nads..I mean...why did Nadia tell you this?"

"I walked past Amanda's room, and saw Nads tidying up and getting her personal belongings together. I saw an old black and white picture of a boy on a slide lying on the floor. I asked her who it was, and Nads told me." I then suddenly remembered when Amanda wasn't feeling well and me and Todd took her back to her room, I had seen a photograph popping out of Amanda's cushion. It must have been the same photograph with the boy on the slide.

"She never said anything to me," Penelope sniffed.

Then we all sat in silence and realised that we hadn't known each other for that long, and like Grace, Amanda had held her cards close to her chest. She was a hard woman to get to know, and on some occasions, she was a hard woman to have a conversation with.

Was her personality anything to do with losing her son all those year ago?

I guessed that it might have had something to do with it, as something like that could affect someone permanently; no parent should bury their child. I thought about Grace and wondered how much of a different person she was before losing Jeremy decades ago. Was she jollier and more outgoing?

Some people moved on and got over tragedies better than others.

Every time I swooned over Grace, I had twinges of guilt seeping in when I thought about Emily. I couldn't help it; Emily was the love of my life and my best friend. Two years after Emily's death, I felt lucky that although there was no lady friend in my life, I certainly wasn't alone with the friends that I had in Misty Falls, despite losing my wife and my good friend, Jack.

Life still moved on; the earth didn't stop and I had to carry on, because I just didn't know when the Good Lord had got me down to meet back up with my Emily. I missed her, but I still hoped that I had at least another ten to fifteen years left in me before we met again.

"Oh, there's your boyfriend," Jason joked. And we all turned around and saw that Hopper's friend, Larry Evans, had pulled into the car park. There was a few light fittings that needed replacing and a couple of residents had trouble with plugs, kettles, toasters, etc. Grace herself had asked Don to take a look at her TV, but the conversation was overheard by John Sauce and he informed them that it was against health and safety regulations for senior citizens to do jobs themselves, not because they were considered useless, but because the establishment was paranoid of accidents, which would be followed by libel cases.

John Sauce then told Grace that he would phone Larry Evans, as a few other residents needed small jobs looking at anyway.

Penelope pulled a fake face that suggested that the hunky Larry Evans was 'doing it' for her. To me, it looked forced, and I think that Penelope was doing it on purpose to lighten the mood as we were all obviously still down and upset about Amanda.

Once Larry walked through reception and knocked on Lance Brannigan's door to his office, we all temporarily stared at the back of the van and Penelope was the first to turn back around. "Just look at the buns on him," she said, almost salivating. "It looks like two puppies fighting under a blanket."

"You're terrible," Grace scoffed.

"I don't care, " Penelope sniffed. "I do as I please, and I please those I do. He could see to my appliance any day."

"You've got a filthy mind, Mrs. Crow," Don chipped in.

"I know," Penelope sighed. "I wonder if he shaves?"

"What?" I was flabbergasted by her question.

Penelope shrugged her shoulders and said, "Well, he's dark, isn't he. Dark haired men tend to be hairier." She lifted her head and began to reminisce. "I remember when I was young, I went out with a dark haired man called Harry." She shook her head. "My God, it looked like Pinocchio with a beard."

"Penelope!" Grace said with shock. "What are you like?"

Said Penelope with a gentle blush to her face, "I don't know what's wrong with me today. It must be the fact that he looks like Burt Reynolds. I wouldn't mind making him squeal like a piggy."

I begun to laugh, and knowing that I'd only seen the film a few weeks ago, I said, "It was actually Ned Beatty that was told to squeal like a piggy, not Burt Reynolds."

"I thought it was Jon Voight," Jason scrunched his face.

"No," I said. "Jon Voight was held against the tree while Ned Beatty was being raped, and Burt Reynolds was the man who shot one of those rednecks with the bow and arrow."

"I thought that was Dustin Hoffman," Jason looked at me with a serious face.

I sighed, "Hoffman wasn't even in the film."

Jason looked perplexed and shook his head and told the group he was off to his room to make a coffee. "Does anyone want one?" he asked. I told Jason that I was going to try a coffee from the kiosk instead, which he scoffed was a waste of money considering our rooms were only yards away. He had a valid point, but I fancied something different. Sometimes it was nice to have a drink or something to eat that was made by someone else.

There was a young girl called Tracey, who had joined Misty Falls a week ago; she was brought in to provide tea and coffee for staff and any residents wanting a drink, rather than having to walk to their rooms to have one.

Usually Nads and Frisky did the tea round, but it was suggested to Brannigan that a part-time tea lady would be a great addition to the place.

Brannigan, predictably went for the cheap option and picked a young girl who was destined to be producing five kids before her twenty-fifth birthday.

At the kiosk, I managed to catch Tracey's eye; usually she sulked in the corner and played with her phone and ignored the residents. I'm sure she'd be fired within a month. She walked over and looked at me and sighed. Her hair was greasy and dragged back into a ponytail. "What?" she asked rudely while chewing her gum ferociously.

"Could I have a coffee, please, Tracey?"

She glared at me as if I had asked her a trick question. "A hot one?"

I glared back, wondering if she was joking, but her face suggested otherwise. I sighed, "Seriously?"
Chapter Twenty

The eighth day of March was a cold one.

It was Friday, and I knew it was going to be one of those days where we were all going to sit about, stare into nothingness, and talk twaddle. That was fine with me. Yesterday afternoon, Jason had gone out with his daughter for the day—he never specified where; Grace and Penelope had gone to the daytime bingo, followed by a jaunt to the shops, whereas Don had spent most of the afternoon in his bed, nursing a cold, and supping on lemsips.

I sat alone, trying to sup on a cup of tea that tasted pretty close to horse piss—made by young Tracey of course, and managed to consume half of the beverage while reading a newspaper.

Everyday, papers would be brought into the living room area and the handful of residents would fight over them, not literally of course, but it still wasn't worth the hassle of reading a paper to feel dozens of eyes glaring at you, and waiting for you to finish so they could grab it and fight over it a like a pack of wolves over a lamb.

I had decided to go for a walk around the area, and went a little overboard with my jaunt, as I never returned to Misty Falls until three hours later, just in time for dinner. As a sixty-nine-year-old man, walking the streets alone, I felt reasonably calm and not at all paranoid that I would meet up with hoodies or hooligans looking to throw disparaging remarks at a defenceless individual like myself, just to boost up their bad boy image. It was a nice walk, and it was good to get some air and be out of that place.

Despite being out for a long period of time, I returned back to Misty Falls to find that all of my friends were still out, despite the fact that Jason usually had his nap at 3pm. It was after four. I scanned over the area where we usually sat, the five red seats sat empty. Amanda's old seat had been given to Kelly Harrow and I could see her sitting in the comfy chair on the other side of the room and it appeared that she was knitting a jumper of some kind. I looked up to the chandelier and thought about Don's rant a few days ago. I decided to leave the living room and head for the corridor.

Don't ask me why, but I decided to take the elevator to the first floor even though my room was on the ground floor. Once I stepped out of the elevator, I walked slowly along the corridor and, as always, the corridor was barren. I was feeling a little lonely and walked slowly down the hall, and the first door I passed was Grace's room, room 19. I carried on walking, and walked past room 24, 25, 26...then I stopped in my tracks.

I stared at the door and stepped closer towards the door of room 27, Amanda's old room. I looked to my left and right to reassure myself that the corridor was empty. I then placed my ear against the door, and my first fear was that an animal of some kind had got into the room. Sometimes when cleaning a room out after a death, they would sometimes leave the windows open to air the place. Once they had an interview for someone to look at the room, they would close the window so it would appear fresh, warm and without a musty smell. I then realised I was on the first floor, so the chances of an animal getting into the room was pretty remote, which baffled me further more.

Because of the uncertainty of what was behind the door, I continued to listen and the sounds I could hear was Hopper and Frisky, Angela Fristoe. They were in Amanda's old room and they were obviously having sex.

I was absolutely incensed, and whether it was stupidity or bravery, or possibly just a rush of blood to the head, I pushed down the door handle and pushed the door open not knowing what I was going to find.

As soon as the unlocked door swung open with a crash, Hopper removed himself from a clearly embarrassed Angela. He had her bent over the bed and both had their green overall trousers around their ankles. Both dressed themselves quickly, and where Angela was mortified, Hopper seemed more angry that he had been caught and that his fun had been interrupted.

Without uttering a word, Angela quickly got dressed and stood in front of me with pleading eyes; she turned and berated Joseph for forgetting to lock the door, then begged me for a few seconds not to tell anyone, but I blanked her and continued to gawp at Joseph File.

She barged past me and I could hear her sniffling as her shoes clip-clopped their way back to the main living room area. I continued to gawp at Hopper who was slowly and casually doing up the zip on his trousers. I felt he was doing this on purpose in an attempt to goad me. To do what? I don't know. I was sixty-nine years old and there wasn't anything I could do, not physically anyway. So I decided to use words to express how disgusted I was with him, but it didn't do me any good.

"You're an absolute disgrace," I spat. "You know that?"

He stood straight, combed back his long hair behind his ears with his fingers and stroked his moustache as if he was contemplating something. "And how's that exactly?" He began to fix his light green issued shirt.

I scowled at his question. "Are you serious? You should be working; there're dozens of people in here relying on you and Angela, and you're up here..." I couldn't find the words, so I allowed my sentence to trail off.

He smiled and was enjoying the fact that I was becoming uncomfortable in his presence, but I was shaking more with rage than nervousness. He walked over to me and began to pad me down as if I was a prisoner and he was an officer.

"What are you doing?" I confusingly asked, and tried to shrug him off.

"Just making sure you're clean," he sniped.

"What?"

"I know you have a phone; just making sure you're not recording me—trying to get me to confess to stuff. But now I know you're clean, let me have _my_ chance to talk."

He gently guided me into the room. He peered out of the room, checking the corridor. This action unnerved me, and I was wondering what on earth he had in mind. He carefully shut the door, leaving the pair of us alone in Amanda's old room. I looked around to see the bare cupboards; the bed had no sheets, just a mattress, and the pictures had been taken down off the wall.

I stood near the closed door and saw Hopper approaching me, his face was devoid of all emotion, and I wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Was he calm, or was he devoid of emotion because he was a sociopath? He stood still once he was a single yard away from my face. My nerves were shot to pieces, but I stood my ground the best I could, even though I was physically shaking.

He said, "Me and Angela are having a relationship, and yes, whenever we find a spare room, we do our deed. Now, I don't mean to disgrace your friend's memory or piss anyone off for that matter, but I'm a man with urges, and occasionally I slope off from work to have sex with a woman I'm mad about. Is that so wrong?"

I was flabbergasted by his calm response, and was expecting a rant or a punch in the stomach, or worse. But he was calm, tranquil and wasn't showing any sign of malice.

"But it's unprofessional." I spoke with a squeak in my voice. Looking back it must have sounded pathetic, but I was so taken back by his calmness that he had taken me by surprise.

"It _is_ unprofessional," Hopper spoke and nodded his head, regret was scrawled on his features, but I was unsure if it was fake regret, or general regret. "But then again, so is smoking or sleeping on the job, but a lot of us break the rules, right?"

Then desperation kicked in, and I tried to delve into the archives over the past few months of incidents relating to Hopper. "And what about the other times you and Angela—"

"Regrettable." He nodded once more. "But I've already explained myself on that matter."

"And what about trying to choke Don, and pissing on Jason? Were they... _regrettable_?" I could feel my blood beginning to simmer once again, while I brought up recent events that Hopper was responsible for. "You threatened me in the garden. When Amanda had her fall, you were smirking and winked at me as you left, was that _regrettable?_ "

As soon as I said my peace, I was expecting Joseph File to lunge at me and rip my head off with his bare hands, but it didn't happen, and 'surprised' was an understatement. He was still calm and said softly, "I only joined this place last November. It's completely different to what I'm used to. But I think I'm maturing to a certain degree. The incident with Don was very unprofessional. As for the urinating on your friend; I don't know what the hell was going on in my head, and I can only thank you for not reporting it."

Taken aback by his philosophical and human response, I found it difficult to find any words. When I found my voice, I said, "It would have been my word against yours anyway, I wouldn't have stood a chance. And I also didn't tell on you when you threatened me in the garden."

"I know it wasn't you that had reported me for the garden incident. That was John Sauce."

"How do you know that?"

"Someone told me a few days after, a kind resident."

I was lost in thought. And then I remembered a few weeks back, John Sauce walking on his morning shift as if he had really bad stomach cramps. Then I wondered if Hopper had beaten him for grassing. I knew Joseph File had done some despicable things in the short time since he had been at Misty Falls, even the sex alone with Angela 'Frisky' Fristoe was enough to get him fired, but I asked myself: Is he trying to change? Or is this part of his sick twisted game?

Hopper continued, "You and Don kept quiet about my angry tirade in this very room, and I'm thankful for that. As for Amanda; I was actually smirking at a text Larry Evans had sent me only seconds before her fall. And I winked at you to reassure you that she would be okay after the paramedics had taken her away, unfortunately that wasn't the case." He lowered his head and I thought to myself that he was either a very good actor, or he really meant what he said.

"Can I go?" I asked.

"Sure," he laughed. He went over to open the door and as I left, he patted me on the back in a friendly gesture. "Things are gonna change from now on," he said.

I left Amanda's room and walked down the hall drenched in puzzlement. I didn't know what to think anymore.
Chapter Twenty One

It was March 14th, and The Vatican had appointed a new Pope from Argentina called Jorge Mario Bergoglio. The seventy-six-year-old had replaced Pope Benedict XVI. It didn't mean anything to me, but that was the main headlines on this day, although it kind of happened the day before.

I told Don about my chat with Hopper, and he was genuinely pleased, but like me, sceptical, and still thought he was a vicious and vindictive thug and that bullying the likes of me gave the forty-year-old a surge of power that he couldn't get anywhere else. Even if he didn't mean what he had said, it gave us half a hope that things would be a little easier if he was at least pretending to be nice.

It was still only myself and Don who knew how bad Joseph File had been, but in the retirement home, there were a lot of residents who were so weak and fragile that they were scared of their own shadow. Spreading the word that Hopper was a vile and cruel man, would not only put myself and my friends in line for some potential trouble, but it would also add to the consternation of the residents and could double the heart attack rates through worry. And after Hopper's vociferous reaction in the garden, I certainly wasn't going to go to Brannigan, unless I had real hard evidence.

In truth, we hoped that it was a problem that would go away. Although the incidents that had occurred were not that frequent, when it did happen, they were vile. In the space of three months or so, he had threatened me in the corridor, he had tried to choke Don, urinated on Jason, threatened me in the garden, as well as having liaisons with a female member of staff when he should have been seeing to the care of the elderly. When I reeled off the list, I thought that he was damn lucky to still be in a job.

Larry Evans was in again, and this time he was in Grace's room to fix a few minor jobs that had been bugging her. I decided to wait an hour before going to see her, as then I was convinced Larry would have finished what he was doing by then. If I went to see her earlier while he was still there, I felt that it might set tongues wagging once again.

Evans had already told Hopper that Grace and I were in my room together, and I didn't want to give them any more ammunition to use against me and tease me. Despite Hopper's admission that he had turned over a new leaf, I wasn't taking any chances.

