Fractured

By B T Coll

Elizabeth is in a nursing home and one day is visited by her estranged sister’s solicitor. He informs her of her sister’s passing and that she is the sole beneficiary in her sister’s will. On leaving he hands her a bundle of unposted letters, all addressed to her from her late sister which awakens long suppressed memories

Elizabeth’s two nephews are angry when they discover that their mother had left all of her money to her estranged sister, whom they had never known. After an argument they too become estranged and history repeats itself. Fast forward 20 years and they meet again, when they are residents in the same care home. Their reunion however does not go as expected and there is a twist at the end of this story, that only the reader discovers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B T Coll
• Release date: Jul 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311720795

Book preview

FRACTURED

B T Coll

Authors Note

Fractured: is a work of fiction. Names, character and incidents are entirely fictitious.

Copyright © B T Coll 2017

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

Chapter 1

Elizabeth Jane Grime sat in the old grey armchair nearest to the window, as she usually did every morning. She loved to spend her days watching the world rush by as if there were no tomorrow. She had sat in that very armchair every day after breakfast for the past fifteen years and everyone in the home knew that it was her chair and did not dare take it from her. Even when they redecorated the nursing home last year and wanted to get rid of her old and tattered armchair, she had kicked up a fuss. So much of a fuss in fact, that the manager had no option but to relent but insisted on placing a rose-coloured throw over the chair, in keeping with the colour scheme of the room.

She had been a resident of Hillview Nursing Home in the town of Dalton in Yorkshire for more than 15 years and was the longest resident in the home, much to her horror when she had suddenly realised that fact, that very morning. She had seen so many residents come and go over the years, that she sometimes felt that death had somehow forgotten her. One day it would come for her but she hoped that it would not be for some time. She wasn’t prepared but then again, who was ever prepared for such an eventuality. Everyone seemed to assume that the residents of a nursing home would be counting the days until their death but that was not so. They were full of life and vitality and always looked forward to the next day. Living, she thought, was often wasted on the young, who never thought of their own mortality. She laughed to herself. Wasn’t she just the same when she was young? The young never think of death, it is only the old who think and often talk of death. That is a fact. Another usual assumption was that old people do not fear death and to some extent she found that to be true but not in all cases, not in her case.

She wanted to keep death away for as long as she could and at 89 years of age, had done pretty well up to now of accomplishing this. Her health though not great, was not too bad either for her age. The only thing that annoyed her immensely was her lack of mobility. Her legs had given up on her months ago and now she hobbled about with the aid of a walking stick.

Only that very morning, she had stumbled and fell against the wall in the hallway, on her way to breakfast. She had somehow composed herself very quickly and looking around, was grateful to discover that no-one had noticed. If any of the staff at the home had seen her or noticed how unsteady on her feet she was, then they may suggest the use of a wheelchair and she would never agree to that. The walking stick, that she so lovingly called Nigel, after her long dead cat, was of no great use to her nowadays because of her useless hands.

Her grip could only be called feeble at best and each day brought a new struggle for her to keep herself out of the dreaded wheelchair. She knew if she got into the wheelchair then she would never get out of it. This had happened to so many of the residents and she most definitely did not want that to happen to her. She would fight against this with every breath that was left in her old and weak body.

Somehow, she didn’t fully realise how old she was or how unkind the years had been to her complexion, until she glanced in the mirror one morning to comb her long grey hair that had now reached her waist. She didn’t recognize herself and wondered why the ageing process could be so cruel. Her once olive skin was now wrinkled and sallow. Cataracts now diminished her hazel eyes, which were once her best feature, and her luscious full lips had now been drawn into a fine line across her mouth. She sighed and realised that she was indeed old, very very old.

When she had brushed her hair that morning, she realised that it too had lost not only its colour but it also its luster. It was hard and brittle and was now beginning to come out by the handful. It had been suggested many times that her hair should be cut short but she always dismissed this suggestion as her hair was her crowning glory and she would never allow it to be cut short.

She always brushed her hair ten times in the morning, on rising from bed and ten times at night before going to bed. This was her daily routine and had been since she was a young girl as far back as she could remember. Each morning she would twist it and put it into a bun on top of her head and fasten it with hairgrips. Each morning there would be less hair for her to twist