The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year. Jenni Keer
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his pyjama-clad neighbour, bouncing around on the pavement in front of his house, gesturing something at him. The next moment she was banging at his door, hoping to enlist him on her search and rescue mission.
‘Brenda’s gone walkabout and she’s dressed completely inappropriately,’ she blurted out.
‘Unlike your good self.’
‘Seriously, she’s in a thin, cotton nightie. She’s seventy-nine. Please help.’ She swallowed back a sob. Her priority was finding her friend.
The mocking eyebrow dropped and he nodded, noticing her genuine distress.
‘Of course.’ He grabbed his keys and mobile from the otherwise empty side table next to his front door.
They eventually caught up with Brenda near the postbox at the bottom of the avenue. Lucy reached out for her friend’s shoulder and made eye contact.
‘Brenda? It’s me. Lucy.’ She gently took her neighbour’s hand in her own. It felt cold, and the drizzle was now turning to heavy rain.
‘Jim forgot his lunch again. I have to get to the school and give it to him…’ Brenda’s eyes were frantic.
‘It’s okay. Let’s get you in the warm and I’ll deliver it for you.’ The way the old lady’s eyes narrowed as she looked into Lucy’s face broke her heart, as she realised there was no sign of recognition. She bit back tears and forced out a gentle smile.
Brenda started to shake with the cold, so Lucy put an arm around her and rubbed her bare shoulders to try and warm her up. George, who was only a couple of paces behind them, started to pull his smart, grey V-neck jumper over his head, but as he did so, his shirt untucked itself and rode up his body with the jumper.
Lucy stood motionless for a fraction of a second and tried hard not to focus on the narrow trail of dark hairs that disappeared into the waistband of his navy blue suit trousers. And she totally failed not to gape at the muscle definition across his abdomen. There was an almost imperceptible flash of nipple as the shirt slid back down his body.
‘Put this over her.’
Lucy snapped her mouth shut and wriggled the jumper over a protesting Brenda. Between them they cajoled and coerced her back up the street and through the front door. Lucy collected a towel from the downstairs cloakroom and patted her down, aware of a strong smell of wee now they were inside. The orange and purple patchwork blanket Lucy knitted two Christmases ago was draped over the back of the upholstered wing chair, so she wrapped it around the shivering lady and finally caught Brenda’s eye. A trembling hand reached out and gripped her own, squeezing it for reassurance. Lucy squeezed back.
‘Everything’s okay, Brenda,’ she said. ‘We’re home. We’re safe. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’
A hovering George beckoned her into the hall, as Lucy felt more treacherous tears building. He studied her face for a second and then briefly reached out to touch her shoulder. At a moment when she felt everything was collapsing, it gave her the strength to pull herself together. His hand dropped back to his side.
‘I don’t want to interfere, but I think she needs to be seen by someone as a matter of urgency.’
‘I agree. I’ll try the surgery. Could you grab my mobile from my kitchen table? I don’t want to leave her. My front door isn’t locked.’
George nodded and returned with her phone two minutes later, handing it over just as his own started to buzz. He turned away to answer it.
‘No, I hadn’t forgotten… Has he? Oh, for goodness’ sake… I’ll have to sort it then…’ George covered the phone with his hand. ‘I need to go.’
‘I can manage. She’s much calmer now. Honestly. It’s fine.’ Brenda looked tired, her thin fingers stroking the blanket, and her eyes closing.
‘Give me a contact number. I’ll ring later to see how she is, but there’s an emergency at work.’
She gave him her mobile number. ‘Thanks for your help. I wouldn’t want you getting into trouble with the boss.’
‘Yeah, bit of an ogre.’ He put the phone back to his face. ‘With you in ten,’ he said, then slid it back into his trouser pocket. ‘Bye then, Grandma,’ he said to Lucy.
Lucy followed his eyes and remembered she was wearing her Keep Calm and Carry on Knitting pyjamas.
‘Russell Crowe knits,’ she said, indignantly.
‘Oh, you mean you actually do knit? I thought the pyjamas were ironic, or a gift, or something.’
‘It’s a very therapeutic pastime.’
‘Yeah, if you’re about ninety.’ He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, ruffling it up without realising. Brenda watched him from the living room and smiled. She looked at Lucy, who was sporting a cross face, and smiled even more. Then she clasped her hands together and let out a happy sigh.
‘The cat?’ Brenda called out to George. Lucy couldn’t work out if it was a question or a reminder. Or even if she knew who George was.
‘Oh yes. Did the rescue centre find it? They said—’ Lucy began.
‘It’s all in hand.’ He nodded at Brenda to signal his departure and the front door clicked shut. There was a pause and the old lady noticed the battered tin by her feet. Bending forward, she prised open the lid enough to see the contents. Lucy waited for her to comment but she didn’t.
‘A cup of tea will warm us both up,’ Lucy finally said. ‘I’ll nip upstairs and get you some more suitable clothes, if that’s okay?’
Brenda nodded slowly, although Lucy wasn’t convinced she understood what she was agreeing to.
‘You stay there under that snuggly blanket and keep warm.’ She tucked the sides around her friend to keep it from falling. ‘I won’t be long. Just need to make a quick call.’
‘Use the phone in the hall, dear. Mind the flex though. It’s dreadfully frayed. Jim will keep playing with it and putting his fingers through the fabric, but he says we can’t afford a replacement, and it still does the job.’ Her eyes looked glazed but she suddenly became aware of the blanket on her knees again and started to pick at the threads.
Lucy’s heart heaved, but she pulled herself together and went into the hall. Brenda’s phone was quite a modern walkabout one and the base unit was in the kitchen, not the hall, but the number to the surgery was on her mobile contact list so she used that.
Lucy explained the situation to the receptionist, trying to keep her voice low so she didn’t alarm Brenda, who was now singing ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ quietly to herself. Establishing Brenda was calm and safe and that Lucy could stay with her for as long as necessary, the helpful lady asked her to hold and said she would see if she could catch Dr Hopgood before he started surgery. Lucy popped her head around the living-room door whilst she waited. Brenda looked drowsy and her singing had slowed to a mumble. The surgery hold music stopped and the phone line clicked.
‘Given everything you said, including the possibility your neighbour is currently incontinent, Dr Hopgood suspects some sort of urine infection. They can lead to spells of delirium in the elderly and are quite common. He’s put her down as a priority house call and she’ll be first on the list. If you are happy to stay with her, he’ll be out to you just after twelve.’
‘That’s not a problem, thank you.’ Although Lucy was starting to suspect there was more to this than a simple UTI.
‘He also suggested getting some fluids into her, as UTIs tend to go hand in hand with dehydration. See if you can get her to drink some water, or even some tea.’
After hanging up, Lucy tried the office, but the out-of-hours answerphone was still on. Because recording messages made her feel self-conscious, she decided to wait until the phones were manned and explain the situation properly.
When