and we took turns to use the alcohol hand rub before we went in.
Safety first, although my poor ravaged skin had barely recovered from the previous dermatological onslaught.
Sammy was in the last bed nearest to the window, reading the Sunday Post.
He glared at us over the top of his spectacles as we approached; his demeanor was not friendly.
Raymond cleared his throat. “Hi there, Mr. Thom,” he said. “I’m Raymond, and this is Eleanor.”
I nodded at the old man. Raymond kept talking. “We, eh, we found you when you had your funny turn,
and I went with you in the ambulance to hospital. We wanted to come by today and say hello, see how you were doing...”
I leaned forward and extended my hand. Sammy stared at it. “Eh?” he said.
“Who did you say you were?” He looked quite perturbed, and not a little aggressive.
Raymond started to explain again, but Sammy held up his hand, palm facing forward, to silence him.
Given that he was wearing candy-striped pajamas and his white hair was as fluffy and spiky as a baby pigeon’s,
he nevertheless cut a surprisingly assertive figure. “Now hold on, wait a minute,” he said,
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