Sunny Ridge Gloves Off
Some quirk of the timings and the fact that Jack Simmons lives in a different wing at Sunny Ridge means we rarely saw each other at meals. This suits me fine as I think that Jack Simmons is as big a dickhead as I have ever met. I have also thought him to be a total flog and an egotistical smart-arse.
The reason why I think Jack Simmons is a total knob is the same reason he thinks I am. We just disagree on everything worth having an opinion about. Not only that but we like to share our opinions with everyone in the retirement village who can still hear. It is safe to say that with Jack and I, everyone is entitled to our opinions. Of course I realise that this is bad behavior and although we use the excuse of old age, it is really just ego, pure and simple. Anyway, the point was, that as long he kept to his wing and stayed out of my B wing, it was a tolerable situation, you know what I mean? Testosterone might drop with age but believe me there are still plenty of hormones in the air at Sunny Ridge.
Life is alright at Sunny Ridge, but it is not your over 60s retirement paradise, as I recall the overdone advertising copy spruiking before I signed up. Not that I had much choice. They could have called the joint a seniors’ hellhole and I would have still found myself inside. My wife Leanne was completely sold on the idea of Sunny Ridge and through forty plus years of marriage I knew that once Leanne had decided something it was just easier to go with it. What do you do? You love them and anyway you’re part of a team. You’re in it together for the long haul, but two years ago, not even a year after we moved in, a stroke dropped her. That was a hard time. Leanne and I were childless and it was then that I appreciated Sunny Ridge or at least most of the residents and staff. Just not Jack Simmons. Even then we were beginning a rivalry. It was hate at first sight. I guess that without Leanne and with Jack also a widower, things escalated. In my working life I always thought it best to not allow your competition to get too cocky.
Last Thursday was a hot day, but by midmorning a cool sea breeze rustled the palms that ran in rows either side of the driveway that runs down from the main building. There was shade enough at one of the deck chairs in the corner of the central courtyard beside B wing and with the steady breeze it was a pleasant location for a read and a coffee. At midday I slowly got out of the chair, feeling the click and the reluctance in my right knee and walked to the dining room. It was lunch time and from all around the village, be they self-mobile or nurse assisted, residents were making their way to the tables. You could look after yourself in the village, but when Leanne died I opted to pay for a prepared lunch every day. Being Thursday, lunch would be a roast and it was a good bet that this week it would be roast beef. Beef was overdue and the roasts were usually bloody tasty and the serves generous. I was looking forward to an earlier than usual lunch.
Coming from the bright day outside into the dark dining room, it took a while for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I found I was staring right at Jack Simmons. He was sitting at my favourite table. I knew it was his as well. Jack had not seen me coming, as he was talking, or should I say pontificating, to a man across from him, so when I sat down right beside him he looked surprised.
“Jack,’ I said in measured tone.
“Good afternoon,” I said to the man across from him.
Jack stopped talking and his face showed his dislike of me for a second before switching back to his usual bullshitting grin.
“Why Eddie, I thought you had died and yet here you still are. Have you met Brian Jenson? He’s only been here a week.”
I gingerly held out my hand. Brian was a big unit and his meaty hand would envelop mine. I was waiting for my arthritis to get a big squeeze along but the shake was gentle.
“Pleased to meet you Brian, how did you end up having to sit with this reprobate?”
I did say it with a smile. Brian played along. “The head nurse said I should look out for him but I think I took it the wrong way.”
“Yeah, have to agree there,” I replied laughing. In slow motion, Jack pushed out a smile. It emerged with difficulty like a constipated shit.
Meals were delivered and it was roast beef served with baked potatoes, peas and carrots. The gravy was a little thin but the rest of it was excellent. Before I could say so Jack took the words right out of my mouth. Bloody typical.
“Thursday is the best day for meals, Brian. They always do a roast and they’re not tight with the serves. And they mix it up too. Had a feeling beef was coming up today. Geez, it’s not bad either.”
We spent the next little while dining in what could be called companionable silence. Then someone on staff decided to play Abba’s greatest hits over the PA system and after a few songs Jack couldn’t resist commenting.
“I could live to one hundred and I will still never understand why everyone fussed, still fusses over Abba.”
Jack wanted an argument but instead I said, “God forbid we have to put up with you that long Jack, but I have to say, for once I agree with you.”
I turned to Brian and with a wink said,
“What about you Brian? You got any secret Abba yearnings you want to share. Do it now, confess your sins to Father Eddie.”
“No Eddie. I never got the whole thing either. Mind you, I am a little younger than you two so maybe I only got the residue, not the first big wave. It was more the girls wasn’t it, that liked the music. I think the blokes liked looking at, what were their names? Frida and Anita, Anna, something like that. But no, all my mates we wanted something a lot heavier. In fact, let me tell you something that happened to me. Maybe ten, twelve years ago, we were with friends and they had brought some other friends so there were about five couples all together. All good people, we had a lovely meal over at a mate’s house. Barbecue, seafood, salad, it was Australia Day, you know. Anyway, it was getting toward late afternoon and we were starting to make all the usual noises who was going to drive home, time to call Ubers etc. Of course we had been listening to an Australian rock playlist but not the hottest 100. It was stuff from our era. You know Chisel, Sunnyboys.”
“The Oils,” Jack couldn’t help interjecting.