I kept looking at my watch while sitting in my room; I was watching a pointless TV programme that talked about man's potential journey to the planet Venus and couldn't stop myself yawning while I gazed at the TV. Once the hour was nearly up, I decided to leave my room and take the short walk upstairs to Grace's room. I could have taken the elevator but I did very little exercise. I could feel that I had put weight on and the stairs was the only exercise I got, if you excluded my jaunts to the newsagents.

I peered into the main living room before going upstairs to make sure she wasn't already down, and I could only see Jason Duke and Penelope Crow sitting in the chairs by the bay window, oblivious to the world, as they were lost in conversation. I walked along the first floor corridor and I saw Angela Fristoe coming towards me.

She shamefully lowered her head and couldn't get past me quick enough. I was glad of her response; at least she had some shame in her bones and she knew what her and Joseph were doing was wrong. I didn't understand why they had to do it on the job. Because it was more exciting? They were both single and worked the same shift pretty much, so why didn't they hook up outside of work?

I had a feeling that the incident was never going to happen again, and I was proved right, as I never came across another Frisky/Hopper moment again—unless they had managed to hide it better. I do seriously think that their liaisons were kept out of Misty Falls after being caught in Amanda's room, and was probably more her idea than his, as I knew that Angela Fristoe actually liked her job, unlike her partner.

As soon as I reached room 19 on the first floor, I raised my hand, clenched it into a fist, rotated my wrist to my left and was about to rap my knuckles on Grace's door. Something stopped me from doing so. I placed my ear against her door, paranoid that two scenarios could take place: The first scenario was if Grace suddenly opened the door and could see that I had been eavesdropping. What would she think of me then? Would she think I was a nosey old bastard? Some kind of pervert? The other scenario that entered my mind was if I placed my ear against her door and someone from behind had left their room and begun walking down the corridor and saw me; they'd be wondering what the hell I was playing at.

I could hear a bit of sniffling through the door, as if Grace was upset, but I was still reluctant to knock the door. I stood straight, fixed my shirt, cleared my throat and raised my hand once again. This time I rapped the door five times in quick succession.

"What?" was the voice that I heard from behind the door. It was an unusual greeting from Grace, so I knew straight away that there was something wrong. Should I just walk away or open the door? I decided to do neither and spoke _through_ the door.

"It's me," I said. "Is everything okay?"

There was a long silence, _so_ long that I almost turned on my heels to stroll down the first floor corridor, down the stairs and into the main living room to join Penelope and Jason.

She then spoke. "Just come in."

It sounded like an invite that wasn't so sincere. I thought that maybe she could sense me hovering by the door like some annoying little twerp who couldn't take no for an answer. Whatever she was thinking, I adhered to her instruction and opened the door slowly, peered my head around the door to see her lying fully clothed on the bed; she was on her side and was facing away from me, yet I knew she was, or had been, crying.

I gently closed the door behind me and purposely cleared my throat to let Grace know that I was in the room. I stood near the closed door and never made a step closer, as I didn't want to encroach her private space. I asked. "You seem upset, is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head the best she could with the side of her head resting on the pillow. A hush had enveloped the pair of us and I decided to ask one more question before I left, I actually asked two. I didn't want to annoy Grace, but at the same time I wanted her to know that there were people that loved her, and if she needed to talk, then I was there for her. "Is it Amanda? Or are you thinking about Jeremy?"

The back of her head nodded, although I wasn't entirely sure which question she was nodding her head to. Nevertheless, I was convinced that her being upset was nothing to do with Jeremy _or_ Amanda. She had already shed tears for Jeremy on his birthday, and although we missed Amanda terribly, Grace and Amanda weren't that close, not the way Amanda and Penelope were.

I decided not to push it any further and informed Grace that if she needed anyone to talk to then I was willing to listen. I shut her door behind me and as I left, I could hear her sobbing once more. She was obviously holding back the tears while I was present in the room, so she must have wanted me out of the way, but was too kind, or to upset, to ask me herself.

It was obvious that whatever she was upset about, she wanted to be alone. I couldn't help wondering why she was so upset. Was it anything to do with her secretive trips out from Misty Falls?

I promised myself that for the rest of the day, I wouldn't torment myself with endless questions about Grace's predicament. But it was easier said than done. I spent the rest of the evening sitting in my room and watching television. I didn't know where Don had got to, but we weren't joined at the hip, and outside of Misty Falls people had other things to do and family members to see, unlike me.
Chapter Twenty Two

A few weeks had passed, and April was almost upon us. Hopper seemed true to his word so far and although he wasn't overly pleasant, like opening doors for me, or cracking jokes, he was more human than normal. Grace was still a bit quiet, and nobody could understand what was wrong with her. I think Penelope had tried to talk to her but was shunned away.

One thing for certain, she wasn't the same Grace that we all knew and loved. I had an inkling that it was something to do with these cab journeys she was taking. Where was she going or who was she visiting? As per usual, Don had told us to stop worrying, and if Grace had something important to tell us, she would. I could see on his face that he was also worried, and our necks craned while we sat on our chairs and peered through the large bay window when she left the area of Misty Falls.

Although she had never said anything to me, Jason, Don or Penelope, she could be seen leaving the property once again. She stood for a matter of minutes at the entrance of Misty Falls, and we all watched in silence. Then a black cab pulled in and she got in and the vehicle zoomed off. We all looked at one another with concern on our faces, but no words were spoken.

Where the hell was she going?

*

An hour had passed and there was still no sign of Grace. The group conversed with one another, and desperately tried to get me involved with the banter as they could see I was miles away with concern. I was trying to act normal because I could see and feel that Don was getting fed up with me.

Then, John Sauce turned up in the main living room and began taking away some of the plates and cutlery that had been lying about since breakfast time. He walked past the group and Penelope stared at the youngster and we all knew his walk was a little different to his normal walk. I don't know whether he had a pile, or some kind of rash, but he definitely had something the matter with him. Had Hopper attacked him again? I did think about that for a second, but Ketchup seemed in a jovial mood so I though that that probably wasn't the case, unless he was putting on a brave face.

Penelope couldn't hold her tongue and said, "What's up with you, John? You're walking like you've got a cock stuck up your arse."

This brought about laughter from our group, and even some from behind managed a light chortle as well as a few gasps from Penelope's humorous, yet shocking comment.

"Nah," John retaliated nervously by saying, "I'm not into men; I like women."

"Is that so?" Penelope responded to Ketchup's valiant, but weak response. "You've never tried the older woman?" Penelope raised her eyebrows and we could all see Ketchup's face turning the same could as...well, ketchup!

John looked at Penelope, and said with a wink, "I'm not really into necrophilia."

The group began to laugh, and Penelope clapped a few times at his response.

Jason responded, "He's getting better. Or braver."

Despite the humorous little tête-à-tête with Ketchup, I couldn't seem to shift my mood and decided to go up and risk getting a coffee from the kiosk. I noticed that the part-time Tracey was behind the rarely opened kiosk, but I decided to chance it anyway. I asked if anyone else wanted one, all said _no_ , and Jason explained that he wouldn't purchase from the kiosk on principle because the kiosk sold overpriced coffee with an Italian name. He claimed that these coffee chains outside of Misty Falls that you would find in town centres were like prostitutes, they sucked and left you with an empty wallet, and he was saddened that the kiosk was going down the same road and that I had been sucked in.

It was more information than I needed, a simple _no_ would have sufficed, but Jason was on his high horse and I knew he needed to get this rant off his chest before I was allowed to leave the group and go to purchase my coffee in peace.

It was a rarity that the residents would purchase anything from the kiosk, and the main purchasers were the staff and Brannigan. I think that suited Tracey anyway, as she seemed happy enough picking up the minimum wage by sitting and doing nothing and playing with her phone. I approached the kiosk cautiously and saw Tracey sitting with her back to me. It was ridiculous. I was there to purchase a coffee, and was reluctant to say anything in case I disturbed her quietude.

I swallowed and bravely cleared my throat loud enough for the female teenager to hear. She turned around, rolled her eyes and reluctantly got out of her chair. Still looking at her phone, she casually strolled towards the front of the kiosk where I was waiting.

"What do you want?" she asked rudely, while vigorously chewing her gum. Her skin looked blotchy on this particular day and her hair was its usual style, greased back into a high ponytail.

I was feeling a little peckish after my light breakfast, so I decided to order something hot. "I hear you do toasties now."

She nodded with her head half-down, her eyes gazing up, waiting for me to continue. "And?"

"I would like to try one, preferably _hot_." I said with a chuckle, going back to our last conversation, but Tracey looked at me straight faced. My humour was lost on her and so I shook my head. "Forget it."

She sighed, and moaned, "What do you prefer?"

I craned my neck and tried to look above her, then I peered to the left and then right in search of some kind of menu, but only the drinks menu was on show and that was written in chalk on a small blackboard that sat on the left of the kiosk.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, what have you got?"

She sighed, "We have cheese and tomato, cheese and onion," she paused for a second to spit out her chewing gum into the bin towards the floor, or at least I hope there was a bin there, as I couldn't see. "Or...cheese surprise."

Not much good if you're allergic to cheese, I thought. "And what's the cheese surprise?"

"That's cheese without tomato or onion."

I stared at her blankly "So...it's just cheese then."

"Yip," she grunted as if it was _me_ with the brain cell deficiency, and glared through me as if she was hypnotised. "You having tea with that?"

"You know what? I'm gonna go mad and try a coffee."

She glared unimpressed that she was going to have to finally do something today, as most residents preferred to make their own food and drink in their rooms. "Which one? Mocha, cappuccino—?"

"Neither, just a coffee." I smiled and began to search my right pocket for some change. I knew I had a few pounds in there somewhere.

"I can do you a latte."

"What's a latte?"

She glared at me and began to adjust her bobble that had tied back her dark greasy hair, and finally said, "It's a milky coffee."

I almost laughed and looked at the menu. A normal coffee was a pound cheaper than the Italian sounding names. Maybe Jason had a point. "Wow! Milky coffee. What a brilliant invention. How did they come up with such a thing? So a normal coffee will cost me two pounds, but if you make it _milkier_ , I have to pay another pound? Is that what you're saying?"

She shrugged her shoulders. She obviously wasn't giving a toss. "Wanna try a mocha?"

I scratched my head and sighed, "What's in a mocha?"

"Just coffee and some chocolate."

I shook my head. "I'll tell you what, I'll just have a white coffee."

"A latte then?"

"No, a white coffee for two pounds." I could feel this little visit to the kiosk wasn't good for my heart or my blood pressure. "I don't want the same thing but colder for three pounds."

"Anything else?"

"Yes," I breathed out a long breath to calm my heart rate. "I'll have a cheese surprise as well. And a smile would be nice."

"I don't do smiles."

"No shit."

While giving my money to Tracey, I could see in the corner of my eye, a figure entering the building. I looked to my right and saw it was Grace. She didn't look upset as such, she just looked completely worn out as if she had hardly any sleep. She smiled weakly as if that little action had taken a lot of effort, and before I could say anything to her, she was the first to speak.

She told me that she felt tired and she was going for a sleep in her room and that she would probably miss dinner. The only response she got from me was a nod of the head and then she wandered off to her room. I continued to worry about her, and all of a sudden I didn't seem to have the appetite for my cheese surprise anymore.

My appetite never intensified once Tracey slapped the plate on the side for me to take with me. I looked at the 'meal' that sat in front of me. The bread was hardly toasted and the cheese had hardly melted. It just looked like someone had made a cheese sandwich and then sat on it.

That was it. I vowed never to order any more food from the kiosk, and just order the odd drink here and there, as the coffee was surprisingly okay. I looked over to the group who had all seen Grace's arrival and they shrugged their shoulders as if they were none the wiser what was going on. By this time, I really feared for Grace and knew after a few more weeks of this I wasn't going to be able to hold my tongue.
Chapter Twenty Three

It was Tuesday April 2nd. The news? North Korea were being naughty once again. Britain avoided a triple dip recession and a Brazilian woman had been breastfeeding a deer, which sparked outrage—I kid you not.

All week, Penelope had been on tenterhooks, but the day had finally arrived. It was Don's seventy-ninth birthday. All five of us were going out for a meal for Don's birthday and the visitor had landed a day ago and was due at The Pines at 8pm. It wasn't something we wanted to do at Misty Falls, as it wasn't private enough and there were too many distractions, so The Pines seemed the perfect venue for Don's surprise.

We sat in the lounge area of The Pines, and was pleased that it was relatively quiet. Out of the twenty tables available, only six had been taken so far, although it was still early at around five o'clock. Don wanted to order straight away, but Penelope insisted that they should have a drink first and let their hair down, as there was no rush.

Penelope had been up and down all night and Don had made a reference to it, and joked that her bladder may be weakening because of her excess trips to the toilet, when really she was getting up and taking a look outside to see if the guest had arrived yet.

She was trying her best to act normal, but was failing miserably as she hardly made a funny quip all night, which wasn't like her. She made her last trip to the 'toilet' and she returned and sat down with a smile engraved on her face. I knew that the surprise for Don had arrived.

Grace was a little quiet that night, but I knew that she was trying her utmost to be, or at least act, jolly, and she wore a permanent smile on her face, albeit false. It was going to be Don's big day, and sweet Grace was trying her best not to tarnish the day.

We still didn't know what was wrong with her, but whatever it was, Don's night was going to be a welcomed distraction.

We gazed at the main door and it seemed to take forever for the woman to enter the building, but the door finally opened and she shrugged off the rain that had temporarily pelted her from above. She was a stunning lady. She had dark brown wavy hair that hung just past her shoulders and a figure that suggested she worked out and she certainly watched what she ate. She seemed to be dressed in a business suit of some kind and looked like she had just left an important meeting.

We all knew who it was, apart from Don, obviously, and it was fortuitous that he had his back to the main entrance door when she walked into the establishment. Because she had never met any of us before, Penelope gestured with her head for her to come over, and so she did. Once she got to our table, she stood still. I gazed at her—not in a lustful way, more in admiration, as she reminded me of the actress Kelly LeBrock who starred in a few films from the eighties like _The Woman in Red_.

"Hi, dad." she said.

Don looked up with mystification on his face, but then his face turned into a wobbling mess. He shook and the tears fell, hardly giving them time to well in his eyes. His shaking hand was put to his mouth and he mumbled out the word, "Becky?"

"Well, who else do you think it is?" she said with a slight Australian twang in her voice.

Don got out of his chair and staggered a little as he made a step forward. At first, I feared he was going to collapse, as the emotion of it all might have been too much for him. I could see the consternation etched on Penelope's face as well; after all, _she_ was solely responsible for this little get together. We had already buried one of our friends; we weren't ready to bury another so soon.

Before he embraced his daughter in the middle of the room, he hesitantly paused and took a half a step back to get a good look at her. He beamed and said, "You look wonderful." She only responded with a smile and they both embraced and spilt tears on each other's shoulders.

It had been twenty years since he last saw his daughter. It had been too long as far as I was concerned, but it was none of my business. She was here now, and to see a man I was very fond of, crumble like that—and I mean in a good way—was a nice sight to see.

Both Grace and Penelope predictably produced tears, and I was also struggling to contain myself as well. Jason Duke on the other hand must have had a rock swinging inbetween his lungs, as he never flinched at this emotional, moving episode; he just sat there with a daft smile on his face.

