A family in a tiny English village decided to take in an old lady not really a relative at all, more like a distant acquaintance. She was practically a stranger, blind and, forgive the bluntness, a touch senile. Not to be rude, but she was completely out of her wits. It sounded like a wild, almost heroic gesture, and they actually went ahead with it.
They were poor folk, three children and, from one son, a couple of grandchildren already rattling around. A big, noisy bunch, rough around the edges, not exactly university material but with a decent conscience. They didnt think of shunting her off to a care home or visiting her only on holidays; the old lady lived on the far side of the village, unable to look after herself at all. So they brought her in.
They fetched her shabby belongings, slipped a fresh dress over her, tied a clean scarf around her neck, fed her from a spoon and tucked her into a bed. On the wall they hung a rug dotted with deer, even though she couldnt see a thing. They survived on cabbage soup, porridge, a packet of instant noodles from the corner shop, and tea with a spoonful of sugar. They ferried her to the loo, changed her when needed, and listened to her endless stream of nonsense, spoken in a thin, rattling voice.
One afternoon the old woman lets call her Agnes Whitfield croaked out a warning: Theres a thief in the shed! They bolted to the shed and found the villages drunken neighbour making off with potatoes and cabbages. What a coincidence! A while later she muttered, Dont let little Rory go into town! The car will smash! Trusting their mad granny, they kept Rory and his mate from setting off. The mates car did indeed smash spectacularly; Rory might have been killed if hed been in it.
And that was just the beginning. Agnes kept spouting prophecies she could hardly understand herself she couldnt remember, couldnt see, and could barely lift a spoon to her mouth. Then she started begging for a lottery ticket, sitting on the kitchen floor and pleading for a slip of paper.
The family patriarch drove into the nearest market town, bought a ticket, andhow can you tell me this?they won a tidy sum. Three hundred pounds, four hundred, maybe five hundred; they werent precise, just said a nice lump of cash. Simple folk are vague about money, so a nice lump it was. With their winnings they bought Agnes a brandnew dressing gown, a tin of ginger biscuits, and a whole bunch of pleasant things, including a pretty coverlet. What does it matter she cant see? She sees in her own way, and everything should look lovely for her. Everyone dotes on her.
Even though she keeps babbling, forgetting everything, cant feed herself or get to the loo unaided, she flashes a warm smile. She sits on that beautiful coverlet in a clean gown and a cheerful scarf, looking like a little doll. She runs her rosary beads, whispers something sweet in that thin voice, and nods gently, as if approving the world she cant quite grasp.
