-Track One-
Charles felt the walls closing in as his world fell apart. He longed to hold his wife, tell her how much he loved her, smell her fragrance, and hear her comforting voice telling him that everything would be fine. Standing with his hands clasped in front of him, he glanced over at her gloss wood casket and heard the faint hum of the conveyor echo in the chapel as a curtain closed and the coffin slowly moved toward the furnace.
Charles’s sons, John and Peter, two of the pallbearers, then came and sat on the pew beside him. John patted his father’s arm, but Charles just stared forward.
Lorraine, Charles’s daughter, with tears streaming down her face, gently squeezed his hand as the vicar prayed for the safe journey of Mary’s soul. Charles wasn’t listening and showed no emotion trapped within his earthly cocoon. Apart from being with his beloved Mary, nothing else mattered to Charles.
With sobbing heard in the crematoriums chapel on the outskirts of Cleethorpes, the vicar finished his prayer and told the congregation to reflect on Mary’s life.
Charles gazed up at a ray of sunlight that shone through a skylight. He gasped and smiled. “Mary,” he whispered, as an apparition of Mary’s face as a young woman appeared in the sunbeam.
“Hello my darling,” said Mary’s voice in his head.
Charles trembled and thought, ‘Oh Mary, I am so lonely and sad. I want to end this and be with you.’
Mary smiled and Charles remembered the smile he fell in love with all those years ago, as Mary said. “We will soon be together my darling, but now is not your time. You still have plenty to live for...remember what I always told you. Life is too short to be sad.”
“Dad, sit down,” whispered Lorraine as the vicar beckoned the congregation to sit.
Charles, his thoughts interrupted, sat on the pew. The vicar went to the small pulpit and began his sermon, giving details about Mary’s life, a woman he barely knew.
“Are you alright, Dad?” whispered Lorraine, noticing Charles smiling up at the skylight.
Charles ignored her, ‘Where are you my darling?’ Charles thought, watching rays of sunlight dancing through the empty skylight.
“Dad, are you okay?” repeated Lorraine, squeezing his hand.
John, hearing Lorraine’s concern, looked at his father and gently nudged him. “Dad!”
Charles juddered and smiled at John and Peter, and with a glazed expression and tears in his eyes, looked and nodded at Lorraine.
Lorraine, relieved to see his tears, wiped them from his eyes with her sodden handkerchief. She kissed him on the cheek, faced forward, and listened while the vicar continued his sermon. Charles now felt warm, safe, and no longer alone. He glanced up again at the empty skylight, and as the vicar's words become a blur, his thoughts drifted into happy memories.
On a warm summer’s afternoon, a removal van arrived and unloaded a Steinway Parlour Grand Piano into the recreation room. Throughout the day, elderly residents came and admired the fine instrument, inquisitive about who was moving into Albert’s old room. However, three residents felt excited by the piano and eager to meet its owner.
The following day, a BMW came up the driveway. A middle-aged couple got out of the front seat and helped a gaunt, but well-groomed, elderly man out of the back. They took belongings from the back seat, walked into the residence, and went to the warden's office. The curtains twitched as excited old folk tried to see their new neighbour.
John, Lorraine, and Charles sat in Mrs Chew’s office while she explained about the residence and the rules and regulations that Charles must abide by during his stay.
The office smelled of stale tobacco. Hilda Chew, a small, haggard woman in her early sixties with stern features and a wrinkled face making her look like a constipated bloodhound, had been the warden at Fossdyke since it opened eight years earlier. Charles paid scant attention to the warden’s instructions as his mind wandered elsewhere.
Mrs Chew then took them along a corridor. They stopped at a room on the ground floor and went inside. “Here’s your room Mr Clark, or can I call you, Charles?”
Charles shrugged as Mrs Chew told him, “This will be your home from now on Charles. We put your chair near the bay window. The grounds look lovely this time of year.”
John put Charles’s suitcase on the bed. “It’s nice and roomy Dad,” he said, opening the case and hanging clothes in a wardrobe.
“You have a television, but most of the residents watch the large one in the recreation room,” said Mrs Chew, pointing to a portable television and then told him. “Your piano’s in there.”
“I’ll put your socks and underwear in this drawer,” said John, but knew his father wasn’t paying attention.
“Isn’t this nice, Dad? And look, you’ll have plenty of things to do,” said Lorraine, waving the Fossdyke brochure at her father. “It’s near to the beach and you love the seaside.”
“And you’ll have plenty of company,” said John sniggering, “Did you see all your new neighbours looking?”
Charles sighed, walked over, and sat in his armchair.
“Don’t worry,” said Mrs Chew and assured them, “It takes time to settle in, and he’ll be fine. It might be better if you both leave and give him time to get acquainted with the place. I am sure he will have visitors come along once you’ve gone.” she smiled.
Lorraine nodded and said, “Okay Dad, we are going, we will let you get settled into your new home.”
“I will bring Emma and the kids to see you soon,” said John.
“Peter said he will come when he is not so busy. I will bring George and the kids to visit once you get settled,” said Lorraine, who walked over and kissed her father on the cheek. She felt tears well up in her eyes as she saw the vacant, lost expression across her father's gaunt face as he gazed out of the window. She stroked his grey hair, picturing the vibrant, caring man from her childhood. Here was the same man who picked her up after a fall, taught her to play the piano and appreciate the beauty in music. The man who she could always depend upon and the man whom she never imagined would end up in this empty shell.
“Bye Dad,” croaked Lorraine, and with tears streaming down her face, walked towards John.
“Bye Dad, see you soon,” said John, putting his arm around his sister, and along with Mrs Chew, left the room.