After the emotions had settled down, we enjoyed our meals and drinks and predictably were entertained by stories of Don as a father, and Becky as a child and a tearaway teenager. The stories were humorous and we allowed Becky and Don to spend the next few hours telling us about their life together. All in all, it was a wonderful evening and the only thing that tainted it for me, was the knowing that Grace had something on her mind and I didn't know what it was.

It was getting on for half past nine, and we had all collectively decided that it was time for us oldies to turn in. Becky was staying in a hotel for the fortnight, so it was obvious that Don's time was going to be swallowed up by visits and days out, but I was genuinely pleased for him. My own kids had promised to come down in August, so I was looking forward to that.

Before the cab arrived, I decided to make the minutes I had spare to drain my weak bladder. I staggered to the toilet, having consumed five pints of beer, which may not be a lot for the average man, but for me, it was enough to make me feel a little drunk.

It was time for my bed.

*

I hadn't been in bed long when I heard the noise.

I had never heard squeals, screams or wails like it. I didn't know what the hell it was at first. Primarily, I thought it was some wild fox or cat that had been injured, but it frightened the crap out of me and made me wake up with a startle.

I looked over at the alarm clock and it was still early, it was only 10:15pm. I was completely naked, but I shot out of my bed and kept the light off, as it was easier to see in the darkness when there was no light in the room. And then I saw it.

At first, I had no clue what it could be; to me it looked like a fireball with legs that ran full circle around the grounds of Misty Falls.

The wails intensified, and once I opened my window to allow the cool air to spill in, the squeals entered the room and it was an awful sound of pain and anguish. This creature was on fire, and it seemed bizarre that an animal of the night could be in such a predicament.

How on earth could this creature be on fire, unless tomfoolery was involved? There were no fires around the area or in the distance, so it couldn't have accidentally ran into a bonfire or a campfire of sorts. It really baffled me.

As it continued to run around the garden and occasionally stop to rub its back on the lawn in a desperate attempt to douse the flames, its squeals were waning and its running was developing into a light jog; it made me feel sick and my heart was pounding quicker than it had done for years.

I could only assume that the creature was giving up, dying, or both. I looked further out of my window and saw to my left and right, almost every frightened resident hanging out of their window to see what the noise was all about. As I looked back down to the grounds of Misty Falls, the outside spotlight drenched the garden and must have been put on manually by one of the staff.

Two members of the nightshift staff stepped out of the back entrance into the garden at the back of the establishment and then paused once they were ten yards away from the smouldering animal. Both of the temporary members of staff pulled their shirts over their nose, as I assumed that the stench of the burning flesh was torturing their snouts—I couldn't smell anything myself as I must have been too far away—and one stepped another yard towards the animal, which produced the crying animal to snarl in pain at the brave worker. It was an awful, whiny sound that highlighted the pain the creature was going through.

The carer took the hint, and began to step backwards. Seconds later, the creature had died, still burning, still smouldering. Finally, the other carer had disappeared briefly and returned to the garden donning a fire extinguisher. He squirted the extinguisher three times, dousing out the burning corpse, and then placed the apparatus by the side of the glass panel doors that, by day, residents would use to go in and out of the grounds.

The carers urged everyone peering out of their windows to get back to their beds, and informed us that they were going to eventually try and remove whatever had died. Someone called out that they should call the RSPCA, but it appeared to me that the nightshift carers idea was to pick up the burnt animal and dispose of it in one of the large metal bins around the back of Misty Falls.

Then I heard a scream from below me, and out of the back entrance came Penelope in her slippers and dressing gown. I was perplexed why she was out, and then following Penelope, was Don. He had merely gone out to see if she was okay. Don was also dressed in attire to suggest he had been in his bed when the squeals occurred, as he was also in slippers and a dressing gown.

As Penelope staggered towards the smouldering animal, Don forcefully pulled her back with both hands on her shoulders and kept his arms around her. She then turned around and sobbed into his chest. Again, I was still perplexed what was going on, and saw Don looking at me with a scowl, almost as if he was trying to communicate with me telepathically.

And then it all clicked together, which was confirmed when Penelope continued to sob into Don's chest and cried, "Oh Arthur. My poor, poor Arthur."

It was Arthur that had burned to death on that night. But who could have done such a thing?

Then I looked at Don once again with wide eyes. His scowl was still there and he nodded his head as if he knew what I was thinking. He had been on the afternoon shift as per usual, and although we had no evidence, we were certain he must have been behind this sickening act.

I muttered under my breath, "Hopper."
Chapter Twenty Four

I finally woke up after nine, and even then I had only had five hours sleep. Once my eyes opened and re-lived the previous night's events, it was hard for me to get back to sleep. I thought about poor old Arthur, wondered how Penelope was coping, and wondered if Hopper really _was_ behind the sickening act of cruelty. Was he trying to indirectly upset Don and I, by distressing a friend of ours?

Once the night's events sank in, I released a sad sigh and made a noise once I managed to get myself off of the bed and get my tired legs working and walking the very short journey towards the kettle. I leaned over to get a teabag and could feel my back twinge with a little pain while doing this. I remembered thinking to myself: Reaching for a tea bag, and almost pulling my back out? Whatever next?

My body was nearly seventy years old, but my mind thought I was still in my thirties.

I poured a small amount of milk into the cup and switched the kettle on, using the water from the night before that was still inside. Before I had chance to sit back down at the foot of the bed, I heard a gentle knock on my door. I shuffled my feet towards the door and released a wide yawn. I opened the door to be greeted by a bald, heavy, eighty-one-year-old man by the name of Jason Duke. His face was naturally grim looking and stood for a few seconds before opening his mouth.

He said, "I'm on my way to Penelope's room to see how she is, you coming?"

I nodded. "I'll see you down there. I need to get some clothes on."

Jason shook his head and blew out his cheeks. "Whoever could do such a thing?"

I shrugged my shoulder. _Hopper maybe?_

"I don't know," I said. I didn't want to say anything about our so-called carer. It was something that only Don and I was aware of, and we wanted it to stay that way, as we had no evidence, only accusations. We also didn't want to antagonize a man who could make our lives hell, and spreading stories throughout the elderly population of Misty Falls would only produce fear.

It still baffled me how someone could be so cruel and evil. Don and I were hoping that this problem was eventually going to go away. The fact that Jason was humiliatingly urinated on a few weeks back was something I wasn't prepared to reveal, as the humiliation for Jason would be unbearable, and I also didn't know if Jason would snap and go for Hopper himself. The result of that wasn't worth thinking about, and Jason was being kept in the dark for his own safety.

Don and I didn't have any evidence—that was our main problem. If we did, then Brannigan's door would be knocked straight away, which would be followed by the immediate firing of Joseph File. Balls to Brannigan's promotion!

Already seeing what Hopper was capable of when he made his threat towards me in the garden, made me think that we could only ever see Brannigan if we had substantial proof against Hopper. If Hopper was responsible for the demise of Arthur, then he had more than crossed the line. But like the sickening act on Jason Duke, there was no evidence, and Don and I speaking against someone with no evidence was slander, and Hopper would be seen as someone being victimised, whether we were considered frail old men or not.

After a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast, I left my room ten minutes after Jason's visit. I lazily caught the now working elevator to the ground floor, which was used mainly by residents with walking difficulties as well as cleaners and the breakfast woman who needed to take a trolley from the ground to the first floor, and vice versa. I took the short walk from the elevator to room 6 and didn't need to knock Penelope's door as it was already left ajar. I carefully placed my fingers on the door and gently pushed the door open.

Penelope was sitting on the bed, her thick brown-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose as usual, and was being consoled by Grace. Her short grey haired head rested against Penelope's as they sat next to one another, side by side. Jason was making tea and had five cups out, and Don stood in the corner of the room with his arms folded, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Like most men in such a situation, he didn't really know what to do or what to say. He seemed pleased to see me and gave off a smile. Maybe he would feel less comfortable if there was someone else in the room feeling useless, I thought to myself. We could stand and be useless together.

After numerous visits from other residents—seven in all, we stayed in Penelope's room for another hour, then we all made our excuses that because of the events from the night before, we all needed some shuteye in order to function for the remainder of the day.

It wasn't really an excuse; it was the truth.

Grace had decided to stay with Penelope, Jason was the first to leave, and Don and I left the room. Don only had a short walk to his room but asked if I wanted a cup of tea in the main living room, which I accepted. Once we purchased two surprisingly nice cups of teas from Tracey—all this was done with one hand, while her other was holding her phone and was furiously texting a friend—we sat opposite the bay window in the packed living room, and without a second of silence, Don turned to me, his face full of rage.

"Well? Who do you think was behind this little...event?"

I knew what he was trying to get at, but we had no proof. "I suspect, Hopper, but it could have been kids. Have you seen the amount of teenagers that hang around the shops at the top of the road? They just stand there, abuse passers by and drink cheap booze."

"I'm not so sure," Don snapped. "It's that fucking Hopper, I'm sure it is."

I was taken aback by Don's profanity, as he hardly swore, none of us did. I think it was because we were normally surrounded by female company.

With no female company around and considering what had happened the night before, it was understandable why an expletive had been thrown out of Don's mouth. We were both angry. We were all sad for Penelope, but you couldn't go round accusing people of all sorts unless there was a witness or any other kind of proof.

I looked at Don and had never seen him so incensed. I always knew he had a little bit of a temper, don't we all, but on this day he was livid. It was almost as if being reunited with his daughter the night before hadn't happened. Was he really so angry because of the cruelty to an animal which had devastated his friend, or was he angry that the happiest day of his life had been tarnished by the cruel barbarism of the previous night? I suspected it was a mixture of both, and when I saw Hopper's car pull into Misty Fall's staff car park. I feared the worst.

I tried to keep Don talking to prevent him from clocking Hopper's presence until he calmed down, but he had already saw him. Hopper was early for his afternoon shift and stormed through the reception area to get to the staff room.

Don jumped out of his chair and I called after him. "Don't be rash, Don. We don't know for sure."

By the time I had managed to get to my weary feet, Don had disappeared past the staff room and around the main corridor to the ground floor. I finally managed to get to the ground floor and could hear raised voiced coming from the first floor; it was definitely the voices of Hopper and Don. I lazily got the elevator to the first floor, and once the doors opened, I stepped out to be greeted by two angry faces, who were exchanging unpleasant words in the empty corridor of the first floor. With it being nearly lunchtime, most of the residents were congregating in the main living room, waiting to be fed.

"Oops, here comes the cavalry," Hopper derided, and continued to stare at me. "I thought me and you had settled our differences?"

Ignoring Hopper, I grabbed Don by the sleeve of his shirt and gently tugged at him.

"Don, we don't know who was responsible for Arthur's death."

"It was him," Don snarled. "I can tell by his stupid smug face."

"Now, now." Hopper wagged his finger mockingly at the now, just turned, seventy-nine-year-old. "That's slander." Whether Hopper was guilty or not, he seemed to be enjoying the moment. Maybe he hadn't changed after all.

"I used to come across shitebags like you." Don continued with malice in his tone. "In my day, I used to eat guys like you up for breakfast."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Well, come on, old man. Let's see what you've got." Hopper's face had changed and had lost all humour, and then I realised he hadn't changed at all. I was sceptical in the first place, but a bully like him had no intention of changing, he was just playing me.

Hopper poked Don in the chest. It looked like a sore one, but Don stubbornly never flinched. He didn't want this bully to see he was scared of him, which I'm sure deep down he was.

"Don't touch me, you piece of filth," Don spat.

Hopper laughed derisively and began to lightly hop on the floor from one foot to the next, and was mocking the pair of us by pretending to shadow box. I think it was his way of trying to intimidate us, by letting us know that he was far more agile and quicker than us and we wouldn't stand a chance against him, which we knew anyway, we weren't stupid.

He was no Sugar Ray Leonard, but his fists were pretty fast and I knew just one of them would be enough to put me out cold.

Hopper threw a few jabs, just missing Don's face, and continued to hop gently from one foot to the other. He seemed to know what he was doing and I assumed that boxing was a sport that he might have taken up in the past.

Don stood his ground as the fists flew; they were missing him by inches. Then Don said, "You're just one sad boy who gets a kick from bullying the elderly because you've been bullied all your life. What's wrong, did mommy never cuddle you? Did daddy used to beat the shit out of you?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, old man," Hopper spoke, almost out of breath as he continued with his play acting.

"Uh-huh." Don turned to me with a smile, while my own facial features were telling him to be quiet. "Looks like I hit a nerve with the _daddy_ remark, Todd."

Then it was there; an angry right hook hit Don in his side and he collapsed immediately to the floor. He was right, he _had_ hit a nerve with Joseph File, and the aggressor had responded with a body hook that could have put any man down.

As Don collapsed to the floor, I went over to him, and Hopper looked around making sure there were no witnesses around. "Don't fucking talk to me about my family, you old cunt! You don't know what you're talking about."

He spat in our direction, and the contents disgustingly landed on Don's left side of his neck, which he wiped away immediately, despite his pain. Then Hopper walked over to us, fists clenched and drew back his right fist, ready to strike Don once more, this time it looked like he was going to go for the nose breaker. It appeared that any thought for his job had evaporated, as Hopper had completely lost it. This was a guy that wasn't being sneaky anymore; his rage had taken over and had temporarily stopped him from giving a shit about anything else, apart from attacking his intended target once more, an elderly man. We were all in the middle of a corridor where anyone could walk in, and here was our carer knocking the crap out of a seventy-nine-year-old man. It just seemed so unreal, like a documentary you would see on the BBC about abusive staff in care homes.

Before Hopper had the chance to connect his fist to Don's features, the forty-year-old suddenly flew off the floor as if a grenade had gone off. He must have flown ten feet backwards and two feet off the floor, then he painfully landed on his back onto the stone floor. "What the fuck?" Hopper screamed. He took the words right out of my mouth.

Hopper pulled himself up and released a noise of pain and begun to rub his back. With his back to us, he slowly clambered to his knees and bent himself backward to stretch and with his left hand, he desperately tried to rub the area that had taken most of the impact, but he immediately removed his hand from the area once he realised it wasn't a muscular injury, it was bruising he had sustained.

He slowly got to his feet and turned his head around and gazed at Don for, what felt like, an eternity. I looked at Don; he looked exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open, and he was obviously in some discomfort.

For the first time, I saw fear in Hopper's eyes. He brushed himself down and raised his finger at Don, his finger quavered and nothing came out of his mouth. He was clearly embarrassed, bewildered and a little frightened of the surreal episode that had just occurred. He walked away briskly heading for the stairs at the other end of the corridor to the ground floor, his right hand holding his back. It would have been quicker for him if he walked past Don and I and went down the stairs to the living room area that way, but he looked a little fearful and decided not to risk it.

Twice now, Hopper had been ridiculed, but this time there was no laughter, and I anticipated that this surreal episode would make our enemy either fearful of the pair of us, or more determined to ruin our lives. It was at this point that I began to contemplate leaving Misty Falls; I would miss my friends, but I wouldn't miss the aggravation. Then I looked at Don, I couldn't leave him on his own, not with Joseph File. Or could I?

I looked at Don with wide eyes, but he refused to meet mine.

I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I had to ask, "What happened just there?"

Don shrugged his shoulder. "He slipped." Then immediately changed the subject. "Help me up."

