Just one envelope lay inside the door when Ian got up on the Monday morning. At least it was addressed to him by name – Mr Ian Brockett. Ian hated those that just said ‘To the occupier’. The downside was that it was on what looked like a mass produced mailing label with no stamp or franking on the envelope. It was obviously local and had been delivered by hand.
He wandered into the kitchen with it, picked up a knife from the draining board and slit the envelope open. Inside was a single white card. As he started to pull it out he saw the words ‘You are invited to attend…’
He let the card slide back into the envelope and left it on the worktop with the other bits and pieces of paper that had accumulated there over the weekend. People could have no idea how much that phrase ‘You are…’ turned him off, whatever the subject might be.
He was happy with his life as a carer for a group of lovely people in the area. He could not think of anything that suited him better. He loved the one to one relationship that developed. He became a part of that person’s family – very often the only part of the ‘family’ that connected with them.
He got himself ready and set out for another day. He had two clients to see before calling into base for the regular Monday morning briefing. First stop was Mrs Jeavons, a nice lady in her early 80s and still fiercely independent. She had been suffering from a cold for the past few days and he just wanted to check that she was getting better. It had taken him six months to get her to allow him to do anything for her except sit on the sofa for a chat while she made them both a cup of tea.
Second stop was Will Rowlands – an independent old soldier who loved to talk about today’s ‘soldier boys’ and the ‘Chelsea Pensioners’ he had been watching on television over the past few weeks.
When Ian arrived for the morning briefing most of the team were there. They were hanging around, waiting for team leader Freda to arrive to start the meeting. Julie said something to him about an invitation she had received. Had he had one? He couldn’t remember what he said, but it wasn’t important, anyway, and Freda had arrived and the meeting got underway.
As the meeting was breaking up Freda asked him if he had received his invitation for Friday. “Why are people so fixated about invitations?” Ian thought to himself as he mumbled “It’s on the table or somewhere” in reply before heading out to see Mr & Mrs Scott. Helping them cope with Charlie’s increasing immobility was a lot more important than some invitation to something or other.