Charles stared out of the window over the manicured lawns. His room smelt like the rest of the place. It had an eggy, musty smell, usually associated with old people’s homes. For Charles, it was not, or never would be, home, and he hoped his stay here would be short. He gazed around the garden and watched a bumblebee disappearing into a rose. Reappearing moments later, it clumsily flew past butterflies airing their brittle colourful wings. Sparrows chased each other, flying low past Charles’s window, and while nature went about its business, he reminisced about growing up around the entertainment business.
Charles’s mother was an opera singer, so he had gained a love for music from an early age. His father, disappointed by his son's chosen interest, expected Charles to follow him into the army, but he was killed in Northern Ireland. His mother encouraged, and tutored him, into becoming a vocalist, but with having deformed vocal cords, his voice sounded gravelly. She knew he would be unsuitable for classical singing, so she bought him a Steinway piano. That opened up a new and exciting world for young Charles. He practised hard and became a talented pianist. The Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra employed him soon after he left Surrey University.
Charles was twenty-two when he met Mary. She was auditioning for a violinist position in the orchestra. He’d noticed the pretty young blonde in her interview when she played Paganini's Caprice No.24 in A minor. Joseph Fletcher, the orchestra leader, impressed with her performance, and with Charles’s prompting, employed Mary. Charles and Mary grew close, and after a short courtship, married.
Mary hailed from Cleethorpes on the Lincolnshire coast of England. With property prices being cheap in the seaside resort, they bought a five-bedroom house on the outskirts of town. They performed with the Liverpool Philharmonic for four years before Charles accepted a position in the prestigious London Philharmonic Orchestra. They realised that Charles’s new job meant he would spend a lot of time touring, so Mary left the Liverpool Philharmonic to go with him. However, she fell pregnant after their second tour, with their first child, John.
Charles spent the next few years touring the UK and abroad, while Mary remained at their Cleethorpes home raising John. She gave birth to two more children, first Lorraine, followed by Peter, a year later.
The years passed, and with Charles spending most of his time away from home, he and Mary decided that he found work closer to Cleethorpes. He taught music at a local college, where he stayed until retiring and with their grown-up children now having families of their own and life was idyllic for Charles and Mary. They spent their days either in each other’s company or with family members and evenings they spent alone with Charles playing his piano and Mary playing her violin. The couple lived a serene and happy life until the scourge of leukaemia took Mary and Charles’s world fell apart.
A knock on the door interrupted Charles’s thoughts.
“Hello Charles, the evening meal starts at 6 o’clock, so you need to go to the dining room.” Mrs Chew shouted through the door.
“I’m not hungry,” Charles replied.
“Suit yourself,” grumbled Mrs Chew and walked away.
Charles relaxed back into his chair and recalled events leading up to him living at the residential home. He thought about his uncaring children.
During Mary’s wake, John had put his arm around his father and said, “Dad, remember what Mum told you to do when this day came.”
Charles glared at his son and said nothing, so John sighed and went over to speak with his brother and sister.
Once Doctors diagnosed Mary’s illness, Mary, Lorraine, John, and Peter, arranged for Charles to move into Fossdyke residential home as soon as Mary passed away and organised everything without involving Charles, who, although angry when he found out, said nothing, not wanting to accept the inevitable.
After the wake finished, Charles was alone in the house. He played his piano and drank himself into a stupor, thinking about his life and his emptiness without his rock, Mary.
John arrived at mid-morning and went over to his father. Noticing the empty whisky bottle and knocked over glass, he shook his father awake and said, “I’ll make a cup of tea Dad. Why don’t you go to bed and I will bring one up to you.”
Charles got unsteadily to his feet, went upstairs, and got into bed. Family members turned up throughout the day to help with the move. With only a few personal items allowed into the residential home, the family sold the rest of Charles and Mary’s belongings and divided the proceeds between them.
While a removal company took his piano and cleared the house, Charles remained in his bedroom.
Several hours later, the house was bare apart from Charles's bedroom furniture. Lorraine had brought food for Charles throughout the day, which went uneaten.
That evening, Charles walked around his empty home, desperately wanting to join Mary.
John and Lorraine arrived the following morning to collect Charles. They led him from his house and drove forty minutes to Fossdyke residential home.
Another knock on the door disturbed Charles's thoughts.
“I am not hungry,” Charles shouted, sounding emphatic as he assuming it was Mrs Chew.
The door opened and a small rotund man as bald as a bell-end walked in.
“Charlie boy,” shouted a jovial geriatric in a gruff voice.
With a cheery grin, he went over to Charles. “I’m Steve, but they call me Strat. Chewy told us you weren’t coming to eat, so I thought I’d come and change your mind.”
Shocked, Charles forced a smile and said. “No, I’m not hungry.”
“Come on, just try some. The grub isn’t bad, and tonight it’s BBQ rib night, a real treat,” insisted Steve and put his arm around Charles's shoulder to coax him out of his chair. “I’ll introduce you to everyone,” said Steve, and sniggered. “You can meet the band.”
Charles, taken aback, asked, “Oh, you have a band here? I never heard about that. What type of music do they play?”
Steve grinned and said. “It’s a long story, but I will tell you over supper. Come on, before the ribs get cold or the other old farts scoff them all.”
Charles looked at the comical character resembling a pear with spindly legs and, realising he was persistent, got out of his chair.
“Don’t worry Charlie, it ain't bad here. I've been an inmate for five years and known in most of the pubs in the area. You’ll be a big hit with the ladies with that posh accent.”
Steve chuckled and the pair made their way to the dining hall.
The chatter in the dining room stopped when the pair went in, with all eyes focused on Charles, who fidgeted and looked uncomfortable.
“I hope you old farts saved us some ribs,” Steve growled and led Charles to empty seats between two other elderly gentlemen.