*Splosh* was it safe revisiting the haunts she showed him, probably not. But still even the wise are often creatures of habit, wait long enough and something might come of it. *Splash* The mop goes back into the bucket, and back out. As long as the habits hadn’t become graverobbing, that should always be the last resort … and she shouldn’t be getting noticed.

‘You, I need a hand moving a patient.’ The barked order shattering his contemplations. The nurse in blues is leaning out of a room a little further down the hall.

Did that fall under the tasks of a general dog’s body. Yes. An excuse to be rude about it. No. ‘Yep right on it, Nurse.’ Understaffed and overworked, its not on her, and besides it’s the more important reason for all of this.

A quick stop by the cleaning cart for a change of gloves ,they’d gotten very insistent on that, and moving the name badge subtlety behind the blue plastic apron, before heading into the room.

‘This is Francis’ The nurse could only be referring to the wrinkled old bag of bones sitting on the bead in a brown dressing gown and slippers. ‘Francis me and this nice man are going to help you get to the toilet, is that alright.’

An unintelligible grunt is what she gets in reply.

Physical contact, oh boy … at least she doesn’t seem to know my name yet. ‘Hello Francis, I’m just going to touch your arm okay.’ Right out of the briefing handbook.

‘Et Off Me.’ Francis bucks his arm feebly away.

‘Now Francis do you want to go the toilet or not, we can leave you here if you want.’ The nurse’s stern no nonsense voice overrode the old man’s protest.

After some pained groans the old man stroppily concedes ‘I anna Go Oilet.’

‘Okay than.’ With a nod the nurse the second attempt at getting Francis up proves more successful.

Down the hall ……business done….. and back again.

‘There you go Francis, back in bed nice and warm.’ The nurse pulls his covers up to his chin.
‘Ot Tired.’
‘Now Francis you need your rest or you’ll be tired tomorrow.’
‘OT TYRD.’ The burst of noise could be startling if you didn’t expect it.

Something to distract, a way to engage. Spotting the nicely framed picture of a young woman wearing a sundress and straw hat on the bed side cabinet. ‘Is that your daughter?’

The old man’s bleary eyes thankfully find the frame and picture within … going wide as they do he reaches for it, struggling against the tightly tucked sheets.

‘Here.’ Passing it the frame across, fortunately to no protest.

Eager hands grab the frame like a life line to a man drowning. ‘Ife … my Ife … N … Ne.’ The frustration that plays across the wrinkled face as the last word refuses to come, gives way to pearly tears and full body sobs.

And stony soul does not always protect the still very human heart.

A silent nod to the nurse, saying, you go get on I’ve got this one, a seat is taken on the edge of the bed and a comforting hand placed on the old man’s shoulder.