hungry,” Charles shouted, sounding emphatic as he assuming it was Mrs Chew.
The door opened and a small rotund man as bald as a bell-end walked in.
“Charlie boy,” shouted a jovial geriatric in a gruff voice.
With a cheery grin, he went over to Charles. “I’m Steve, but they call me Strat. Chewy told us you weren’t coming to eat, so I thought I’d come and change your mind.”
Shocked, Charles forced a smile and said. “No, I’m not hungry.”
“Come on, just try some. The grub isn’t bad, and tonight it’s BBQ rib night, a real treat,” insisted Steve and put his arm around Charles's shoulder to coax him out of his chair. “I’ll introduce you to everyone,” said Steve, and sniggered. “You can meet the band.”
Charles, taken aback, asked, “Oh, you have a band here? I never heard about that. What type of music do they play?”
Steve grinned and said. “It’s a long story, but I will tell you over supper. Come on, before the ribs get cold or the other old farts scoff them all.”
Charles looked at the comical character resembling a pear with spindly legs and, realising he was persistent, got out of his chair.
“Don’t worry Charlie, it ain't bad here. I've been an inmate for five years and known in most of the pubs in the area. You’ll be a big hit with the ladies with that posh accent.”
Steve chuckled and the pair made their way to the dining hall.
The chatter in the dining room stopped when the pair went in, with all eyes focused on Charles, who fidgeted and looked uncomfortable.
“I hope you old farts saved us some ribs,” Steve growled and led Charles to empty seats between two other elderly gentlemen.
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-Track Two-
Within picturesque grounds in the northeast coastal town of Cleethorpes, Fossdyke, converted from a guesthouse into a residential home by the current owners, had a two-story building with twenty-three spacious ensuite, furnished studio apartments. The ground floor apartments had large bay windows at the front overlooking landscaped grounds, making it an idyllic and tranquil location.
A short distance away from the resident's block in another building was the kitchen and communal dining area, where meals were provided three times a day. Another large room served as a recreation room, where the residents could congregate, organise activities, and watch a large TV. This communal room also contained several smaller rooms where residents kept belongings locked away, which now had a Steinway piano in a corner of the room.
With little happening at the home during the summer months, the old folks would either stroll along the boating lake and nearby beach or relax in the gardens. It was a serene existence and the residents varied. There were several married couples, but it was mainly elderly widowed men and women.
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AFTER CHARLES AND STEVE sat, the dining room was again full of chatter and clatter. Kitchen staff continued to serve the residents’ BBQ ribs and drinks. Even though some struggled to gnaw through the pork with their false gnashers, it didn’t stop them from giving the meat a damn good sucking. Charles looked around the room at his new neighbours.
“Charlie, meet Wayne,” said Steve as he sat back, and a man leant over and shook Charles’s hand.
Wayne looked Latino, with black curly hair and a boyish demeanour.
“Hi Charlie, I’m Wayne Logan,” he said, shaking Charles’s hand.
“It’s Charles, not Charlie,” said Charles.
“What?” Wayne asked.
“I said, it’s Charles, not Charlie,” repeated Charles... louder.
Wayne looked confused and then said. “Yes, I have all my teeth.”
Steve chuckled and said, “Sometimes he is as deaf as a post, and he dyes his hair black.”
“What?” Wayne repeated as he turned up the volume on his hearing aid. “That’s better,” he said.
“Hello Wayne, what part of America are you from?” asked Charles on hearing Wayne’s accent.
Wayne frowned and said, “I am not a yank, I’m Canadian.”
“Oh, my apologies,” said Charles.
“Allo Charles,” said the man to his right in a chirpy cockney accent, “I’m Elvin Stanley, but they call me, Chippers.”
“Charles Clark,” said Charles, and shook Elvin’s hand. He noticed that Elvin had several fingers missing and felt uneasy trying not to stare.
“Right,” said Steve, “now you’ve met the band.”
Wayne and Elvin looked puzzled as Steve announced, “After we’ve finished eating, we can go along to the recreation room and see what you can do on your old piano.”
Charles tried to imagine what instruments their band could play, with one as deaf as a dildo and another whose hands looked like a lobster’s pincers. Elvin and Wayne looked nervously at each other as Steve pointed out several other residents and relayed some of their weird foibles. Andrex Ethel, who walked around with toilet paper sticking out of her knickers and boring Bill, who people avoided, as all he ever talked about was pigeons.
Charles felt eager to see his piano, so after they had finished eating, the four went to the recreation room and over to his Steinway. He sat on his piano stool, lifted the lid, looked at the ivory keyboard, and stroked the keys. The other three stood around the piano.
“So, what kind of music do you play?” asked Steve.
Charles smiled at the three and played Sergei Taneyev concerto in E flat.
Several other residents made their way over to the recreation room, which was usually noisy as they chatted, played games, or watched TV. There was silence as they listened to soothing music as Charles became engrossed in the concerto.
Word quickly spread and a dozen residents came in.
Charles finished fifteen minutes later. He stared at the keys, reminiscing about how the tune was one of his and Mary’s favourites. He languished in his thoughts while the recreation
