THE ASTROMATES... Chapter 11...Part 3.

A continuation of my book.

Now, I don’t know what made me say that. After all, I had forsaken my sexual needs if you recall and I’m not one for shopping. I live off beans on toast and ‘Take-Aways’, when I can afford them. As a member of the dominating tribe, I’ve always felt it somehow beneath me to go traipsing around a store with a trolley, a basket on wheels which seems to have a determined mind of its own. But, having put myself into this selfless position, I found myself pushing the trolley with grim determination as we hurried from shelf to shelf. I was definitely on a learning curve. I learned about crepe bandages and arthritic creams, incontinent pads and hair-nets, cream soups and purees, foods which slide easily down the throat. From chemist to food-store, from shoe-shop to opticians, we visited the lot… Very, very exhausting work, I can assure you. Rachael seemed tireless in her effort to complete her list of essentials. I must admit I was amazed at the strength in her wiry body. I began to wonder if it would hold my weight… Forget it, the good side of my brain instructed and I complied. At last, the shopping spree was over, the plastic bags all tagged and named for each of the old ladies. I carried most of the shopping round to Rachael’s car and helped load it all into the boot.
"I really enjoyed your company, Richard. Will I be seeing you again?"
I must be honest with you, I did not fancy Rachael that much, I liked a bit more meat on the bone. But she did seem sincere and I just wondered how far I could get with her. I just couldn’t help myself, I was riddled with lust! If there was the slightest chance of a shag, the merest hint… Well, I could not let even the smallest of chances slip by.
"Are you going to see one of your old ladies now?" I asked.
"Old Mummy Shaftoe is first on my list so I might as well make an early start. Why do you ask?"
"Why not let me come with you? You can say I’m your new helper." I pleaded.
Rachael had her car door open and was about to climb in. She stopped, looking at me with thoughtful brown eyes, considering my proposal as she bit on a thumbnail.
Finally… "Get in then, Richard. You’ve got to promise me you’ll behave. These old ladies frighten easily, they’re not comfortable with strangers."
I promised faithfully. Rachael climbed into the driver’s seat, reaching over to unlock the passenger door.

Old Mummy Shaftoe was a skeleton, topped with cotton-wool hair, who wheezed in delight as Rachael breezed in with me in tow. Rachael had keys to all her old ladies’ homes. She explained it saved the ‘Old Dears’ a half-hour shuffle with Zimmer-frames to open up. Old Mummy Shaftoe’s eyes twinkled in a face wrinkled like an old prune as she sat in her armchair, appraising me with something between a cackle and a dry cough.
"Your boyfriend, Rachael?" she cackled and coughed in gummy laugh.
Rachael laughed with her but did not explain my presence. She knew it was no good telling a lie, Old Mummy Shaftoe was one shrewd ‘Mamma’! Rachael itemised the shopping in the bag, calling out the prices as she did so. The old lady nodded her skeletal head at each call, her eyes showing she had lost none of her mathematical powers.
"Are you looking after my girl?" asked the old girl, giving me a lewd look as she cackle-coughed.
"Yes." I said simply.
"I bet you are!" came the wheezy retort.
"Mummy Shaftoe! Leave the young man alone and behave yourself!" exclaimed Rachael as she came in from the kitchen, a bowl of warm water in her hands.
She continued to child the old lady, like a mother with a young child, while, all the time, Old Mummy Shaftoe complained about the water being too hot. I watched as Rachael dealt with her charge, swift sure hands rubbing in ointments and creams into stick-like arms and arthritic hands. The old lady was a child with the sharpest of minds. I only knew I could not do Rachael’s job for all the money in the world, looking after elderly charges who sat each day waiting for God. I could only marvel at Rachael’s dedication.
"Let’s be getting you into bed, Old Mummy Shaftoe." said Rachael, having finished combing the cotton-wool hair.
She started to lift the thin bundle.
"Let the young man help." cackled the old girl resolutely, holding herself stiff in the chair.
Rachael gave her a stern look but the sharp olive eyes glared back in defiance.
"It’s been a long time since I was held in the arms of a young man." she wheezed.
Rachael looked at me, helpless. I nodded, I didn’t mind.
"You’re a wicked old lady, that’s what you are!" exclaimed Rachael, then, turning to me, said… "Get her gently under the arms, Richard. I’ll take her legs… That’s it, easy does it."
Old Mummy Shaftoe was a bundle of feathers, light as a whisker as we carried her into the bedroom, me at the head, a bone-creaking middle, with Rachael bringing up the rear. I made train noises as we moved slowly along… "Choo, choo, choo… Choooeee!" Suddenly; horror of horrors! I don’t know how it happened. One minute I had hold of the old lady, the next, she was gone. I had dropped my end! Rachael screamed. I screamed. Old Mummy Shaftoe just blew out little streams of bubbles from her mouth before going stiff. Rachael was on her knees, feeling for a pulse.
"Quick, Richard! The phone’s in the front room. Dial for an ambulance!"
I dialled, frantic, being told by the operator to calm down, be coherent. I returned to the bedroom. Rachael was on her knees, beginning to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She stopped, just long enough to order me out of the house.
"You shouldn’t be here when they arrive." she hissed. "I shouldn’t have let you come here in the first place!"
The look in her eyes told me she was riddled with guilt, committing the cardinal sin of allowing herself to be swayed away from her duty. She had given room for others to point an accusingly critical finger at her.
The wailing sound of the ambulance sounded as I rounded the corner.

"That was pure bad luck." said Alex when I relayed the story back to him. I agreed, feeling quite guilty that I hadn’t waited to find out how Old Mummy Shaftoe had got on, whether she had survived or not. It’s a funny thing, is guilt. Just when you think it’s away with the wind when it blows right back into your face like some deathly secret, you carry it around like Quasimodo’s’ hump!

Such were my feelings as I stepped into the formidable Social Security building. I hated those grey, faceless, people who invaded my privacy. I was not fit for work; in fact I hated it, so why were these entities determined to chase me into forced labour. If it wasn’t for the regular pittance they paid me, I would tell them what to do with their jobs! I joined the squabble of people who moaned and groaned about wasted time, seeing them called in, one by one, into a clinical office to be grilled by the Gestapo-trained tribunal. The relief of the successful malingerers was evident by the smiles as they withdrew, the gloom obvious for those who had secured hard labour. My name floated out through the open door and I approached with head held high. I would show no fear to the four serious-faced individuals seated at the bench before me, faces which paled into insignificance as I gazed nonchalantly towards the ceiling… I had been interrogated before and knew the drill.
"So, you have been claiming benefits, signing statements which signify you have not worked since your last appearance. Is that correct!"
My head jerked quickly down from ceiling to face the panel, my eyes seeking out the inquisitor’s voice. In shock, I stood rooted as I recognised the face, the long thin face of the office-dressed woman from the library, the same one I had proudly exaggerated my work and pay-rates to.
I decided I did not feel very well!