Mr Bleaney

Mr Bleaney

“Now come on Tom, I just need you to slip out of your clothes so we can give you a bath.”

“No, and it’s Mr Bleaney to you, not Tom.”

“Sorry Mr Bleaney, now please, Sister has said you have to have a bath.”

“Don’t need one.”

The young nurse looked at the elderly man before her, she wanted to shout Oh yes you do but knew she couldn’t. She wondered what she had done to deserve this today. She glanced cross at the trolley set up with the various lotions and potions for washing him, her eyes fell on the head lice lotion, and her head immediately started to itch.

Mr Bleaney sneezed and again and again. He patted his chest, before fumbling trying to get his handkerchief into his pocket.

“Are you okay Tom” she paused “Mr Bleaney is there anything I can do?”

He tugged on his handkerchief, it wouldn't give at first, but then it did, emptying his pocket as it did so. A few coins jingled to the floor, along with other contents.

“Bugger and botherations” muttered the old man as he tried to lean over to retrieve his pocket contents.

But she was quicker she dropped to her knees and started to pick up the items from the floor.

“It’s okay Mr Bleaney.”

Picking up first a squashed cigarette packet and an old battered lighter.

“You said you didn’t smoke Mr Bleaney.”

He looked down at the child on her knees, for that is what she was just a child, how could she be so bossy. But there was something about her, she reminded him of, oh god no it couldn’t be she was the image of his Mary when they had first met.

“Mr Bleaney, are you okay?” His face looked so grey so full of sadness suddenly.

“Yes, Yes”

He was looking at her studying her, she felt a little uneasy, please tell me he isn’t one of those pervy ones, that's going to try for a quick grope, the thought. Holding out the cigarettes and lighter she asked him again.

“Mr Bleaney, do you smoke?”

He shook his head and coughed

“No, not anymore, just carry them to make me feel good, smell ‘em I do when I need too.” He looked away from her. She smiled, picking up his wallet ad placing it on the trolley next to him, as she did it fell open revealing an old grey crumpled photograph. She tried to look at it desperately, but he saw her looking.

“My Mary” he uttered, with very little emotion in his voice, but one glance at his distant eyes told her he was full of emotion. She carried on picking up the coins, a key, his bus pass, and what was that. A small cream coloured item under the chair, leaning closer, her hand brushed the satin fabric. Closing her hand she pulled it towards her, opening her hand she saw it was a baby's bootee. She held it up, it was lovely handmade, old and could do with a good wash like its owner. Glancing up at the old man he sat upright gazing at the closed door.

“Mr Bleaney.” She passed him the bootee, he reached out, his hand unsteady. Careful she took his wrist to steady it as she pressed the delicate item into his well-worn rough hand. He looked down at her, a smile briefly crossed his face before a tear rolled down his cheek. “A cup of tea, Mr Bleaney,” she said realising that she couldn’t rush him, she needed to be gentle. He nodded.

Returning with two cups of tea, she pulled up a chair and sat next to him. He still sat silently looking at the bootee in his hand. She wondered how many times he had done this, was the bootee a comfort to him, or merely a source of more anguish.

“Mr Bleaney, are you okay?”

He lifted his head and looked at her, she was just like his Mary, bossy but kind, she had always treated him like that. Kept him in place, but loved him, and he loved her, loved her more than anything. They had been so happy, didn’t think life could get any better, that was until Mary realised she was expecting. Baby Helen had made their life complete, he had worshipped her, Mary and Helen were his life.

“Mr Bleaney, do you want to talk?  we can while we have a cup of tea.”

He carefully pushed the bootee back into his pocket and accepted the cup of tea, the steam stinging his old sad eyes, as he took a sip. It was true the hot liquid did make you feel better, even it was only for a few seconds, and it had been a long time since he had had a decent cup of tea, with real milk.

The young nurse reached into her pocket, glancing over her shoulder quickly, she passed the old man a small pack of biscuits. He took them hand shaking as he tried to open the packet, gently she took it back and opened it.

“Thank you” he muttered. He looked at the young woman's face knew he could trust her, he needed to talk, to tell someone about Helen and Mary, he had spoken to no one about them for almost 50 years.

“Spose you are wondering about the shoe?” His voice was hoarse, shaky as he began. The young nurse blushed, embarrassed that he might think her nosey.

Pulling out the bootee out he passed it to her. “It was Helen’s, my little girl, my princess.”. He paused again.

“I met Mary, that was my wife just after I joined the navy, both 17 we were inseparable. Going back to sea was a nightmare for us both. But we wrote daily, sometimes more.”

He sipped his tea.

“We had been married almost 20 years, thought we were never going to be blessed with Children. The Mary went to the doctor, thought her time was up, but she was with child.” His face brightened, she was sure he looked younger as he went on to describe their joy at the surprise pregnancy, told her how he had managed to get them moved into a married quarters house, and had fitted out a nursery. Their lives finally complete.

“Helen arrived on the 6th June, lovely she was, full head of black hair. I was lucky, was alongside when she was born, at home every night. Till she was 6 months old, then I went back to sea.” He gulped his tea, coughing as he did. She put her hand on his to comfort him.

“Mary didn’t write as much, I thought it was because she was tired, busy with the baby.” his eyes glazed, as he spoke. “But then I got a letter from her sister, Mary was dead, fell under a train they said. The baby left on the platform in her pram. I don’t even know why she would be at a train station, she didn't even have a ticket.” He looked away from her, unable to meet her gaze. “Her sister Shirley took Helen in, looked after her as her own. But when I saw her she wasn’t mine anymore, didn’t know her old dad, had a new family.”

He nibbled on a biscuit, it was good, had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone.

“I sent money, gifts, but couldn’t bring myself to visit. The day Mary died I lost both my girls.”