I helped him back to his feet, and while I was doing this, I said, "Slipped? That wasn't a slip. He flew through the air for God's sake."

Don then straightened himself up, still clearly smarting from his punch and stared at me coldly. "So what do _you_ think it is? Give me an explanation."

Words never left my mouth; I just stood there shaking my head at him. I didn't know what happened. I couldn't explain it.

I thought about the popping of the light bulb, the swinging chandelier in the living room after Don's angry outburst, and now this! I had no explanation for what I had witnessed, but I knew Don was aware that I felt he was in control of whatever was happening.

I could have told someone about this, but what was I going to say? I believe my friend has a gift...a power of some sort. In the last month or so a bulb had popped, a chandelier had swung and a carer was thrown off his feet. So what!

When I thought about it like that, it seemed pretty trivial and I would be laughed at and by whomever I was speaking to. But even if Don could lift furniture off the ground with the power of his mind, I was never going to say anything.

He was my friend, and I wouldn't want him interrogated or prodded by certain individuals who were in the field of the supernatural or by scientists. I just wanted to hear from his lips what he was hiding.

I decided to ignore it. We all had talents. I could juggle, for example, but Don had something else, something that I couldn't explain, but I knew _he_ could. I decided to bide my time. After witnessing Hopper's 'slip,' I knew that something was amiss, and I thought that it would only be a matter of time before I was given an explanation by the seventy-nine-year-old.

I didn't have to wait long.
PART FOUR

Everything Falling Apart
Chapter Twenty Five

After the Easter holidays everyone was in a buoyant mood, as most of us had visits from family members with the exception of Grace and myself. Jason was spoilt rotten by his daughter and had been taken to London for a few days to a meal and a West End show. Don had spent every day with Becky, Penelope had gone away for a few days with her children from Dorset and grandchildren who she hardly saw and hardly talked about. Penelope had begun to smile again after her return and after the sick demise of her beloved Arthur.

Don's daughter had gone home and he had some news for us that he hadn't revealed yet. Grace was up and down as far as her mood was concerned; she obviously still wasn't herself. She was still putting on a front and I continued to worry for her, especially the day before, when she returned from another cab ride and looked really upset.

Jason was his usual self, coming out with a few more 'Dukisms.' 'People in glass houses sink ships' and 'Doors have ears' were the main two that I could remember from Jason Duke on that particular day.

One of the days, the group were sitting in the chairs in the early evening after dinner. Penelope was discussing the idea of placing a bet on the Cheltenham races, and I agreed to put bets on for the group. Jason put a small amount of money on three horses, Don didn't bother, as he didn't believe in gambling—miserable old fecker, and Grace and Penelope wanted to put all their money, a whopping ten pounds, on a horse called, Killer Kelly. Jason tried to persuade the girls that they should spread the money around to give themselves a better chance of winning. His advice fell on deaf ears and warned Penelope and Grace: "Don't put all your eggs in one bucket."

Although his friend, Larry Evans, had been about fixing the odd appliance, Hopper had kept a low profile over the last week or so and Don and I welcomed the break. After Don had been assaulted for the second time, I decided to charge my phone up that sat idle in my drawer and whenever I passed Hopper, I would turn on the audio recording in case an incident occurred, although I never told Don this. I must have done this obsessively fifty or sixty times in a fortnight, and with Hopper on his best behaviour, I eventually gave up and threw the phone back into the drawer.

A pattern was beginning to form whenever there was an incident involving Joseph File. I had noticed that when he had misbehaved, there would be a break before his next incident. I don't know how long we would have to wait before his next stunt, but Don and I had decided to be on our guard. It seemed to be Don that received most of Hopper's aggression, but I felt from now on, he'd be more cunning after the experience of what happened in the corridor, unless the incident had frightened him off permanently, which is what I hoped.

I never really looked at Don in the same light since that incident, and when I thought about it, I realised whenever an incident did occur, it was always when Don was furious about something or if he felt he was in danger.

The bulb popped when Hopper was choking him. The chandelier swung after Don's rant about attending Amanda's funeral, and Hopper was forced back before he tried to strike Don for a second time in the corridor. I was actually hoping that Hopper was becoming afraid of Don after what had happened, but the other side of me thought that it would just make him even more determined to be a nuisance.

It was 3pm, and the first race was about to start. We decided to watch the races in my room, rather than in the main living room. The main living room would be full of the elderly who hadn't put a bet on because they were either incapable or had no one to go for them, or they hadn't the money to do so. I had an image that we'd be sneered at while the race was on from the jealous residents, so instead of risking a bad atmosphere that could take the shine off a potential win for one of us, I decided that we should have it in my room. The TV in my room wasn't the biggest of televisions, but it was good enough and the volume had been put up at an obscene volume, but that added to the atmosphere.

Jason yawned as the horses lined up and I realised that this was usually his naptime. Three races in, it was the main event, the one where we had all placed bets. Once the horses were released, I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body so much, I thought I was going to have a cardiac arrest. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a betting man usually—none of us were, but we had decided to do something a little off the wall for us, and I knew Penelope had never placed a bet in her life. I just hoped that she wouldn't enjoy it too much and even win for that matter. I didn't want to be the man responsible for a potential future gambling addiction. Of course, I was only thinking about this tongue in cheek, but it was a thought that still skated across my mind, nevertheless.

The horses were away and immediately Don and Jason were shouting at the screen, which I found bizarre, as Don never even had a bet on. While the girls cheered for Killer Kelly, I tried to urge mine, Dr. Anderton, which was desperately lagging behind. Jason's horse was doing well in second, and as he cheered manically for his horse, Ridgeware, the horse began to take a substantial lead. As the hooves clattered and dug up the grassy earth beneath them, we continued to cheer at the screen. Once the race came to an end, we all let out a contented sigh. Nobody had won; Jason's horse had achieved the best result by finishing fourth, but we had all enjoyed the short adrenaline rush that some of us probably hadn't experienced for a number of years. The only one that didn't seem to have a smile on her features, at the end of the race, was Grace.

Grace sat on a chair in the corner of the room with her shoulder hunched and I was the first to notice that her head was lowered, and tears began to run out of her eyes. I glared back at the rest of my friends and realised that they didn't know what was going on as they continued to chatter amongst each other."Grace?" I said.

As soon as I said her name, Penelope, Jason and Don also turned around, and the chatter came to an abrupt end. Penelope looked concerned for her friend; she lifted her heavy frame off of my bed and walked over to her.

"My dear," Penelope spoke delicately. "Whatever is the matter? Are you thinking about Amanda?"

Grace never answered and I felt that she wasn't really feeling sorry for herself; I really thought that Grace was doing her best to hide her tears as she didn't want to spoil anyone's fun, because that was the kind of woman she was. Penelope stood over Grace, hunched over, and put her arm around her friend in an attempt to comfort her. I didn't think Penelope would stay in that position for long, as it looked uncomfortable and it was a bad back waiting to happen. Penelope wasn't the slightest of women, so I decided to get to my feet and relieve her of her duties, as I could see already she was struggling with the awkward position she was in, as her facial expression suggested she was in a bit of discomfort.

I walked over to Grace and Penelope moved out of the way, and I stood exactly where Penelope had stood.

We all remained silent while Grace was trying her best to compose herself. Jason and Don sat with droopy shoulders on my bed and both stared at the ground, unable or unsure what to do in this awkward situation. I rubbed Grace's back and understood why Penelope had to retreat, as I could feel a sharp twinge in the side of my back. I slowly took my arm off of Grace and instead I knelt beside her.

I asked, "Is this anything to with the cab rides you've been taking recently?"

I was expecting to be glared at by Don, but screw him, I thought. He wasn't the leader of this group, there _wasn't_ a leader of the group; we were all individuals with our own minds. Don kept his eyes staring at the floor; I knew he had said for weeks that we should leave Grace alone and that if she had anything important to tell us, she would. I thought that now was the time, and with the breakdown she had just had, I felt that she needed her friends around her and to listen to her woes, especially as she didn't have any family.

She finally nodded her head to my question. She looked up at me through her brown heartbroken eyes and it pained me to see her like this. "It has everything to do with the cab rides."

"Where were you going?" I queried further.

She cleared her throat and then looked at every individual in the room, one by one. Don and Jason were now gazing at her. She replied, "Hospital."

"Why?" Penelope had probably asked the very same question that we all wanted to ask next. "Whatever's wrong?"

Grace sat up straight, straightened her back and cleared her throat once again. "I...I have some bad news, I'm afraid to say."

"And what's that?" Penelope had already placed her handover her mouth once she asked the question, bracing herself for the worst.

Grace blew out her cheeks and said, "I have breast cancer."

Light gasps fluttered through the room, and I immediately felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I was struggling for air, but did my very best to hide my discomfort.

Don finally chipped in. "So, the people in the hospital are treating you, right?"

It was Jason's turn. "It's amazing what they can do these days. It's just a simple operation now." We all nodded to one another in agreement and began to chatter about the wonder and the progression of medical science.

Grace smiled at the group's positivity and shook her head, which quietened us down. The thin smile remained sitting under her nose, but we could see under that smile was a look of defeat. "I'm too far gone."

When she said those four words, it was like being stabbed in the chest; pains stretched their way from the right hand side of my pec to the left. My stomach began to perform somersaults and the nausea intensified in the centre of my body. This was just me, so God knows how the rest were feeling. The same, maybe?

Before she broke down once more, she said, "It's spread to my liver. I'll be lucky if I see September."

And then she shuddered, her eyes released tears like a faulty shower, and not one person in that room on that afternoon had dry eyes. We had lost Amanda so suddenly, and it appeared that in a few months or by the end of the year, we were going to lose Grace as well. I looked at her and it broke my heart that she was in such a bad way.

I loved her so much, but I never had the courage to tell her.

Sweet Grace.
Chapter Twenty Six

It was April 12th, and the evening before, Don had announced to the group that he was going to Australia to see Becky for three months at the beginning of May. We were shocked, yet pleased, as he seemed very excited and had also told us that his room would be kept 'open' for him as Becky's partner had offered Brannigan three months rent for Don's room while he was away. So at least he wasn't leaving for good.

I looked at my non-existent emails; I checked the news to see what was happening, especially in North Korea and to see what Kim Jung-Un was up to now. Also, Neil Kinnock had stated that he wouldn't be attending the funeral of Margaret Thatcher on the 17th April, and finally, Russian President, Vladimir Putin, had announced that Russia would be spending 50 billion on a space programme over the next seven years.

After Grace had told the group her devastating news, she began to open up a bit more to us and talked about her diagnosis. She claimed it was her own fault as she stopped going to the screening years ago, and had ignored the lumps for as long as she could remember, which was the main reason why she had reached stage four of the illness. Because of the progression of the cancer and her age, Grace had been told that there wasn't a great deal they could do, even surgery was a no-no now that it had spread to other regions of her body.

She didn't need anyone to harass her and tell her that she was stupid to ignore the problem, as she was now paying the ultimate price for her denial. Her doctors told her that after the cancer had spread, getting rid of it was extremely difficult. She showed us some of the drugs she was now on, I couldn't really remember what they were called, I think one of them was called deb-tace, or something similar along those lines, as well as Tamoxifen. She told us that what she had to 'look forward to' was jaundice, elevated liver enzymes, loss of appetite, nausea, vomiting and abdominal pain—Grace had claimed that the loss of appetite, nausea and stomach pain had started weeks ago.

Grace had told us that because the cancer was at a stage four, she had already booked herself into a hospice and was ditching the chemo drugs as all it was doing was prolonging the inevitable. We tried to talk her out of it, but her face suggested that we were fighting a losing battle, it was _her_ life and it was only her choice that mattered.

To make matters a little uncomfortable, Penelope and Grace had decided to visit Amanda's Grave at 10am on this day, but neither of the guys had been given an invite. I don't know why; I wasn't sure if the girls wanted to be alone together and wanted a chat privately, or they just thought that it was something that myself, Jason and Don would find uncomfortable.

I had decided to go the following morning by myself to pay my respects; Grace said she would go again if I wanted company, which I accepted.

It was a crisp morning, yet the sun's rays were heating up by the minute and with a coat, it was a nice day to be sitting outside in the grounds. Don, Jason and I sat on one of the available wooden benches, and saw seven other residents, five sitting down and the other two taking a stroll around the gardens, losing themselves in their chat. For a while we didn't utter a word to one another, but it was a comfortable silence we were involved in.

We all waved to Nads and Ketchup whenever they peered their head out of the back door to see if we were okay. I stared at the beautiful kept grass of the grounds, and found it hard to believe that not long ago, a poor defenceless animal was running around on the same grass, on fire. Full marks to the gardener, I thought to myself.

I looked at my watch and noticed it was nearly 12pm. Penelope had told us earlier that after they had visited Amanda, her and Grace were popping off for lunch, if Grace was up for it.

Don finally spoke and shattered our silence. "So, how are we gonna handle this?"

There was a long pause between the three of us and Jason eventually said, "Not sure. It's crazy, I know we're not getting any younger and this whole place reeks of death, but two of our friends in one year is quite hard to take."

Both Don and Jason glared at me, waiting for my response, but I was in no mood for talking.

Don said, "When's she booked in the hospice?"

Jason shrugged his shoulders. "I think Penelope said that she'll be in the hospice in a few weeks. I think that's when Grace will...well, feel more uncomfortable with the symptoms of the..."

Jason allowed his sentence to trail and the pause continued. I felt so angry, but with what? I didn't know. With Life? With God?

"You mean, cancer!" I snarled and looked at Jason. "Just say the bloody word."

Both Don and Jason lowered their heads. I could feel my blood simmering and I decided to walk off my rage, if that at all was possible. I quickly got to my feet, and unlike me, I had allowed an expletive to leave my lips. "It's just not fucking fair, is it?"

I never waited for an answer, and made my way to my room on the ground floor. I ended up walking past my room and headed for the main living room to see if the girls had arrived yet. They were nowhere to be seen, so I decided to take the first floor. I had a feeling that Grace wouldn't be in her room, as it wasn't even lunchtime yet, but the legs needed stretching, so I thought that it wouldn't harm my aerobic capacity to have a brisk walk for a few minutes in the building and try and bring my blood pressure down.

I got to the first floor after taking the stairs, and progressed down the first floor's corridor. My steps began to slow as I got to Grace's door, when I heard a thud coming from her room. It was a gentle thud, but in the silent corridor it was loud enough to be heard. I stood next to the door, undecided whether to open the door or not. Instead of calling out her name, I decided to ever so gently place my ear against the door and could hear a little shuffling about. I had a feeling of deja vu while standing next to the door. It felt like I had been in this position before. I placed my quavering hand on the cold steel of the handle and kept it there. Still undecided what to do.

Finally, I plucked up the courage to walk in, only to find Larry Evans rummaging through Grace's drawers. I was astounded at what I was witnessing and stood there for a moment, paralysed by shock. He hadn't noticed me and continued with his rummaging. Once he held up a pair of pants from Grace's drawer, _that_ was when I finally found my voice. "What the hell are you doing?"

Larry was given a shock—he wasn't the only one—and almost fell over with surprise. He quickly got to his feet and looked around the room, I could tell he was trying his utmost to come up with a convincing reason for his intrusion. He stammered a little, before he finally said, "I heard that Miss Guerra needed her TV fixed. I was trying to find the plug—"

"In her drawers?" I queried with heavy scepticism. Then I scrunched my eyes. "How did you get in?"

