On and on they talk, some of them. Sometimes they don’t make much sense, the stories they tell. Sometimes they talk about things that happened way back when they were young. When they were children even. But they seem so happy to have someone to tell their stories to.

There is one old man, Mr July. He always calls me ‘Charlotte’. But I smile and answer him and don’t tell him my name is Leah. He is a dear old man, a real gentleman. Charlotte is the name of his sister – who has been late these past seven years.

It was Sister Thembeka who told me that.

Sister Thembeka is the most amazing woman, even if she looks a fright with her hair always sticking out wildly in all directions – like an explosion! So that her nurse’s cap vanishes somewhere inside the chaos. She also has the fiercest eyes and the sharpest tongue: if you don’t make the beds properly, you’d better watch out.

But when it comes to the old people, she is gentle and kind and patient.

When I am off duty over the weekend, Mr July gets upset, or so Sister Thembeka tells me. He keeps calling, “Charlotte? Charlotte? Why have you left me?” And she has to make up all sorts of stories to calm him down.

So anyway, this morning Sister Thembeka told me to push Mrs Harding around the garden in her wheelchair. I’m chatting away. There’s no point listening. Mrs Harding has never spoken a word in all my weeks at Oak Ridge.

“Isn’t the sunshine lovely, Mrs Harding? After five days of rain? And look at the roses here. So many colours! Shall I push you closer so you can smell them?”

Just then my phone goes off. There’s an SMS. I’m not really supposed to have my phone on during working hours. But we’re out in the garden, behind some huge trees, far from Matron Mannathoko and Sister Thembeka, with her fierce eyes.

So I read my text. It’s from Bontie, written in our usual insane secret SMS spelling that only she and I can decipher. So I’d better translate:

Whazup chick! Double date for Friday. I scored

two mega-cute sporty studs. Bet you’re as excited

as me! So don’t tell me life isn’t all about the guys!

Say ‘Thank you, Bontie’.

I smile, shake my head at my crazy friend. Then I SMS back as ordered:

Thanks babe!

I swear it is only a few seconds that I’m busy on my phone. But a few seconds is all it takes.

Suddenly, silent Mrs Harding isn’t silent any longer. She is screaming, rocking from side to side, so that I’m worried she’ll overturn her wheelchair.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I am worried, really worried.

“Spiders!” she screams. Her eyes are wide with terror.

Frantically I check everywhere: her hands, her skirt, her blouse. But I don’t see any spiders.

“No,” I tell her. “There are no spiders.”

She stares at me as if I am the one hallucinating, and then goes back to screaming. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her. And I can see how badly she needs help.

Will this be the end of my job here? I am surprised at how sad that makes me feel.

***

Tell us: Dating, or choosing a job you like? Which is more important for you right now?