FICTION
The Pantry Pilferer
‘But mum, couldn’t I wait in the car?’ Josh said.
‘No! You know what happened last time I left you alone in the car.’
‘But mum, that was ages ago.’
‘That was two weeks ago,’ Josh’s mum reminded him as she dragged him through the automatic doors of Sunny Acorn Nursing Home. ‘Besides, we won’t be here for very long. I’ve only got to drop something off.’
Inside, the walls were painted calming shades of blue. There was a low reception desk at the furthest corner of the room. Behind it, a teenage girl slouched, thumbing through a gossip magazine. Beside the doorway, an old man sat looking out of the front window.
‘Hello, Mr Rodgers,’ Josh’s mum said. ‘Not trying to escape, are you?’
The old man got to his feet and slowly walked into the dayroom without responding.
‘He probably didn’t hear me. He’s a bit deaf,’ she told Josh.
In the dayroom, Mr Rodgers flipped the television on and turned the volume up to the highest setting.
‘Turn that thing down. I’m trying to concentrate on my word search,’ Josh heard one of the residents shout.
‘Pauline!’ another yelled. ‘He’s doing it again.’
A frazzled woman wearing a lilac polo shirt dashed through the reception area.
‘Can you keep an eye on Miss Price?’ she asked the receptionist before running into the dayroom.
The receptionist shrugged and turned the page of her magazine. She glanced up at Miss Price’s frail figure inching down the corridor. Then, she began to fill out a quiz that promised to tell her which Hollywood hunk was right for her.
‘Pauline,’ Josh’s mum called out. ‘Need any help?’
‘That would be a godsend, Jackie.’
Josh’s mum turned to Josh. ‘You don’t mind waiting around a bit longer, do you? While you wait, why don’t you take those?’ She pointed to a nearby stack of towels. ‘Put two in each of the rooms up that corridor. I’m sure Pauline would be grateful. Just watch it around Mrs Smith, though. She keeps telling her son-in-law we’re stealing from her, so be extra careful.’
She dashed into the dayroom. ‘Coming, Pauline.’
Josh sulkily went over to the pile of towels and picked them up.
The receptionist, not happy with the Hollywood hunk she had been matched with, rubbed out her answers and retook the quiz.
Miss Price was still shuffling down the corridor when Josh passed her. She had messy grey hair and big, round spectacles. She wore a baggy yellow blouse, baggy blue trousers, and so much jewellery that she clinked and clanked every time she moved.
She winked at Josh.
He smiled back.
The first door was labelled Mrs Smith’s room. Josh turned the handle and nudged it open with his foot.
A thick flowery fragrance swept over him as he went in. The room had purple wallpaper with golden swirls on. Several paintings of old-fashioned churches hung on the walls.
Mrs Smith lay in bed, pretending to be asleep. She had an upturned nose, and her hair fell in tight curls.
On a set of drawers by the doorway lay an open purse with banknotes bristling out. Josh put two sets of towels beside the purse and left the room.
When the door had finally shut, one of Mrs Smith’s beady eyes popped open. She rolled out of bed, skulked over to her purse, and counted her banknotes to check whether any were missing.
The next room he went in was Miss Price’s. It was filled with bronze ornaments and pictures of her relatives.
Josh put the towels on a cabinet beside a picture of a spotty-faced boy and went into the third room.
This room belonged to Mr Herman. Mr Herman sat up in bed, squinting at a small television at the other end of the room. His round head gently swayed as the racing cars on the screen whizzed around the track. He did not even notice Josh come into the room.
Josh put the towels down on a cabinet and left.
The last door on the corridor had no label. Josh twisted the handle and pushed it.
It slowly squeaked open.
The room smelled of sweaty onions, and there was no furniture in it except for a stripped-down bed.
In the furthest corner of the room was an old man wearing a set of denim dungarees and a square metal hat. He was hunched over a cardboard box. The objects in the box clanged as he sifted through. Josh thought one of them looked a bit like a kettle.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Josh mumbled. ‘Where do you want your towels?’
The old man did not appear to hear him.
Remembering what his mum had said earlier about some of the residents being deaf, he asked again. ‘Excuse me, where should I put your towels?’
The old man stopped. He came over to Josh and scrutinised him with wide eyes.
He took a half-eaten spring onion out of his pocket and took a bite. Then, he lifted his hat off his head and began inspecting it.
After he had turned it over several times, he shuffled back to his cardboard box and dug out a spatula.
The old man began to bang on his hat with the spatula.
‘Well, I’ll leave them here, then.’ Josh put the towels down on the bed and left.
In the reception, Josh’s mum sat waiting for him. ‘So, are you ready to go now?’ she asked him.
Josh nodded.
When they were in the car park, Josh said, ‘you know that old guy in the end room?’
Josh’s mum stared at him.
‘That old guy with the dungarees and the hat.’
She shook her head. ‘That room is empty. It’s been like that for a long time. No one would go in it. They all say it smells of onions. We cannot seem to shift it either. One day we get it smelling all fresh and clean, and the next day it smells of onions again.’
She stroked her chin.
‘Although now I come to think of it, there was someone in there a few years ago. A man. Crazy as a bedbug. He kept stealing stuff from the kitchen to use in his inventions. One day he told us he had figured out how to make a hat that made whoever wore it turn invisible. I’m not sure what happened to him. I think he ended up in the hospital. The kitchen situation hasn’t gotten any better, though. We still keep losing things.’