"I got the key from the staff room. I've even signed for it."

"The TV is over there." I pointed to the opposite side of the room. "So what are you doing over there?" I pointed to the drawers with the same finger.

Larry stood still and I could tell by his face that he had nothing in his mind to convince me that his presence in Grace's room was justified, "I was looking for the plug. All right?" he snapped.

I repeated my question from before, but this time the tone in my voice was a lot more controlled. "In her drawers?"

"You know what? Forget it." He barged past me, his shoulder connecting with mine, and I fell back a few yards, struggling to stay on my feet, but I somehow managed to keep my balance. I looked down the corridor and watched Evans walk with angry strides towards the staircase to get down to the ground floor.

I thought about what had just happened, and was convinced that Mr. Evans was a petty thief. I checked the door for forced entry; there was no damage to the door, so I thought maybe he was telling the truth and he _had_ used a staff key. But had he signed for it? And what was he looking for?

I decided to craftily query Grace on the matter, in a way that she wouldn't suspect anything was untoward. I then saw Angela Fristoe coming out a room with dirty bed sheets and called her over. "Hey, Angela."

"What?" She was busy and clearly in no mood for questions.

"Since when has Larry Evans been allowed to use the staff skeleton key to get into our rooms?"

"Since day one," she snorted. "What do you want him to do? Wait around for you lot too come back from the shops so he can put on some poxy plug? The guy has got a living to make; he has other work outside of Misty Falls, you know. Give the guy a break." And then she stormed off.

I suppose she had a point, but it didn't stop me from asking the same question: Why was he in her drawers?
Chapter Twenty Seven

It was a cold, but beautiful April morning that greeted Grace and I when we stepped out of the grounds of Misty Falls. It was nice to get out, as I had hardly had many, if any, visitors to take me out, compared to most of the residents.

We had decided to have breakfast in our rooms, as normal, and then we met each other in the reception area near the main living room. We waved to Nads and Sauce as we left the premises and would have invited the rest of our group, but Penelope had already visited the day before, had indeed Grace, Jason and Don were visiting relatives and had already left before 10am. I needed an excuse to get out, and Grace had invited herself along to go with me the day before, which pleased me.

Although it wasn't warm enough to take our coats off, we enjoyed the sun on our faces and Grace seemed to lap it up more than me. She had her arm hooked in mine and relied on me to guide her to the cemetery as her chin remained lifted and she closed her eyes taking every ray that hit her face. Every step seemed uncomfortable for her, but she never complained once. I think she was just soaking up every second of life.

We turned left and could see our progression getting closer to the cemetery gates, and we strolled through the place that I thought was a little eerie, but at the same time very tranquil and serene. Grace's eyes were open by now and we decided to sit on a bench that had a small golden plaque on the back. It was a tribute bench, and it was sadly dedicated to a young person. It appeared that the young person the bench was dedicated to was only twenty-three when she passed away, although it didn't state how this came about, and she appeared to have left a baby daughter as well, which added to the sadness that I felt.

We walked slowly over towards Amanda's grave and it seemed we were the only two in the whole cemetery, with the exception of a dog walker that had their Bull Mastiff off its lead and it did its business over the graves, which made my blood boil.

I refrained from saying anything as the female walker walked past the pair of us. I think she could tell by my face that I was a little pissed off for her ignorance, especially as there was a doggy park only half a mile away up the road. The dog wasn't to blame, it was the owner's laziness that made my old body pump with anger, but I decided to let it lie considering the company I was keeping.

We stopped still when we got to Amanda's plot and stared at the headstone. I didn't really know what to do next. How long do you stare at a headstone? When was it appropriate to break the silence? Or even crack a joke? Once we had left the cemetery, maybe?

I decided to hold my tongue and allow the silence to be shattered by Grace. I only had to wait a minute for that to happen. Before any words left her lips, she let out a sigh. "Makes you wonder?"

"It certainly does," I quipped automatically, and then realised that I wasn't sure what she meant. Makes you wonder what happens when you die? Or makes you wonder how long we have left on this earth?

"How long would you like?" Grace asked me.

Baffled by the question, I released a laugh and shook my head at her to expand on what she was getting at. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how long do you want to live for?"

Her question was solemn; it wasn't fun in the slightest. I lowered my smile and shrugged my shoulders. "Dunno. I'd take another twenty years right now. I know it doesn't work like that, but I would. I can't complain. In my life, I've never had any heart or cancer scares, unlike some people I've known in the past."

"Another hundred years?" she gently teased.

I shook my head. "No. Why would I want to bury my own children—grandchildren even?"

Grace nodded her head in agreement. "I'll be in the hospice in a few weeks. It's all booked."

"So soon?" I felt a small lump in my throat, but not enough to change my voice.

She nodded. "I'm already feeling a little pain when I walk."

Then it suddenly burst out of me. My eyes filled within a second, my throat felt like it was being squeezed and the tears rained down off my face onto the grass yards from Amanda's plot. "It's so unfair."

"It is," she said softly with a smile. "But it's going to happen, whether I like it or not."

"What's it like?" I tried myself from asking such a heartless question, and she could see by my facial expression that I wished I could turn the clock back by a solitary minute.

"Dying?" She didn't seem upset by my question. "A lot of the time I feel numb. It's the nights that are the worst; I cried every night for the first week. Now I've accepted it. You can't stop the inevitable."

"I'm sorry." I wiped my eyes with an old tissue that was screwed up in my pocket. "I didn't mean to ask you such a question."

"It's okay. I'm seventy-two years old. I've lasted a lot longer than some people I've known in the past. I mustn't grumble."

I put my arm around her and gently drew her in to me. She placed her head on my shoulder as we gazed at the headstone hypnotically, and I waited silently as she wept on my shoulder.

After a couple of minutes of comforting my good friend, we decided that it was time to head back. The army of black-bellied clouds looked threatening as they hung above us, and neither one of us had a brolley. With Grace's arm tucked in mine, we walked briskly out of the cemetery onto the main road heading back to Misty Falls.

Both of our eyes met as we strolled along the pavement along the main road, and I asked, "Fancy a detour? A coffee perhaps?"

Grace never said a word; she just smiled and nodded her head.

We knew that there was a coffee shop up ahead and it wasn't far from our residential home. We walked past a bus stop with the coffee shop up ahead, and I had to bite my tongue for the second time in the space of an hour when we went by a crowd of young people, four in all, mocking Grace and I as we progressed further.

One wolf-whistled and another said in a voice that I think was meant to be heard: "I bet she was a goer in her day." I almost paused, but felt the tug of Grace's arm silently telling me to keep walking and forget what these imbeciles were saying. A few more unjustified sentences fell out of their young, ignorant mouths, and I wasn't entirely sure a coffee was a good idea now, as my heart rate was going ten to the dozen as it was.

I don't want to be one of these elderly people who slag off the young, I'm sure there are great examples of youth, but at that age I wouldn't of dreamt of saying such a thing to an elderly couple. I just didn't understand where they got off saying those kinds of things. I really didn't want to let it bother me, but it did, and I suppose it kind of ruined our coffee break. We should have just went straight back to Misty Falls.

While we sat there, supping on our coffees, we exchanged words about Amanda and how fragile life was. I then tried to change the subject without making it sound suspicious. I talked about a television programme and complained falsely that I had occasionally had trouble with my picture on my television.

I glared at Grace and took a mouthful of coffee, swallowed, and then asked, "What about _your_ TV? Are you, or, have you had any problems?"

Grace shook her head and I knew deep down even if she did, she now had more important things to be concerned about with her dreadful sentence that had been passed down on her. "No; I've had no problems whatsoever."

"Are you sure?" I quizzed, I just couldn't help myself. "So you've never asked for Larry Evans' assistance recently?"

"No." Her face went white as soon as I spoke, and this perplexed me. But why did she lose all colour in her face as soon as I mentioned the name: Larry Evans? Had something happened?

It wouldn't be long before I found out.
Chapter Twenty Eight

Monday had started as an unusual day the moment I woke up. As soon as I got to my feet, I felt the room spin for a few seconds; I nearly tumbled back onto the bed but somehow managed to keep on my feet. I felt like I had had too much to drink the night before, and couldn't understand why I was feeling so unusual. The morning didn't seem to improve as the minutes went by either.

After my tea and toast, I decided to leave my room and progress to the main living room area to see if any of my friends were there. I felt like the atmosphere was a little strange; I was having one of those days that I felt that everyone had either fallen out with me, or they knew something that _I_ didn't. It was probably just paranoia on my part, but on the morning I felt a little left out as we all sat in our red chairs, talking and peering out of the huge bay window that overlooked the front of the establishment where we could see most of the car park.

John Sauce was getting nearer to our group as he was wiping down the tables from the aftermath of breakfast. Penelope sat up in her chair, straightening her back. She seemed to be in a jolly mood this particular morning and almost back to her normal self, which pleased us, as she had had a miserable year so far.

Losing Amanda was hard for all of us, but even more so for the girls. Then there was that horrific night when we all witnessed the cruel and vindictive death of Penelope's beloved Arthur. And of course, Grace's news was also a killer blow. It had been a bad couple of months for the 'Healthy Gang,' and it appeared that our nickname seemed to be cursing us.

Still feeling unusual, I made my excuses to leave the group and decided that I needed to lie down. Grace asked if I was okay, in which I replied that I was.

Considering the condition _she_ was in, the last thing I wanted to do was complain that I felt a little strange. Give me strange than cancer any day of the week.

I left the living room area and went past the kiosk area, which was closed. Tracey had either not turned up for her shift or she wasn't due in until later. There was no opening or closing times as far as the kiosk was concerned, it was just one of those kiosks that was open at random hours.

As I walked down the corridor to get to my room on the ground floor, I saw Larry Evans walking towards me from the other end. I assumed that he had just done an odd job for one of the residents, as he was wearing one of those utility belts that workers sometimes wear. The belts had pockets and had spanners, screwdrivers, etc, sticking out, and he always wore it. His average frame got nearer and I looked at his dark features to see if Penelope had a point that he was a decent looking man. Personally, I couldn't see it. I took out my key for room 12 and heard a voice behind me bellow out.

"Do you fancy a cup of tea, Larry?" It was Hopper, and before I had time to twist my key and get into my room, I saw the forty-year-old six footer striding towards me, his moustache looked well groomed and his eyes were sharp looking, his scowl suggesting that he was in one of those vindictive moods.

"Yes, please, Joseph." Larry began to chuckle, but I didn't really understand what they were talking about.

"One lump or two?"

They then both sniggered and walked towards me, and I desperately tried to twist the stupid key that was refusing to budge. I knew immediately that they were referring to Grace's condition. I don't know how they knew, but they knew. And although I was sure that the two men had nothing against Grace, I felt that they were using her condition to berate me.

Since the incident on Valentine's Day, Hopper had had it in for only Don and I, and maybe to a certain degree, Amanda, as she was there when the incident happened.

"I'll tell you what," Evans began to speak. "She may be old, but that Grace is a bit of a fox."

"Do you think?" Hopper asked falsely. "I prefer my women to be clean, less diseased, but she'd get it, I suppose."

Hopper then tapped me on the shoulder, but I ignored him and finally managed to get into my room. I tried to shut the door behind me, but it was gently pushed back open. I knew it was fruitless to try and shut the door until they had finally decided to say what they had to say. So I sat on my bed, while both men stood blocking my doorway.

Hopper then continued to talk and asked me, "What about you, Todd? Would you give that cancer, diseased fuck, Grace, a good banging? You never know, she might like it with the clock ticking and all that. She ain't got much time, has she?"

I wish I could have taken their abuse and left them disappointed, because I knew the whole act was to get a rise out of me, and it eventually worked. I shot off the bed and walked up to both men who were still blocking my doorway wearing daft grins on their faces. "Do you think that's funny? Do you think _cancer_ is funny?"

Hopper smiled and turned to Larry and said, "I reckon that Grace is a dark horse. I reckon she's a right cock hungry bitch."

Larry Evans stood by the side of his idiotic friend, and chipped in with his own disgusting rant. "She'll be wanting a bit of decent cock before she pops her clogs. Maybe I'm the man to give it her."

Hopper playfully slapped his friend on the shoulder. "No way," he chortled. "I'm first. You'll have to wait your turn."

"No chance," Larry snarled jestingly. "I don't do sloppy seconds, especially with an old whore."

That was it. Hopper had got what he wanted.

I was so angry, the pains in my chest were extremely intense, but I ignored them as I grabbed Hopper by the shirt. He seemed surprised at my action and Evans immediately grabbed both of my shoulders and pushed me backwards into my room. I landed on the hard floor. I screamed, "You two are sick individuals. That poor woman is dying and you 're saying these horrible things? Seriously?"

As I remained lying on my floor, I saw Hopper scanning each side of the corridor for potential witnesses. I knew this was bad news, and I wasn't wrong when he ran up to me and kicked me in the stomach. Evans clutched his stomach with laughter, and Hopper stepped back and soon joined him.

I curled up and couldn't breathe. I felt like the air in my lungs would never return and was convinced right there I was going to die. I looked up to see both men had disappeared, but the laughter was filling the corridor as they walked away. I could at last feel a little air coming back into my body, and I wheezed like I was having an asthma attack. I threw up on the floor by the side of me and struggled to get to my feet. Then I heard the words: "Oh my god!"

It was a woman called Heather Monroe. She was seventy-one years old, a woman I hardly spoke to, but would say hello or good morning to her on a daily basis, but never someone I actually sat down and had a chat with. Maybe with my 'crew,' we were a little isolated, but most of the other residents had their own cliques, with the exception of the ones who preferred to be on their own.

"Are you okay?" Heather asked me. Even though she never knew what had happened, she looked shaken to see me curled up on the floor. "Are you having an attack?"

"Don't worry, " I tried to appease her, fearing she was about to keel over herself. "I fell over and hit my stomach on the side of the bed. Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?" She didn't look too convinced.

"Positive. Two minutes, and I'll be fighting fit once again."

"You want me to get one of the staff? You've been sick."

"It's okay." I was beginning to lose my temper with the woman, and I guessed she was picking up on this. I know she was trying to help, but I felt like screaming at her to mind her own business. "Honestly."

She glared at me until I actually got to my feet. Trying my best to ignore the smarting in my midriff, I eventually straightened my back and outstretched my arms. "You see, right as rain."

Once she disappeared, I struggled to get to my bed and was doubled over with the pain. It seemed that once Hopper had his teeth into something, he wasn't going to let go. But why was he doing this? Was his life that insignificant? Or was he just plain evil?

I was once told that bullies were only bullies because their own life was pathetic and miserable. Whatever frustrations Joseph File had, he was taking them out on myself and Don. I don't know why, power maybe? Did he have low self-esteem and picking on myself made him feel better about himself?

I had no idea what the answer was, but he had to be stopped before he killed someone. He was out of control, and the worst of it was, that now he seemed to have gained a sidekick in the form of Larry Evans, a man I had never perceived as a threat before. And not only was Evans a sidekick, he was someone who would speak up on his friend's behalf if ever any resident was brave enough to go to Brannigan or even tell a relative about what was happening.