“Hoodoo Gurus,” I said.
“Yeah, AC/DC etcetera,” Brian continued. He looked a little irritated at the interjections. “The ladies were rolling their eyes, like they always did. Saying stuff like, “When are we going to hear some good music?” You know some Bee Gees or Prince, disco and stuff. Anyway us blokes were trying to ignore them as long as possible, knowing that eventually we would have to give in. All in fun and then, my wife, God rest her soul yelled out,
“Yeah. Come on, it’s our turn. What do you reckon girls, how about some ABBA?’
And all the blokes half-jokingly groaned and the girls cheered. All except one. She was the wife of a friend of a friend; Emily I think her name was. Same age as all of us, not younger or older and to this day I still can’t believe what she said. After the girls stopped cheering, she just said very matter of fact,
“Oh Christ, no! Do we have to? I fucking hate Abba.’
Brian looked at both of us in turn.
“Jesus boys, you could have heard a pin drop. Then all the men started cheering. The other girls were stunned, some including my wife, had really pissed off looks on their faces.” Brian started snickering. I started laughing too. Then Jack said,
Bullshit!
Brian stopped laughing and looked surprised. He even looked hurt.
“No. Absolutely true, that is what she said.”
“Bullshit mate. Come on, no woman ever born in the 20th century hates ABBA, not one. You’re making it up.” Jack’s tone was angry and aggressive.
I too have never met a woman who didn’t like ABBA and I was about to say so. But to agree with him twice in one day was unthinkable so I kept my mouth shut to see how things played out. You might be thinking this sounds like a lot of carry on over someone’s conversation from years ago, but I had worked out that with Jack, things just had to be right or at least how he saw right. And he never ever backed down.
Brian’s face turned bright red but when he spoke his voice was low and measured, only ruined by a slight tremor caused by some breathlessness, perhaps a labouring pacemaker.
“You calling me a liar, Jack?”
There was fury in his tone and Jack hesitated for a second but in the end his ego was too great.
“Not trying to be rude Brian, but yep I reckon that’s bullshit. I know you want to make a good impression in front of Eddie and me being new, though Christ knows why you would want to impress Eddie, but you know that’s just completely unbelievable and …
Brian moved quickly for an old and big man. He was out of his chair so fast I still can’t believe it. He dived over the table, arms outstretched, his old man hairless ankles and lower shins hanging over the table. Crockery went flying, gravy sprayed across the table. He grabbed Jack’s shirt front and while sprawled on the table he shook Jack like an orca shakes a seal. Once, twice, three times he shook him and then dropped him back in his chair. Without a word, Brian pushed himself back into his chair, retrieved his napkin and wiped the gravy and mashed potato from his shirt.
I looked around the room. A few diners were staring at our table. Most of them had missed the whole thing. They just kept eating, though a few were still sleeping despite the noise. I turned to Jack. He was sitting motionless in his chair, his shirt all crunched up, his hair messy. His lips were moving but no words were coming out. I think he was in shock.
“I’m sorry about that.” Brian said to Jack. “I do lose my temper sometimes, especially if insulted or criticized unfairly. Still, very poor behaviour during a meal, I really do apologise.
Then to the room he proclaimed, “Don’t worry everyone, Jack’s ok. He just had a bit of lunch go down the wrong way. All good now. Sorry everyone.”
The starers had lost interest and no staff member had seen the ruckus anyway.
I said, “Never doubted what you said for a second Brian,” before starting to laugh. I turned to Jack.
“Jack, your face! I’m sorry I should have mentioned Brian is an old friend of mine but I just haven’t had the chance.” I stopped smiling. “You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with what you did at Christmas did you!”
I was referring to some extra activities Jack had organised at lunch that day. A whoopee cushion had been involved and then there was the sugar in the saltshaker which had ruined my Christmas lunch. Minor league stuff I know but these things can just get a life of their own. And the best way to stop the rot is always a response out of all proportion.
Jack, who now had colour back in his face, spluttered some words together.
“That was assault, that was. I’m reporting both of you to man, man, management and then I’m calling the cops.”
“Oh come on Jack, can’t you take a joke. Besides, what I saw was you starting to choke on a bit of fatty gristle and Brian quickly acting to save your life. Isn’t that right Brian?”
Brian just nodded.
I leant over the table.
“Those stunts at Christmas Jack. Nobody takes the piss out of Eddie Farnworth. And definitely not a dickhead like you.” I poked him hard in the chest.
I turned to Brian.
“Thanks Brian, See you later for a sundowner on the terrace. Join us if you wish Jack, it will be your shout though. Think I will go and have a nap, a perfect conclusion to a delightful lunch.”
I left them to it. Heading back to B wing I passed the attractive widow Maggie Clampett. I caught her eye and she smiled and her friend Ruby De Martini reached out her hand and grabbed my arm.
“Eddie, I saw everything. Is Jack all right? Thank God that new fellow, is he a friend of yours? Thank God, he acted so quickly. Jack could have died.”
“Jack’s fine Ruby, he just needed a bit of shaking. Why don’t you and Maggie meet Brian, that’s the new fellow’s name, this afternoon? Join us on the terrace at 5.00 for a pre-dinner drink.”
Sunny Ridge did have some good points.
Photo by Vlad Sargu on Unsplash
