Happy Ever After Read Free

Greystones, not far from where she lived. And, before that, she had a week in Spain with her sister-in-law, Karen, to look forward to. It was badly needed; she felt whacked.
    The stress of her daughter Debbie’s wedding had taken a lot out of her, more than she realized, she thought, stifling a yawn and sliding Miss Bracken’s beige skirt over her head. ‘Would you be careful what you’re doing, you’ve messed my hair,’ the elderly woman scolded, as her head emerged, hair slightly mussed, glasses awry, as Connie pulled the elastic-waisted skirt down over her thin frame. Miss Bracken suffered from arthritic hips and bad knees and couldn’t lift her right leg to step into a skirt.
    ‘Sorry,’ Connie apologized. ‘I’ll brush your hair for you when you’ve finished dressing.’
    ‘You needn’t bother. I can do it myself, thank you,’ Eunice Bracken snapped irritably as a dart of pain shot through her. ‘Get me my tablets, and be quick about it. I’m tormented with my arthritis today.’
    ‘It must be the rain we’ve had the past few days,’ Connie said kindly, suddenly feeling sorry for the old lady in front of her. What sort of a life did she have? An intensely proud and independent woman like her, having to be helped to get dressed – it must be humiliating – and then she had to contend with a life of chronic and disabling pain. No wonder the poor thing was crabby.
    She handed the tablets and a glass of water to her patient and then resumed dressing her, closing the buttons on her blouse, a task Miss Bracken was unable to undertake because of her arthritic fingers.
    ‘You’re not the worst of them,’ her patient said grudgingly when Connie had finished her ministrations.
    ‘Thank you, Miss Bracken.’ Connie smiled, knowing she’d been paid quite a substantial compliment. ‘Let me walk you down to the day room and get you a nice cup of tea.’ She took the elderly lady’s arm, and they walked slowly from the room, down the hall, to a bright, airy, comfortable drawing room that looked out on to verdant lawns and massed beds of shrubs and flowers.
    ‘The chair by the window, quick now, before Mr McCall comes. He hogs it, you know. You’d think he owned it, the way he goes on,’ Miss Bracken declared, managing a little spurt as she triumphantly laid claim to the comfortable armchair. ‘Now you may get me my tea, and my Irish Times ,’ she instructed, settling in comfortably and gazing with longing at the lovely garden. She’d been an avid gardener once, but her arthritis had put a stop to that. Now, all she could do was look and criticize the planting strategy of the lazy lump who looked after the gardens but was more often to be seen smoking and chatting to anyone who would listen to him. He could do with a haircut too. ‘That fellow looks like Worzel Gummidge,’ she sniffed when Connie handed her the newspaper, and couldn’t understand why she guffawed.
    ‘I’m glad I amused you,’ Miss Bracken said dryly.
    ‘If you didn’t have a sense of humour in this job, you’d be in trouble, believe me.’ Connie couldn’t keep the faint edge out of her voice.
    ‘Indeed,’ Miss Bracken agreed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Their eyes met, and there was the tiniest hint of a twinkle lurking in Eunice’s. It was a triumph of sorts, Connie felt as she made her way to the staff dining room to have the much-longed-for cuppa and crisps.
    Connie was bone weary when she finally got home. Her eyes were gritty with tiredness, and her lower back ached, a dull, nagging pain which always accompanied her period. The early shift was a killer, but at least she had a long afternoon to herself. She was greeted lovingly by her little black cat, Miss Hope. ‘Hello, my little pet.’ Connie scooped her up and buried her nose in her soft, silky black fur. ‘Let’s have a bite to eat and a snooze,’ she murmured, heading for the kitchen.
    Working weekends as well as weekdays really took it out of you, she