I sat on the end of my bed and I began to cry.
Chapter Twenty Nine

A few weeks had passed since my assault. I had kept my mouth shut once again; this time I didn't even tell Don. Instead, I had finally snapped and applied to move to a different residential home to get out of this hopeless situation. Fortunately, I could afford it, so I went through the necessary details and filled a form in my room stating that my reason for wanting to move was to be closer to my children. It was complete crap, as my kids were in Glasgow, but I didn't want to say _because I wasn't settling in_ , as it wasn't the truth. I had no choice. I had to do it. There was no way Hopper was moving in the foreseeable future, so I decided to bite the bullet. Amanda was gone, Grace was a few days from going into the hospice, Don was going away for three months in the summer with his lovely daughter, which would leave just myself, Penelope and Jason.

Everything was falling apart.

No disrespect to Penelope and Jason, but my closest friends were Grace and Don, and even if I did move away, there was nothing stopping us from meeting up once in a while. I felt terrible; I felt I was running away from this bully instead of standing up to him—I suppose I was, but I was really beginning to fear for my safety.

If I told Brannigan my concerns, there was no doubt that it would be swept under the carpet, but if it wasn't, Hopper would come looking for me. If I managed to get another placement, I even contemplated on telling Brannigan on my very last day at Misty Falls what had been going on, but even then, that could put Don and the others in potential danger. I really was in a quandary and had no idea what was for the best.

Trying to put the assault behind me, I carried on with life, spending a week trying to walk normally, when really the bruising was extremely sore for the first two days before eventually disappearing. Fortunately, no one suspected anything, and even the hawkeye, Don, had never noticed that I was in some discomfort, so it appeared my acting was successful, albeit a tad painful.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and after having a great morning, walking through the park, Don, Jason and I had returned and I was gagging for a cup of coffee. Jason and Don spotted Grace and Penelope in the main living room area once we got to the reception, while I had decided to chance my luck at the kiosk for a coffee.

I patiently waited behind a man called Bill Griffiths who had ordered a tea and was struggling to find enough change in his pockets. I sighed impatiently, waiting for the eighty-year-old to hurry the hell up. Once he eventually managed to pay for his cup of tea, he took a sip of it and complained that it tasted like cat piss, to which Tracey replied, "Would a sugar help?"

Bill Griffiths shook his head and vowed never to purchase another drink from the kiosk again. What I did find strange was that he still took the cup of 'cat piss' he had purchased with him back to his table. It was either: not as bad as he was making it out to be, or it did taste vile, but the stubborn old goat was going to drink it anyway now that he had paid for it.

I smiled a wide false smile at the sullen looking Tracey. She chewed gum furiously and gave me a look of abhorrence that another customer wanted her attention, which meant for a few minutes more she wasn't able to sit down, play with her phone or have a crafty nap—something she had done on one or two occasions.

"Morning, sweet cheeks," came my cheeky greeting. Her face never cracked once and I sighed and asked, "One normal coffee, please."

She sighed hard and with slumped shoulders dragged her feet to the kettle. Instead of finding her moodiness ignorant, I actually found it rather humorous. I asked, "Let me ask you something, Tracey." She glared at me as if I had just shat on her corn flakes.

"What?" she mumbled.

"Where do you see yourself in five years time?"

Quickly she answered, "In a mirror." She paused. "You want sugar?"

Well, at least she proved she had _some_ kind of sense of humour.

I remembered thinking: The young people of today don't know how easy they've got it. Some of these young ones have a roof over their head, the best clothes, unlimited amounts of food, an iPhone in their back pocket, and yet some of them still pleaded poverty. In my day, poverty was when you had to go to bed in your clothes because we never had central heating and couldn't afford the coal on that particular week for the fire.

And don't get me started on the social network sites, especially that Facebook thing.

I joined that site when I was encouraged to do so by my kids, as they said it was good for putting on pictures and you could send messages, which was why I never used my phone anymore, and also rarely use my email as well.

I had twenty-three friends, two were my kids, and the others were friends of my kids who I think were only my friends because they felt sorry for me. Anyway, what I'd noticed over the months when I had opened up my laptop was the amount of crap my eyes saw before I had a chance to message or see photos of my son and daughter and their partners—most of these people have now been blocked. For some people, it was just a page to show off, type bullshit and make people believe that they have a wonderful life. _I_ used it because it was cheaper than sending texts.

I took my coffee over to the group and I could see Penelope was in one of those cheeky moods again. As I sat down I could hear her calling over to Ketchup, who was at the next table, feeding Mrs. Higgins, "What's your favourite position, John?"

He smiled and shook his head. He didn't mind as much as Mrs. Higgins was deaf as a post anyway, although it didn't stop his face from turning as red as a rose. He shook his head. "I don't know."

"I bet it's doggystyle, eh John?"

I looked at Grace, and even _she_ had managed a small smirk, which was a joy to see.

Ketchup replied, "I tried doggystyle before, but I found the dog's breath stunk. What about cattystyle?"

"What on earth's cattystyle?" Jason had to ask.

Sauce continued to blush and stammered, "It's like doggystyle, but with a lot of scratching."

Ketchup's joke had fallen flat, you could almost hear the tumbleweeds cartwheeling through the living room, but at least he was now responding to Penelope's jokey jibes.

At first, he used to blush and ignore her, but the more she taunted him, the more confident he was becoming. I felt that John Sauce was either still a virgin or had little experience with the opposite sex, you could just tell. Not that it made any difference to me; he was a top bloke and was one of the best members of staff there.

Nadia Brown was the most experienced, but we hardly saw her as she was no shirker and was always rushing around after somebody, whether it was changing the sheets or taking a resident to the toilet. She seemed to do the jobs that most would rather not, even though it was probably in their job description. I felt that certain people shirked their responsibilities, especially Hopper and the temporary staff, but Nads didn't seem to complain about it and just got on with it.

Angela 'Frisky' Fristoe was another we hardly saw; she was another good worker, it was only her extra liaisons with Joseph Vile, I mean, File, that appalled me. Apart from that, she seemed a decent woman, just not great when it came to taste in men, but I suppose she never knew the dark side of Joseph File, no one did, with the exception of Don and I.

I looked over to Don; he released a quick smile and began talking about Australia, again. We didn't mind; we were envious, but we were excited for him.

Grace never flinched; why would she? She had bigger fish to fry.

I looked at her and gave her a smile. "Australia, eh?" I said referring to Don's latest rant about what he was going to do and what he was going to visit. "Lucky him."

"Lucky him, indeed," Grace said with a brave grin. Penelope, Don and Jason began talking amongst themselves when Grace leaned over towards me; her face winced once she did this as if her spine was splintering by performing this basic movement.

"Can I have a chat?" Grace asked me.

"Yeah, of course."

"My room. Ten minutes."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Okay," I said, unknowing the bombshell she was about to drop. And boy, what a bombshell it was!

We both made our excuses to leave the group, and with hesitant feet, I walked alongside my good friend, Grace Guerra. When we finally got to room 19 on the first floor, we both walked into the room, and it was nearly two hours before I had left.

I was shocked by her news—yes, there was other bad news apart from the cancer—and after an hour of tears and hugs, I finally outstayed my welcome and could see that Grace was tired and needed an afternoon nap. I had promised not to say anything; she had months to live and she didn't want this hanging over her while she tried to die with some dignity.

It was a promise, I'm ashamed to say, that I couldn't keep.
Chapter Thirty

Two days after Grace's second confession, I spent the last forty-eight hours walking around like a zombie. The last two days were very lonely for me. Grace was out with Penelope a lot, and Jason was out with his daughter on both days. Don seemed to live like a hermit on the first day. The girls had tried his door, but he calmly told them that he wanted to be alone for a while. By the time day two had come around, I decided to try Don's door after dinner. He had turned up for his meals and had also popped out to the shops, returning with something in a brown paper bag, but his conversation had been non-existent when we had dinner. For a man who was weeks away from leaving to go to Australia, his behaviour was unusual, and I worried for him.

I made the short walk to Don Swain's room—ground floor, room 2—and hesitantly chapped his door. I looked at my watch. It was after seven in the evening. Jason was in his room, and Grace was in Penelope's room. I waited for a full minute—I timed it on my watch—and tried the door again. I could hear a thud inside and took a step backwards as the door was finally opened. Don was wearing a white vest and a pair of boxer shorts; that was it.

He was drunk. He was really drunk.

"What?" he snarled. We seemed to have gazed for a while. I stared at his red eyes that he was struggling to keep open, his breath smelled of stale whisky—he was basically a mess.

Don took a large gulp, and without uttering a word to him, he said, "You better come in." As he closed his door, I went over to the other side of his room and sat on the chair in the corner as he slumped his skinny frame onto the edge of his bed. He pointed to one of his mugs that sat on the sink's draining board. "Wanna drink?"

I shook my head, but he got to his feet and grabbed his mug that was filled with whisky. I knew this, because the bottle itself was standing next to the kettle. Three quarters of the bottle had been consumed so far. Way too much for someone to drink in one sitting, I thought.

"Is there anything the matter?" I asked. "Is it Becky?"

He shook his head, then took a large gulp from his mug. When he took the gulp, his face winced as if he didn't even enjoy the liquid splashing down his throat. I had never seen Don like this before; I didn't even think he was much of a drinker, and this had been the first time that I had seen him completely inebriated.

I shrugged my shoulders and tried again. "Hopper?"

He shook his head again.

"Then what is it? I'm... _we're_ worried about you."

Because of the condition he was in, I knew that whatever Don was about to tell me would be something that he wouldn't remember telling me once morning had arrived, _that_ was how intoxicated he was. Maybe he wouldn't even remember me turning up at his door, he was that drunk.

His head hung and I figured out that it was only a matter of time before he passed out. I stood to my feet and said, "Come on. Let's get you into bed."

"Leave me alone," he snorted, and tried to push me away, but completely missed my hand. I took the mug off of him and he began to lie down on top of the bed. I went over to his sink and poured out the remaining contents of the drink down the plughole and then from behind me, I then heard Don begin to cry.

This had been the second time he had broken down in front of me. Ten years previous, back in December 2002, his wife was killed in a car accident, and I guessed that his out-of-character state was related to the death of his wife. Before I had chance to ask the question, he began to speak, and it appeared that I was correct in my assumption.

"She would have been seventy-five today," he said.

"Your wife?" I asked, although I knew exactly whom he was referring to.

Lying on his side, on top of the bed, he nodded his head and began to sniff, now that his emotions were getting to him. "I wish I had gone first," he sniffed.

"That's what I've always said. It still hurts, doesn't it?"

Don nodded. "Too much." He then began to wrap his arms around himself, as a means of comfort and continued to sob. I had taken myself by surprise once Don started sobbing as I felt no signs of being uncomfortable.

I went back over to his chair, in the corner, and sat down and decided to let him cry until he was finished. I remained on the seat in silence and, like a typical man, I avoided giving him any kind of physical comfort because some of us just don't do that. I cleared my throat while sitting in the corner, just to let Don know I was still there, and ready to listen to anything else he needed to get off his chest.

A silence enveloped us for a brief minute, and then Don added, "She never knew, you know."

I cleared my throat; at this stage I was a little perplexed about what he was talking about. I knew the _she_ he was talking about, was his wife, but I didn't understand what she didn't _know_ about. I immediately assumed he was going to confess about years of affairs with other women during his marriage, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

I remembered screwing my face in puzzlement. "She never knew? About what?"

He slowly took his head off of the bed and glared at me with his heavy looking, drunken eyes. " _You_ know."

"Do I?" I pretended to act dumb, but could feel a little excitement racing through my old frame that he was about to shed some light on the strange incidents that had been occurring.

Don began to chuckle to himself. Even in the state he was in, he knew me acting dumb was my pathetic attempt to get more information out of him.

He slurred, "Do you realise what would've happened to me if people had ever found out?"

I could just about make out what the question was through his slurred speech, but I never tried to answer his question. I knew _exactly_ what could or might have happened. He'd be on the news; he'd be prodded in a lab by baffled scientists who had no clue why he was able to what he could do, but they would still come up with a theory, as scientists don't like to admit defeat. Don Swain would have put David Blaine to shame with what he had.

Don placed the palm of his hand on his forehead and went back to his original position; I assumed the sitting up position that he was in before, was causing his room to spin or sway. I feared Don was seconds away from drifting away into drunken dormancy. And then he spoke once more, his speech was a little clearer this time.

"When I was eight," he began, "my dad grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me in the cupboard under the stairs because I answered him back. I hated it under there. I hated _him_. It was quite big. There was a lamp, a chair and a table and this small ivory figurine of a lady on one of the shelves above me."

He had paused, and I could see that sleep wasn't far away.

"And?" I spoke up, making him jump and alert again.

He glared at me with his red, swollen looking eyes. "What was I talking about?"

"The figurine, the cupboard under the stairs."

His facial expression suggested he had suddenly remembered again. He added, "I went under those stairs about a dozen times over the years, but when I was eight, I sat down on the chair, and out of sheer boredom, I took the dusty and neglected figurine off the shelf and placed it on the table and began to stare at it. It began to wobble, and this frightened the crap out of me, so I then picked it up and placed it back on the shelf. Six months later, the same thing happened. I had broken the neighbours window with a stone, so my dad beat me and threw me under the stairs. Again, I sat for hours on a chair and took the figurine off the shelf and placed it on the table. I thought about my dad and got so angry, the figurine shot off of the table and smashed against the wall."

"What is it?" I quizzed.

"It's probably something I was born with, but _that_ was when I first discovered I was a little different to everybody else. I don't know how it happens; I read once that it usually happens when someone is angry...frustrated...the anger within me produces more energy, which I think is the reason why it works better."

Don then became silent.

Before he slipped away, I asked, "Does anyone else know about this?"

"No. Just you."

"How have you got away with it, I mean, you must have lost your temper throughout the years, and this must have, I dunno, produced an energy of some sort."

Don began to laugh; it was a manic, drunken laugh. "I have made windows and mirrors in the past smash when I really lost it, but it's usually put down as a freak accident." His slurring of words was getting worse, and I could just about understand him. "I've never used it on anyone before, until...until _he_ came along. But then again, I've never met anyone as vile and as nasty as Joseph File. You see, I don't like using it. It frightens me what I could achieve, if I _really_ lost the plot. Also, when I use it, it drains me. I'm knackered once an incident happens."

"What's the worst incident you've been involved in, so far?"

I never got an answer from Don. His snoring confirmed that as far as our talk was concerned, that was it, finished.

I crept out of his room and left it without making a single noise. I thought about what he had told me. If I hadn't seen some of the things with my own eyes, I probably would have laughed at him. I didn't want a blow-by-blow account of his life story; just the slurry story he had told me was enough to quench my curiosity.

With Don's drunken confession, at least it proved one thing; at least I wasn't going mad.

The emotional conversation that Don and I engaged in that night was never spoken about; he had obviously no recollection of the conversation taking place, and I had no intention of bringing the topic up to save him from embarrassment. I was glad that I had knocked his door, as it gave me some peace of mind, although I was still baffled how someone could have inherited such a—dare I say it—supernatural power.
Chapter Thirty One

It was a May afternoon, and the time had finally come. Grace was going to move into the hospice to spend the remainder of her days. It didn't seem real; she still looked great, but her face did occasionally wince whenever she moved about. I had tried my best to avoid Hopper, and succeeded. His accomplice, Larry Evans, was easier to avoid, as I hadn't seen him for a while. It was just my rotten luck that he had turned up to do a job on the very same day that Grace was leaving.

