punctuated now by the sound of urgent footsteps.
I see Sheila flash past my doorway and stop a short way along the corridor.
Then a male voice, buried among the echoes. Jef, I think. I canât make out the words.
âNo,â replies Sheila. âYes, but itâs been opened. Have you got the key?â
Another Jefish sound from off down the corridor, and I see Sheila relax and stroll back up toward my room.
She notices me and stops half in and half out of my doorway.
âSorry about this,â she calls, keeping an eye up the corridor. âPeople are always pushing on the alarmed door. It says it right there : âAlarmed door.â What do they thinkâs going to happen?â
âI havenât seen anyone around,â I say.
âNo.â She sighs, without surprise. âItâs a bloody nuisance. Everythingâs on electrics. They say to you, Oh, itâs going to be a big improvement on what you had before, and the next thing you know the whole bloody place has been improved out of all usefulness.â
She keeps an eye out the door and rolls her eyes to Jef as he strides past, flipping a small bunch of keys in and out of his hand.
The door is slammed shut, its echo rolling down the corridor, and the blare stops dead, leaving the ultrasonic imprint in my ears, and my heart racing.
Was it you who sent a gust of wind to open the alarmed door and assault my ears?
Sometimes I could be persuaded.
Calm now, calm.
Hzzzzzzzzz.
Ah, there. Old Faithful.
âThanks, lovey,â Sheila says to Jef as he comes back past.
âAll right,â he says.
âIt wonât be long before theyâre putting the respirators on the same circuit as the coffee machine,â she says, coming fully into the room. âAnd weâll have a double-shot latte and a side order of dead resident.â
She dumps herself in the visitorsâ seat and strains to lift her foot up to her other thigh, pushing her finger inside her shoe to ease an ache.
âIâm sorry,â she says wearily. âI probably shouldnât be talking like that to you, should I?â
I smile, more troubled by the presence of her foot. âDonât worry about it. Itâs good to see you care.â
âWell, I do care. This is supposed to be a place of peace and tranquillity. But you still have to deal with all the efficiencies and management brainwaves like anywhere else. If you canât escape the red tape here, you canât escape it anywhere, can you?â
F
Feet
Lying on the sofa, I cannot bring myself to speak.
Mum comes and lifts my legs and drops them back across her lap as she sits on the seat beside me.
A cartoon is on TV with the sound down, but Iâm not watching it.
I can see sheâs found my card. Or the rattly collection of macaroni, sugar paper, and glue that the stand-in teacher sent us all home with. Mum must have dug it out of the bin.
Happy Fatherâs Day.
Mum rubs my feet, carefully avoiding the ticklish areas. She looks sometimes across at my face.
âTakeout tonight, kiddo?â
I canât answer.
Looking down at my foot, she says, âLooks like itâs just you and me then, foot. How are you feeling? Are you feeling sad?â
After a short pause, my foot nods sadly.
âAnd how about you,â she says, collecting up my other foot, âare you sad too?â
It too is sad.
âOh dear,â she says. âOh dear.â And she sits there, considering, while I clutch a cushion to my belly and look at the screen.
Long silence. Long, long silence, full of cartoon noises. Bullets and boings.
âI tell you what,â she says, addressing my big toe, âletâs have a talk about what youâve done today. Letâs talk about your shoes. What shoes have you been in today?â
My foot thinks for a while and looks across the room, toward the door.
âYour Hi-Tec Silver Shadows?â she says. âAre
Maggie Brendan
Barbara O'Connor
Jan Washburn
Terri Blackstock
Norah Simone
Barry Kemp
G.P. Taylor
Alan Cumyn
Linda Barnes
Lisa Jackson