Read Online Bursting Bubbles by Dyan Sheldon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dyan Sheldon
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fall over and/or die are so small as to be non-existent.
Georgiana turns off the main road, slowing down when she sees a large sign that says
ST JOAN’S NURSING CENTRE
.
Nursing
Centre
, thinks Georgiana,
Centre, not Home. So far, so good…
It takes no time at all for her to spot some differences between the centre Will described and what she sees looming at the top of the circular drive. For starters, the grounds don’t look like a private park. There are a few trees the bulldozers missed, a small, defeated lawn and a few hardy shrubs but no sign of gardens, lakes or fountains – and nowhere to put them if there were. Ocean View, where Will’s sister worked, was once the mansion of a wealthy railroad man; St Joan’s was once an elementary school.
As Georgiana approaches the main building, a middle-aged woman and an elderly man come through the door. He has yeti eyebrows and leans on a cane, wobbling noticeably and walking as if he’s paying for each step. The woman has an arm through his, and is talking to him in the sticky-sweet voice some people use with very young children.
He can’t fall, she’s holding on to him
, Georgiana tells herself, and puts on a Marigold Liotta God’s-in-His-heaven-all’s-right-with-the-world smile. The woman ignores her; the old man starts coughing. Georgiana hurries past them; she doesn’t want to see him hit the ground.
It’s a busy afternoon at St Joan’s Nursing Centre. The desk plate says that the receptionist’s name is Alice Einhorn. Alice is on the telephone; another telephone is ringing. From somewhere come the sounds of music (not the violin) and TV voices. It could be someone on the television, but Georgiana thinks she also hears sobbing. A nurse hurries past looking worried. Another rushes by from the opposite direction, talking into a cell phone. White-haired people shuffle along the hall – some in robes and slippers, some dressed as if they have somewhere to go. A woman with a walking frame comes towards her, singing in Italian.
In the blink of time between putting down one phone and picking up another, Alice Einhorn looks questioningly at Georgiana.
Georgiana ups her smile. “I’m Georgiana Shiller? From Shell Harbour High? I’m here to start my community service placement today?”
Alice holds up one hand. “St Joan’s Nursing Centre,” she says in a voice intended to inspire confidence.
Your aged relatives are safe with us
. “How can I help you?” The other phone starts ringing again.
The person Alice is talking to has a lot to say. She covers the receiver and whispers to Georgiana, “Our administrator will see you as soon as he’s free. He likes to induct the volunteers himself, but he’s in a meeting.” She waves her hand. “Why don’t you just wait over there?”
“Sure,” Georgiana whispers back. “Thanks.”
But “over there” is not the waiting area of chairs and a table full of magazines that she expected. “Over there” is a wall. Georgiana props herself against it – under a sign that says
No Cell Phones In This Area
– smiling as if she’s the welcoming committee.
People come and go. Except for the staff in their uniforms and soft-soled shoes, and the visitors in their hats and jackets and looks of somewhere else to be, everyone Georgiana sees is really old. Clapped out. Decrepit. If they walk, they walk slowly. Stooped. Shaking like leaves in a slight wind. Hair from which the years have sucked all colour and skin as wrinkled as a raisin. She can tell from the way they look at her that it’s been a long time since most of them saw a teenager. Can they even remember what a teenager is?
The phones keep ringing. An ambulance pulls up and the crew jumps out, urgently pushing a stretcher. Georgiana flattens herself against the wall.
Somebody’s died
, she thinks.
And I only just got here
. Two grim-faced women come in, wanting to pick up their mother’s things.
Their dead mother’s things
. An elderly man in a golf
Georgiana turns off the main road, slowing down when she sees a large sign that says
ST JOAN’S NURSING CENTRE
.
Nursing
Centre
, thinks Georgiana,
Centre, not Home. So far, so good…
It takes no time at all for her to spot some differences between the centre Will described and what she sees looming at the top of the circular drive. For starters, the grounds don’t look like a private park. There are a few trees the bulldozers missed, a small, defeated lawn and a few hardy shrubs but no sign of gardens, lakes or fountains – and nowhere to put them if there were. Ocean View, where Will’s sister worked, was once the mansion of a wealthy railroad man; St Joan’s was once an elementary school.
As Georgiana approaches the main building, a middle-aged woman and an elderly man come through the door. He has yeti eyebrows and leans on a cane, wobbling noticeably and walking as if he’s paying for each step. The woman has an arm through his, and is talking to him in the sticky-sweet voice some people use with very young children.
He can’t fall, she’s holding on to him
, Georgiana tells herself, and puts on a Marigold Liotta God’s-in-His-heaven-all’s-right-with-the-world smile. The woman ignores her; the old man starts coughing. Georgiana hurries past them; she doesn’t want to see him hit the ground.
It’s a busy afternoon at St Joan’s Nursing Centre. The desk plate says that the receptionist’s name is Alice Einhorn. Alice is on the telephone; another telephone is ringing. From somewhere come the sounds of music (not the violin) and TV voices. It could be someone on the television, but Georgiana thinks she also hears sobbing. A nurse hurries past looking worried. Another rushes by from the opposite direction, talking into a cell phone. White-haired people shuffle along the hall – some in robes and slippers, some dressed as if they have somewhere to go. A woman with a walking frame comes towards her, singing in Italian.
In the blink of time between putting down one phone and picking up another, Alice Einhorn looks questioningly at Georgiana.
Georgiana ups her smile. “I’m Georgiana Shiller? From Shell Harbour High? I’m here to start my community service placement today?”
Alice holds up one hand. “St Joan’s Nursing Centre,” she says in a voice intended to inspire confidence.
Your aged relatives are safe with us
. “How can I help you?” The other phone starts ringing again.
The person Alice is talking to has a lot to say. She covers the receiver and whispers to Georgiana, “Our administrator will see you as soon as he’s free. He likes to induct the volunteers himself, but he’s in a meeting.” She waves her hand. “Why don’t you just wait over there?”
“Sure,” Georgiana whispers back. “Thanks.”
But “over there” is not the waiting area of chairs and a table full of magazines that she expected. “Over there” is a wall. Georgiana props herself against it – under a sign that says
No Cell Phones In This Area
– smiling as if she’s the welcoming committee.
People come and go. Except for the staff in their uniforms and soft-soled shoes, and the visitors in their hats and jackets and looks of somewhere else to be, everyone Georgiana sees is really old. Clapped out. Decrepit. If they walk, they walk slowly. Stooped. Shaking like leaves in a slight wind. Hair from which the years have sucked all colour and skin as wrinkled as a raisin. She can tell from the way they look at her that it’s been a long time since most of them saw a teenager. Can they even remember what a teenager is?
The phones keep ringing. An ambulance pulls up and the crew jumps out, urgently pushing a stretcher. Georgiana flattens herself against the wall.
Somebody’s died
, she thinks.
And I only just got here
. Two grim-faced women come in, wanting to pick up their mother’s things.
Their dead mother’s things
. An elderly man in a golf
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