Grace's bags had been packed and before the hugs took place, the tears flowed from Penelope, Don, Jason and myself. She was a lovely woman—a popular woman, and although Angela Fristoe and Hopper were already on the afternoon shift, I was pleased to see that Nads and Ketchup had returned to Misty Falls to say their goodbyes, despite the fact that they had already done a morning shift on that day. It was very good of them, especially of John Sauce, who lived six miles away.

A small crowd of us were standing outside the reception area. I could see that a black cab was already waiting to take her away, and as we began to say our goodbyes, John Sauce was taking Grace's bags to the boot of the car. I then saw him give the cab driver some money. At first, I thought that this had come out of Sauce's own pocket, but it was from the petty cash in the office. Brannigan insisted that the establishment paying for Grace's cab ride to the hospice was the least they could do, and they were sad to see such a lovely woman leave them. I couldn't have agreed more.

Grace and Penelope were the first to hug. Penelope squeezed Grace so tight that I thought she was going to snap her in half. Penelope was a big girl and was probably stronger than the average seventy-three-year-old. "We'll come visit you in a few days, once you're settled in. Ain't that right, guys?"

"Absolutely," I chipped in, before Don and Jason had a chance to utter a syllable.

"Of course," Jason said, pulling up his trousers, his large stomach hanging over the belt. "Wild donkeys won't be able to keep us away."

Grace smiled. "You mean, horses?"

Jason nodded his bald head with a little embarrassment. "Yeah...that as well." His cheeks flushed a faint colour of red, which made us all smile on such a sad day.

"Definitely," Don said with a quaver in his voice. "You try and stop us."

Grace then turned to Don and they embraced for a long time; I was convinced that Don had a secret admiration for Grace and I couldn't blame him. She was the loveliest woman I had ever met and she didn't deserve this at all! Christ, I was so angry.

Don kissed her on her cheek before he broke the embrace and wiped his tears quickly with the back of his hands. He cleared his throat, stood up tall and took a step back so that Jason could have _his_ turn.

Once Grace and Jason broke their embrace, she then turned to me. I tried to keep it together but ended up blubbing like a big baby. We never exchanged words; we just embraced for a while. When we eventually broke away, she tucked some of her short grey hair behind her ears, and used her index finger to wipe away the slightly smudged mascara that she had applied only an hour before. She looked lovely.

With the finger being of little use, she pulled out a hankie and used that to remove the smudging, as well as the tears that stained her cheeks. I think it's fair to say that everyone standing outside had a lump lodged in their throats; even Brannigan, who hung in the background, had red eyes, although no tears fell.

Residents going to hospices after being diagnosed with a debilitating disease wasn't something that was unheard of in Misty Falls, or any other residential home for that matter. Even residents dying in their sleep was hardly a devastating surprise when it happened, as it was seen as a natural process with these places. But I found it very sad, as it was a reminder of our own fragile lives.

Since I joined Misty Falls in July 2012, the home had experienced seven 'natural' deaths, four lost in their sleep and three others were heart related—and I'm including Amanda on this statistic. Including Grace, we'd also seen three residents leave for hospices to 'enjoy' the comfort and attention that a normal residential home like Misty Falls could not provide.

The hospice she was going to was in a place called Cannock, called St. Giles Hospital. It was a registered charity that offered special care in a variety of settings for patients with cancer and other serious illnesses, as well as providing support for the helpers. The care was provided free of charge, irrespective of personal circumstances.

We finally walked Grace to her cab and waved her off. It wasn't as if we were never going to see her again. St. Giles Hospice was only a few miles up the road, and she was also told that she could come and visit us as much as she liked. Once I saw her painfully clamber into the back of the cab, I knew that Grace's visits would never materialise, as she looked in discomfort just getting into the car. She must have been in discomfort for the last few weeks and had been putting on a brave face. I remembered thinking to myself, Poor Grace. Poor, sweet, sweet, Grace.

I really did love that woman.

*

Covered in sadness, and with emotions raw, we all decided to head to the back of the establishment and try and find a seat in the grounds. I opened one of the double doors with the large glass panels and let Penelope out first. It seemed a bit old fashioned to some, but I always thought it was polite to open a door for a lady. Once we walked through the doors and stepped out onto the garden, we noticed that the weather wasn't at its best, but it was dry enough and warm enough to sit outside with a coat on, which we were all wearing. Don and I shared a bench, whereas a few yards to my left, Penelope and Jason shared another bench. All four of us sat in silence and had lost our ability to speak.

From inside the establishment, Nads opened one of the doors and popped her head out, wearing a sympathetic smile. "I'm going home," she announced. "You guys gonna be okay?"

Jason and Don both nodded their heads, Penelope never answered as she remained staring at her feet, and I was the only one that answered.

"We'll be fine," I said in a broken voice.

Nads smiled warmly and said, "She'll be taken care of, you do know that, don't you?"

No one responded to Nad's attempt to make us feel better—a complete impossibility, and she soon disappeared. We knew that things were never going to be the same again as far as the group was concerned, and I think this depressed us even more. It wasn't fair; we were in our twilight years and I was lucky enough to find a group of friends that I had laughs with, and suddenly within two months, I had lost one, and we were about to lose another one.

I heard Penelope crying once again. I didn't know if she was crying for just Grace, or maybe Amanda, or maybe even Arthur. Maybe she was crying for all three. It had been a hell of a year and it wasn't even the summer yet. And with Don going away for a few months and me having to say goodbye to Grace properly—something I didn't even want to think about at the time, I knew the year was about to get worse before I would see Christmas.

I looked at the three of them and decided to keep my news on leaving Misty Falls quiet until I was given a place. I looked at Don and knew he was in a quandary. I knew he was desperate to go to Australia with his daughter and see how well she had done for herself, as well as having a break himself and getting some sun on his back, but his main fear was that Grace may pass away early while he was still in Oz, making it impossible for him to attend her funeral.

I persuaded him, some days after Grace's departure to the hospice, that his daughter came first, and going to Australia was an opportunity not to be missed. I think he wanted to go anyway, whatever happened to Grace. I think he just needed some assurance—permission even, to massage his guilt.
Chapter Thirty Two

"Good afternoon, senior shitizens," Hopper cackled; he walked out of the glass doors into the garden, breaking our serene state. "And how are we today? Anyone pissed themselves? Shat? No?"

It hadn't been long since Grace's leaving and we had been sitting outside for nearly an hour and with the residents just finishing their dinner, the grounds was still pretty vacant—wasn't that a Sex Pistol's song?

The emergence of Hopper starting his new shift did nothing but enrage me. I had visions of pulling out a shotgun, placing it into his mouth and blowing his brains out, but it was just a vision. Jason looked at Hopper with contempt at his jolly mood. If only Jason knew the whole truth about this man, I thought.

Penelope steadily got to her feet; Jason stood up straight away and helped her up. "I'm going for a lie down," she announced. She then looked at Jason. "I'll be fine. You don't need to walk me there."

Jason smiled and then sat back down and placed his hands on top of one another onto his lap.

"Well, well, well," Hopper walked over to us and began to chuckle, as Penelope disappeared. "Two down, four to go. So who's next?"

I was surprised that Hopper had said this, as he usually saved his bile for Don and I, out of earshot from everyone else. Maybe he wanted Jason on board as a victim with his bullying campaign, I thought.

Jason wasn't used to Hopper's vile berating; he looked astonished at his awful comment, and I could see his face reddening as he clambered to his feet in preparation to strike the forty-year-old six-footer. Hopper combed back his dark greasy hair with his fingers and then began to stroke his long moustache, still waiting for Jason to get to his feet. Then, Don verbally intervened and went over to his friend. "Sit down, Jason."

"We can't let him speak like that!" Jason yelled, and was pulled back down onto the wooden bench by Don. "Talking about Amanda and Grace like that is despicable. I'll be telling Brannigan."

"You don't know him the way we do." Don added.

Jason then turned to face Don and then glared at me. At that point I think he was beginning to be aware that we were keeping something from him "What are you talking about?"

I sighed, "He's an evil bastard, Jason. You don't even know the half of it."

As soon as the words left my mouth, Larry Evans walked into the grounds through the doors and asked Hopper if he wanted a coffee.

I shook my head.

Seeing Evans made me angrier than I've ever been; I couldn't help myself, I had to say something. It was as if something else or someone else had taken over.

After Grace's confession in her room, I had promised to keep her secret to myself, but it was like putting a huge lid on a ferocious volcano.

"Hear that, Larry," Hopper turned to Evans. Dressed in dark blue overalls, Evans shut the door behind him and stood three feet away from the glass door that led to the grounds. "According to these old fucks, I'm an evil bastard."

Evans laughed at Hopper's remark. What I had noticed was that Joseph File did most of the talking, as Evans hardly strung a sentence together, but this didn't mean he was all sweetness and light, he was still as vicious as Hopper.

They say action speaks louder than words, and it appeared Larry Evans was no shrinking violet.

"I think you're just misunderstood," Evans finally spoke.

Don, clearly shaken, looked at both Jason and I. "Right guys, shall we leave?" Jason and I stood up, and all three of us began to walk away.

"That's it, you old fucks," Hopper snarled. "Go back to your rooms, like good senior shitizens."

I turned around and stepped forward towards Hopper. My face was scarlet and I feared that the anger within me would cause a massive heart attack. Knowing that we were in the open air on the grounds of the establishment, I was sure that any kind of physical exchange wouldn't take place. But I knew that if I spoke my mind, there could be ramifications later on when I least expected it, but my anger had overridden my train of thought.

"You're an absolute disgrace," I said with a sneer. "Do you know that?"

Both Hopper and Evans stood staring at me with the same stupid grin on their faces.

"Just leave it," Don said, and tried to gently pull me back.

"No!" I yelled. "Why the fuck should I?" Both Don and Jason was taken aback that a rare profanity had left my lips. Even Hopper and Evan's smile had reduced a little.

I continued, "It's about time the people in here knew what kind of people are walking amongst us. These two are evil, vindictive bastards!"

Hopper laughed and turned to Evans. "Looks like you're in trouble as well, buddy."

Evans said, "Come on then, old man. Out with it."

"You're evil." I pointed at Hopper. "In the last few months you've done nothing but taunt us, assault us—"

"Prove it!" Hopper exclaimed with a smirk. "This is slander, I could have you for this."

Ignoring his remark, I continued. "Ever since that silly incident with the bulb popping, you've had it in for us. I then caught you pissing on Jason five days after the incident."

At this point, I could see Don holding Jason back again. "Was that you?" The penny had finally dropped with Jason. He snarled and tried to fight off Don, but I knew if Don let Jason go, Hopper and Evans would be able to restrain him with ease.

I added, "I saw you smirking when Amanda fell. I know you said it was about something else, but it was still sick. You assaulted me the other week, by booting me in the stomach, you and your... _friend_ made fun of Grace's condition—"

"Boo-hoo, so what?" Hopper was beginning to get agitated, he looked around the grounds and looked upwards to see if there were any residents peering or hanging out of their windows during the melee. There wasn't, as most residents were stuffing their faces with their lunch, and this gave Hopper a little lift.

At this point I couldn't stop myself. "And you!" I pointed at Evans, in which, he burst into hysterics, and mockingly pointed at his own chest and mouthed the word: _me_. " _You_ are a sick pervert."

I turned to Don. "This... man sexually assaulted Grace."

"Bullshit!" Evans scoffed, and his face was suddenly sucked of all humour. I could see what he was thinking. How the hell does he know? Did she tell?

"Grace told me herself. It happened on Thursday 14th March. It wouldn't surprise me if he had a history, and then afterward I caught him in her room going through her knicker drawer."

"Sick bastard!" Jason hollered, but remained sitting.

I continued, "He threatened her if she told anyone, didn't you?"

I felt terrible for airing Grace's private life in the open, but she was now in the hospice and she was safe away from these evil men. She would never have to see them again.

Hopper seemed unmoved by my accusation of his friend. Did he already know? Did they both have a good laugh about it afterwards?

I added, "This piece of filth got on his knees and threatened Grace to be quiet. He then touched her up and played with himself. Sick beast! We've kept quiet for long enough; I think it's about time Brannigan was told."

"You can't go saying accusations like that." There was a more serious tone in Hopper's voice, and his grin had evaporated. Again, he scanned the grounds for any sign of witnesses. There were still none. "Isn't that slander?"

He then walked up to me; he was only a breath away and smirked once again. I continued to eyeball him; there was no way I was going to back down. "Maybe she was asking for it, like that other silly bitch, Amanda, for laughing at me in the living room."

"Is this what it's all about?" Don queried, his eyes were wide with rage. "Because you got your stupid pride hurt?"

Said Hopper," I got my revenge when that silly giggly bitch fell down the stairs. Although to be fair, I never expected her to die. What a bonus that was, and I didn't even do anything!" He then had a look of evil on him and grinned and turned to Evans and gave him a playful nudge. "Burning the cat was good fun though, wasn't it Larry?"

Suddenly Jason flew off his bench and went for Hopper, with a speed that I didn't think was possible for an eight-one-year-old man. Evans intervened by booting Jason in the crotch, and Jason released a moan and fell to the floor with a heavy thump, his head resting on the damp grass.

"Shit." Hopper once again scanned the grounds with paranoia and put his hands on his head. He then grabbed Evans by his overalls. "What did you do that for? I'm gonna get the sack."

"You're done for now," I laughed falsely.

Hopper let go of Evans and turned to me. He grinded his teeth and took a step closer and went to grab me. I took a step away from Hopper and tumbled backwards onto the grass, and as I did this I could see a furious looking Don step forward and released an angry roar from his vocal chords, it was almost like a war cry. I saw both men fly backwards off the ground as if they had both stepped onto a landmine.

Hopper went backwards straight through the frame of the door, whereas Evans hit the frame itself, splintering the wood and bounced off onto the patio of the grounds while glass shattered all around him.

Stunned, I looked at Don, who was still seething, and then saw him slowly drop to his knees, exhausted. I then looked at Jason, who never saw a thing. He was still curled up on the grass nursing his groin injury; he was like a slug that had just had a teaspoon of salt poured over it. I then looked over to the two thugs to see what damage they had sustained.

I sat up straight away and could see Don still on his knees with his eyes shut; he looked like he was half asleep.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm tired." He looked up at me, refusing to look at the carnage by the grounds' doors where the two men were lying and moaning. I went to walk away and Don grabbed my sleeve, still refusing to look over at the men. "I hope they're dead. Bastards."

I smiled thinly. "I don't think they are."

"I'm sorry about Grace." Don's eyes began to fill. "I didn't know. As if she hasn't got enough to go through."

I patted my friend on his shoulder and walked over towards the door to see that Hopper was lying on his back inside the place, but his legs were hanging out of the frame of the door. I got closer and could see his face had cuts and he had sustained some superficial wounds when he flew backwards through the frame of the door. His breathing was quick and sharp and he continued to moan in pain whenever he tried to move.

