Hallowe'en 2005

Is it wrong to take a child dressed as the Grim Reaper into an old folks home? I was about to find out. My son Mark – who’s 8 going on 9 going on 40 something is dressed as the GR, Ellie is dressed as a cat. We drive up to the home. I look at Mark who hates going into the home and he’s doing his steeling himself routine. I’ve seen him do it a few times before. He stops, you can see him thinking, talking to himself in his head, then he braces himself, grows about an inch taller and lunges forward to meet whatever it is he’s having to face. I first saw him do this – or maybe not first but the time I first acknowledged that was what was going on – when he was getting taken away by an air stewardess to go on his first airplane journey on his own. He was going to Southampton to see his Dad. He steeled himself and went. He looked back and waved. I went to Costa coffee and cried into my Earl Grey. I had to wait until he plane was off the ground before I could leave, proud, scared, angry and lonely, but my boy just stood a little taller and breinged on.

When I see him steeling himself I decide not to go in. I don’t want to keep putting him through it. Maybe it is good for him to see how life can be, maybe it will make him more rounded to know how difficult life can be for older people, maybe but I don’t care just then. I don’t want him to have to see the sights in that place or smell the smells or feel the fear or have that desolate despairing cloud touch him. And I see him lighten as I say we’ll give it a miss because Ellie’s looking tired. He looks in my eyes and he knows I’m lying and I see him soften and fill with tenderness because I’ve understood.

It was as well really. I go back later after dropping Mark at his Dad’s. We don’t stay long Ellie and I. The place is all set up for the party that evening but out of the corner of my eye I see Bruce pissing on the table, all set up with sausage rolls, pizza, cakes, big pitchers of diluting juice and the usual party stuff. Spraying liberally over the spread, really quite an impressive hosing dousing action he’s got going. An orderly zips him up and wipes the piss off the table a bit. I mention it on the way out to an unsurprised looking sister who doesn't seem in an huge hurry to do anything about it. But over my shoulder the staff are talking to each other and putting the food from their own plates back on the tables. Bruce's smiling. Bruce's coaxing the old ladies to have some food and wee drink. Bruce's not as daft as I thought. But Bruce's not very nice, but then how nice would anyone of us be trapped in there if we had any of our marbles remaining. I'd piss on the food too.