There Should Be More Dancing by Rosalie Ham

steriliser and said, ‘One more fall could finish you off.’ Little did he know in a matter of six short weeks I’d be sitting here on the forty-second floor very much looking forward to my final fall.
    Tuesday came around and, of course, so did Anita. While she was there I worked on my second cross-stitch. I’d done Cursed be he and was startingon removeth. I must say, that one worked out well, because I edged it with roses, something I don’t often do because flowers are not always successful in the cross-stitch.
    I wish I’d brought my cross-stitch now that I’m here. I’ve made a cuppa because you get free tea bags in these hotel rooms, but it’s dreadful. Tastes like water wrung from wet cardboard, and these biscuits are tough, tasteless. The milk, or whatever it is, comes inthose little pods Anita used to have in her basket.
    Actually, Anita asked a lot of questions that Tuesday. She’d already mentioned a flatmate, so she must have been scheming right from the start. I was watching the builders put together the new house frame next door when I saw her pull up in her loutish car. I know it’s a lout’s car because Tyson and his mates love to stand around it, gawping, and she opened the hood to let them look at the engine one day. They like to look at Tony’s car as well, but the second they even look like they might go near it he rushes out and hunts them away.
    Anyrate, she bowled straight into my house, calling, ‘Knock knock, how are ya, Margery?’ and I was ready for her. ‘I’m very well, thank you. You can call me Mrs Blandon.’
    She attempted a joke then: ‘You can call me Anita.’
    â€˜Let yourself in, did you?’
    â€˜Sometimes you’ve got no choice with this job,’ she said.
    She was obviously referring to the fact that I was stuck in the bath the first time she came, so I ignored her. ‘Don’t presume to let yourself in ever again. My hearing is very good. I would have heard you knocking.’
    â€˜Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Before I get stuck into the housework I’ll do your dressing for you.’
    I said, ‘You’re not allowed to.’
    â€˜People are always saying that to me,’ she said and just settled herself in front of me, on the floor of all places, didn’t even suggest we go to the bathroom. She unwrapped a plastic dressing pack, so I pointed out that she wasn’t a trained nurse.
    â€˜No,’ she said, ‘but I’m a big fan of General Hospital .’
    It’s a show on the telly. I don’t watch it.
    Then she peeled the plastic off, washed the wound, dabbed it with some sort of ointment and covered it with another piece ofplastic. She’s got a light touch for someone so hard-looking, and she mentioned that if the wound ulcerated ‘we’d really be in trouble’.
    She put my washing on, swept, dusted and put clean sheets on my bed, all the while asking the usual questions: had I taken my tablets?
    â€˜I take them every other morning; why would I not take them today?’
    â€˜Do you have any problems getting in and out of bed?’
    â€˜I’m up, aren’t I?’
    â€˜Trouble getting on and off the toilet or the commode?’
    â€˜Certainly not.’
    â€˜Would you like meals delivered three times a week?’
    â€˜Would you?’
    â€˜Certainly not,’ she said. ‘It’d be like eating fishing net.’ Then she made a pot of tea and I was very surprised because she made it properly – found everything herself, warmed the pot and popped the cosy on it and left it to draw. Then she put her nose to the milk carton and promptly poured it down the sink.
    â€˜That was Cheryl’s milk,’ I said.
    â€˜I’ll mention it next time I see her,’ brisk little thing that she is, digging into her basket and bringing out a little pod of long-life milk. She asked if I needed any