Evans was still outside and a shard of glass, about three inches wide, was lodged into his throat. I couldn't understand how this was so, unless a rogue piece had entered him when the glass had shattered. Evans was just outside the doors; he slowly crawled outside across the patio as the blood ran out of his throat. I didn't know where he was crawling to, I just assumed it was the surrealism and terror of the whole event that was making him move, when really he should have stayed still, controlled his breathing and heart rate and waited for the ambulance; but that was easier said than done in that surreal situation.

I looked back over to Hopper and could see him attempt to do a sit-up, but once he tried it, he squealed out in pain. He laid himself back onto the floor and started to moan again. He screamed out, "Someone get an ambulance!"

I could see that shards of glass, shaped like dorsal fins that had never left the bottom of the doorframe after the impact, were sticking into the back of his thighs, which was the reason why he couldn't move his legs. Once Hopper had crashed through the door, he landed inbetween the frame and the protruding shards of glass that stood tall at the bottom of the frame had penetrated his thighs once he landed on his back. It could have been a lot worse for him. Another foot or two, his kidneys could have been penetrated which would have meant good night Vienna.

It would have hardly been a great loss to society.

At this point, a handful of residents were beginning to walk over from the main living room towards the smashed doors that led to the grounds, the same doors that Hopper had now gone through. I looked back over to Evans, who was still struggling, still bleeding, still gasping for air.

I looked around. Jason was still on the floor; Don was still on his knees. I walked over and crouched down to Evans, his eyes pleaded with me to help him, but what could I do, if I wanted to do anything at all? I took one last look around, spoke to him briefly, then moved away from the body of Evans and walked back over to Don to see how he was. Then the screams of Angela Fristoe appeared as she saw her partner embedded to the bottom frame of the door. This was followed by a few hollers from some of the residents, and then finally, Lance Brannigan had got off of his derriere to see what was going on.

I gazed back at Larry Evans and could now see a dark pool of blood quickly forming around his neck. He was dead, his eyes wide, but the dark blood from his neck still oozed out with ease. From where the broken doors were, a bloody trail from Evans' neck ran for ten yards up until where he stopped crawling.

I couldn't help myself.

Now that a crowd had formed, I covered my mouth with the palm of my hand, faking shock, but underneath the hand, I smiled. It was a surreal episode to say the least, but a satisfying one. I then began to question myself. Smiling at another man's demise wasn't a part of my make-up, but having said that, I had never met a pair of men that I hated so much. I had hated Hopper for a longer period of time than Evans, but I detested Evans more than his partner for his abuse towards Grace.

*

A week after the incident, I withdrew my application for a move to another retirement home.

Don told me that he felt nothing for Evans, which pleased me, and afterwards, two detectives had visited to question us individually. The questioning was nothing to worry about; in their words, their questions were strictly routine.

We simply told them that we were upset from our departing friend and we sat in the grounds and then we suddenly heard an almighty crash.

Before the questioning, we convinced a very confused Jason Duke, who saw nothing as he was curled on the floor at the time of the incident, that we should leave out the heated exchange between ourselves and Hopper and Evans, and that he should trust us. Although a little confused, he did as he was told and Penelope was kept in the dark for her own protection.

We decided that Penelope didn't need to know what had happened with Grace; as far as Grace was aware, I was the only one that knew about her sexual abuse. We knew Grace would be mortified if anyone else knew what had happened with Evans, and also my relationship with her would have been severely bruised, and I didn't want Grace and I falling out during her last months or weeks on this earth. Also, the last thing that Grace needed was her good friend, Penelope, to be feeling sorry for her even more than she already did.

As for Hopper, Joseph File had made a full recovery, and he decided to quit his job. He was told that he was lucky an artery hadn't been cut when he fell through the door, otherwise he would have bled to death. I think since the corridor incident, Hopper was weary of Don and also knew there was something strange about my good friend, but had no idea what it was.

After the investigations, it was revealed that Hopper had told the detectives that he and Evans were messing about 'play fighting' which got out of hand and that was when the incident happened.

What else could he tell them? That he used to bully the residents and one of the residents who may have supernatural powers threw him through a glass door with the power of his mind? He would have been laughed at or locked up himself. The latter would have been justified. He also denied any knowledge when it was found that Evans' had a sexual abuse history, and I actually believed him. Hopper was a bully, but I never thought he was a sexual deviant.

As for Evans, I didn't want that animal to live. It was weird; I always thought Hopper was the bad guy. I know he was terrible, but he was no rapist. It became clear that Evans had a history with abuse. The local newspapers the following day not only put Evans' 'accident' on the front page, but once they dug for interviews to see what an upstanding citizen he was, it was found that it was the complete opposite.

Once I heard about Evans' history afterwards in the tabloids, it repulsed me.

When Larry Evans was in his late twenties, he had spent three years at Hayden Prison for raping a sixty-three-year old woman in her house, while her two-month-year-old granddaughter slept upstairs. He was only out a month when he attacked, beaten and raped a sixty-seven-year-old woman after fixing her washing machine, in return he received a pathetic two year sentence. And only a year ago, he was at a house fixing the wiring to a shower, and was accused by the seventy-one-year-old woman of the house of masturbating while on her bed.

There seemed to be a pattern; he attacked elderly ladies. But why? Because he had a sick fetish for them? Or because they were weaker and wouldn't scratch his eyes out? And they were the crimes that he was tried for, so God knows what else he was guilty of but hadn't been tried for in a court of law!

A day after the newspaper report, Lance Brannigan was fired for hiring an individual without running a background check on him, and after the residents had been questioned one-by-one as soon as the news came out, he was told by the police that he should think himself lucky that none of his residents had been abused by Mr. Evans.

Little did they know that the only person that had been attacked was now out of Misty Falls and staying in a hospice. Grace was never interviewed; she would have denied that anything had happened anyway, I just knew she would.

At the time, Brannigan was trying to do the company a favour by hiring someone who was cheap, but it had backfired, spectacularly, and Brannigan had paid with his job.
Epilogue

It was a beautiful June morning, and the car seemed to take forever to get to the church. I sat in the middle and was exhaling a lot to try and control my emotions. The two women that sat either side of me remained silent and a male passenger and a male driver sat in the front of the car. The driver had turned down the radio that was blasting out a tune by a young man called Jake Bugg. I liked it; it kind of reminded me of Bob Dylan, with a guitar sound that wouldn't sound out of place on an Eddie Cochran track.

When we got to St. Augustine's church, the car pulled up and immediately the remaining people who stood outside, with some having a cigarette, glared at the car. Penelope was the first to get out of the car and kept it open for me, I then scrambled out gently and got to my feet. I brushed myself down in a pathetic attempt to iron the fresh creases I had inherited while sitting in the back of the car, but I was wasting my time.

The driver quickly got out of the car and apologised to Penelope and I that he had forgotten his manners for not opening the doors for us, but we were fine, we were just pleased that he had offered to give us a ride in the first place. He went around the car to open the other passenger doors for Jason Duke and Angela Fristoe, who insisted on coming with us. The driver helped her out of the car; Angela had pulled her back a few days ago, but she insisted that she could make it to the church entrance, which was only a matter of yards away.

The driver walked alongside us and as soon as we got into the church grounds we were greeted with some of the able-bodied residents from Misty Falls. Nadia Brown was also there outside having a cigarette. I didn't even know she smoked.

We shook hands with the people from outside; some were residents, while others were relatives of the deceased. Then we hobbled into the main entrance of the church, and as soon as my ears sensed the vocals of Bette Midler's, _Wind Beneath my Wings_ , I began to fill up. I took out a hankerchief and looked to my right, then left. Neither woman was crying, but I knew by the time we got through a few hymns, the tears would flow.

The church service was lovely; the hymns were predictable. _All Things Bright and Beautiful_ and _Abide With Me_ were belted out by the hundred or so attendees. Then after we left, we were driven to the crematorium, which was situated six miles away. I had been to many funerals in my time, and I always found the worst of it was at the crematorium when the curtains shut and the coffin disappeared. That was a moment that always upset me, and this was no different.

Another tune came over the speakers as the coffin disappeared and it was Lou Reed's, _Perfect Day_ , which I personally thought was an odd choice, but it was the deceased's idea so I had to respect the decision. Penelope passed me a second handkerchief when the curtain closed, and we were all inconsolable, but Jason had somehow managed to keep it together.

Leaving the crematorium, we went into the garden area where the wreaths and flowers were carefully placed. With the modest crowd of people standing around looking at the flowers and reading the messages, we waited patiently behind and mopped up the remaining tears from our eyes and tried to look at all the beautiful flowers and messages that were sent once the queue started moving.

I then stared at a beautiful wreath that had a card attached at the top. I smiled.

It read:

Dear Don, we can't believe you're no longer with us.

Say hello to Amanda and we'll see you again, one day.

The Healthy Gang.

Don had left for Australia, and I was certain the three-month vacation with his daughter would have done him the world of good, but it was just unfortunate it had been cut short. After only a few weeks, he had a massive heart attack, and it took a few days for the body to be released and to be flown back home.

Once everyone had had a look at the flowers, we slowly began to trudge away from the scene with saddened feet. We said goodbye to everybody, including Don's daughter, Becky, and she thanked Penelope for contacting her and for strongly persuading her to come over and see her dad a few months ago, after a twenty-year absence.

Angela placed her quavering hand on my shoulder, as we headed back to the car and I gently, and tenderly put my arm around her waist. I think the emotion of the day was getting to her. I helped her back to the car, where Penelope and Jason were already sitting inside, stony faced.

"You heard from Grace?" Angela asked, as she got inside the car.

I shook my head and shut the passenger door after me. "I rung the hospice last night, we can visit her at the weekend. She's in a bad way now."

"It's a shame she missed Don's funeral," Penelope chipped in, wiping her runny nose with a tissue. "She always liked him."

"I know," I responded sadly.

Penelope's eyes were still full, but I didn't think all those tears were for Don Swain. "They reckon the cancer is getting aggressive and that she only has weeks to live."

I nodded. "We'll see her this weekend, we'll arrange it so all of us can go. All..." I had to count in my head how many of us were left. "All...three."

"I know he was no spring chicken, but there was no warning, was there?" Angela sighed, referring to Don's surprising and shocking passing.

"Nope," I said sharply, but didn't mean it to sound so cold. "Our cards are marked, it's just a matter of time when we go."

Penelope looked at me in a half-astonished look; then suddenly backed down, as she knew I was right. When you're twenty-years old, it would be considered a freak tragedy. But at the age of what Don was, it was classed as natural causes.

I then leaned forward in the back and I patted the driver on the shoulder. "Thanks, John," I said to Ketchup. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to," he said. "Where to now? Misty Falls?"

"Balls to that," I said sharply. "I'm going to get drunk. Take me to The Pines, John. I need to drink to an old buddy."

"Me too," Penelope chipped in.

"Right you are," Ketchup chortled.

In the passenger seat, Jason Duke just nodded his head.

Ketchup started the car and pulled out slowly, noticing the crowd of mourners taking their time to cross the road. As the car progressed, I gazed out of the window and looked at all the places I remembered playing as a child, where I used to stagger when coming back drunk from the pub, where Emily and I had our first kiss and our first fight.

Just reminiscing was heartbreaking on that day, and I knew in a matter of weeks or months, we were going to have to do it all again with Grace's funeral.

It wasn't fair.

*

I started writing this back in December, 2012, and I never thought it would turn out the way it has, as initially it was just some memoirs for myself to look back on. It had been a strange year, a sad year, and I can't really see any light at the end of the tunnel at the moment, despite the fact that the abusers from Misty Falls are no longer with us. The same people are in here, but it's just not the same without Grace, Don and Amanda, and even Arthur.

Now that Don has passed away, I feel a little anger when the image of Hopper comes into my head. But I believe he got his comeuppance and I hear he's now scarred for life, both physically and mentally, despite the full recovery claim. It's still hard to explain what happened and what Don had possessed. I guess we'll never know now.

I know one thing, I'm one of the biggest sceptics in the world when it comes to anything, but Don was gifted with something unexplainable. One thing for sure, was that The Healthy Gang has fallen apart, and although I'm the youngest of the remaining ones that are left, it doesn't give me any guarantees or confidence that I have a good ten to twenty years left in me, it just doesn't work out that way, unfortunately.

I think George Eliot once wrote that the dead are never dead to us, until we've forgotten them. Don Swain, and eventually, Grace Guerra, will always be remembered as far as I'm alive, and although I only knew them for such a short time, I loved them both and will never forget them.

When I think about Evans' death. I think that it's right that people like Evans do not deserve to live. He had no family to mourn for him, as far as I'm aware, and he had a cruel and appalling list of sexual attacks since he was a teenager.

I thought back to the incident when Hopper and Evans got their just desserts, especially Evans, with the shard of glass lodged into his throat, struggling and bleeding along the floor. When I crouched over his body and took one last look around, all I did was give him words that would be the last ones he would hear before he left this earth. When I leaned over, I whispered in his ear: "I hope you rot in hell, you sick pig." I felt no guilt, and still don't. Why should I?

Let's hope my wish came true. Let's hope he _is_ rotting in hell. And as for Don, I would argue that Don's actions that day probably didn't mean to cause a fatality, but I felt with the fatality, he did society a huge favour, and I'll always stand by that.

Don Swain was a good man, sometimes an angry man, but deep down he wouldn't harm a fly.

God bless you, old friend.

THE END
The idea of Misty Falls came to me after watching a documentary on the abuse that was happening across the UK. It stated that residents were too frightened to report abusive carers to the management or even complain to their children in case of not being believed and of reprisal attacks from the staff, and the odd one that did complain was not taken seriously.

It saddened me that the elderly, including war veterans, were being treated in such an appalling way. They obviously couldn't defend themselves with their diminished physical ability due to old age, and some cowardly staff took advantage of that.

If it wasn't for the documentary, that particular residential home would still have abusive staff and the cruel behaviour of the staff would still be continuing, as it is probably continuing in other homes that we don't know about. (Let's remember that 99.9% carers are hard working, caring individuals).

The supernatural side to the story was something that I decided to throw in halfway through writing the 60,000 word short novel/novella and I hope you enjoyed the short journey of Todd Seaward and the rest of The Healthy Gang.

**Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed** _Misty Falls_ **, feel free to drop me an email to let me know your thoughts or leave a review where you've downloaded the book.**

Thanks again.

Shaun.

Website:https://sites.google.com/site/whittingtonbooks1

E-mail: deeandshaun@aol.com

Twitter: shaunybopster

For more information on new releases or just general questions. You can go to my author's page on Facebook and type: Shaun Whittington Author or use the link: https://www.facebook.com/ab.chaplin.7?ref=tn_tnmn

Coming Soon

BLACK HOUR

It is April 30th, and on a sunny Spring day, the Head of Sports lecturer, John Boardman, decides to take his sleep deprived body to his office during lunchtime and goes for a nap before his next lesson.

After losing his son six months ago in a car accident, which led to the break up of his marriage, John Boardman has been in a state of turmoil and is now introduced to another nightmare in his life.

He wakes up in his office to find his school building in the middle of a shooting spree. After waking up and leaving his office, he witnesses a fellow lecturer being gunned down by a masked perpetrator. Due to an avalanche of panic, he becomes undecided on what to do next.

Does he run for his life, or does he feel it is his duty to stay behind and search for fellow pupil survivors? With the gunmen still in the building, the nightmare has just begun.

Not for persons under the age of 18.

