Nasty Minds Those Old People Had

The summer I finished high school I took a part time job in a nursing home. I was only sixteen. I had no qualifications and was only permitted to carry out the most basic tasks. I helped the older people to get dressed. I assisted them when they needed to go to the toilet. I spoon fed those who were incapable of feeding themselves. On slower days, I sat next to their bedsides and read the newspaper aloud: farming supplement, lifestyle or sports section, depending on the individual’s interest and inclination.

It was not a bad job. I felt as if I was being useful and liked this feeling. It was the first time in my young life I’d properly understood the idea of purpose. For the most part I enjoyed the company of older people. I’d never been a popular child. I was slow and deliberate, too shy to make my voice heard in the crowd. The older people moved at a glacial pace. They were still and quiet. I did not feel as if I had to clamour for their attention. They were easy to be around -as furniture is easy to be around- always present, mostly unremarkable.

I became particularly fond of Elsie. During the four months I spent in the nursing home, Elsie never received a single visitor. This did not seem to upset her. I never once saw Elsie sad or heard her complain about anything, though most of the residents were expert complainers, finding small faults in everything from the weak tea to the peculiarly antiseptic smell of the laundry detergent and the dreadful art hanging in the day room. Elsie did not complain. Elsie met me each morning at the door with a huge grin and a kind of shuffling curtsey. I never quite got to the bottom of all the curtseying. Perhaps Elsie had once been in service. Perhaps, she’d simply watched more than her fair share of BBC period dramas. It was impossible to tell. Regardless I always curtsied back and claimed it to be a lovely day, no matter what the weather was doing outside. I used to sneak treats in for Elsie: chocolate, cigarettes, Marks and Spencer’s biscuits. It was against the rules, but I didn’t mind bending the rules for Elsie. She reminded me of my gran; the nice one, who died when I was wee.

Elsie was my favourite thing about the nursing home, so you can imagine how upset I was when I discovered the other old ladies were picking on her. I’d noticed the way they would not sit next to her in the TV room. I’d even spotted Mavis snatching the last Jaffa Cake off the plate before Elsie could reach for it. Then, I caught three of them, huddled together in the back garden. They were attempting to pull Elsie’s best nightie off the washing line. I could tell they were up to no good though when I asked them what was going on, they pretended to be confused, claiming they did not know where they were or what they were doing. It used to drive me mad when the old people played this card; pretending they were doting every time they got themselves into a sticky situation.

I went to the boss after that. I asked her why the others were picking on Elsie. I assumed it was jealousy or some horrible, nasty streak which from time to time emerges in previously pleasant old ladies. The boss was not as shocked as I thought she’d be. She sat back in her chair and smiled condescendingly at me. “Elsie’s never been very popular with the other residents,” she said. “I know,” I said, “I can see that. They’re always picking on her. I don’t understand why. Elsie’s such a sweet old lady. She’s a wee ray of sunshine.”

The boss laughed then. Not cruelly, but I could still sense that I wasn’t in on the joke. “What’s she managed to get out of you?” she asked. I professed ignorance. I did not mention the chocolate, or the cigarettes, or the salted caramel cookies tucked inside my handbag which were destined to end up in Elsie’s bedside locker. I didn’t mention any of the wee treats I’d sneaked in for Elsie because I did not want to lose my job.

I suspect the boss already knew I’d been played. “She’s a sneaky one, that Elsie,” she said. “I should have warned you about her. She always targets the new girls; has them wrapped round her wee finger before I can get to them.” I nodded dumbly. I told the boss I’d be careful not to let Elsie manipulate me. I excused myself and went down to the dayroom. I made a point of sharing my cookies with everyone. Elsie. Mavis. Letty. Doreen. The Cairns sisters. Not one of them would refuse a free biscuit, not even Letty who really should have, on account of her diabetes. They hoovered up those salted caramel cookies and said thank you very much and continued to give each other the evil eye from their various corners of the day room. There was something of the vulture about the way they looked, something mean and nasty.

Inspired by Agatha Christie’s 1936 novel, Murder in Mesopotamia