The Devil likes to be serenaded

August 19th 2016

William Birtles lifted his chin and pulled at the tight collar of his white shirt hoping a breath of cool air would settle around his sweating neck. The summer afternoon denied him this luxury but there was a modicum of comfort in allowing his skin to breathe even if it was only for a few seconds. The sour din of a monophonic rendition of the Blue Danube from a passing ice cream van lacerated the stifling atmosphere and, even though it was coarse to his ears, he did wish he could join the eventual queue for a cornet, the sorry racket would inevitably create. His suit and tie, however, was a reminder he was working, and the words ‘Sycamore Sheltered Accommodation’ in peeling blue and gold lettering above the entrance told him he was in the right place to visit his client. When Silas Middleton first resided here, the delightful receptionist who was always pleased to see you ‘buzzed’ him in, but eight years on, and due to cut backs, not only had the receptionist gone but also the ‘buzz’ of the unlocking door. Instead, the latch of the door simply clicked and William pulled the handle towards him allowing entry to the even warmer and muskier ambience of the foyer.

A female care worker dressed in a navy blue uniform discreetly covering her wide frame stood at the side of the reception desk. It suggested it was her who had been polite enough to let him into the building. Her flushed cheeks and heavy breathing indicated not only was she not fit enough to walk the building’s long corridors all day but also the hot weather was causing her discomfort.

Eventually, she composed herself. “Can I help you?”

William politely smiled. “Silas Middleton.”

“Yes, he did mention you. Can you sign in?”

William walked to the reception desk and, after wetting the tip of the ballpoint pen on his tongue, scribbled an illegible entry in the visitor’s book. “Is this a new thing?”

“A couple of residents have complained of items going missing.”

William did not reply as the care worker had already turned and was walking away. He followed, finding it tricky to keep to a pace slow enough so he wouldn’t overtake her. Eventually, they walked through the lounge, a large open plan room filled with high backed chairs where, in the August heatwave, several residents had chosen to socially bake themselves either in front of the television or playing whist. 

As soon as they exited into a long, poorly lit but cooler corridor, William said, “Air conditioning not working?”

“Thursday, apparently,” was the snorted reply. “They said that last week as well.”

The rest of the walk was conducted in silence with only the sound of the care worker’s trudge and the heel-toe of William’s uniform stride on the thin, fading carpet vibrating down the narrow expanse. 

“One hundred and thirty eight,” said the care worker, and rapped her knuckles on the door. Within a couple of seconds she had turned the handle, letting her voice boom before she was even over the threshold. “A visitor for you, Mr. Middleton. I hope you’re decent.”

The accommodation was a small one-bedroomed flat with a bathroom only large enough to turn around in, a snug kitchen and a lounge area that doubled up as a bedroom. It was plain in its decoration, the furniture looked cheap and the sideboard meant for trinkets and heirlooms to remind the occupant of happy memories, was dismal in its emptiness. Silas was sat up in the bed, his eyes fixed on the television until the care worker paused the programme.

Silas’s breath was short. “I was watching that.”

“You still can Mr. Middleton.” She fluffed one of his pillows. “I’ve only paused it while your visitor’s here.”

“But what about Betty next door? What if she’s watching it?”

The care worker giggled. “It doesn’t work that way, she’ll be fine.”

Silas nodded but it was obvious he did not understand.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” The care worker gave William a quick glance up and down before leaving. 

William waited until she lumbered away before pulling up a chair to Silas’s bed. He looked at the man in front of him. His face was grey, tired with a complexion that suggested a poor diet or a bad habit. His bald head was blotched with liver spots and over his nose and mouth sat an oxygen mask which failed to conceal the wheeziness in his lungs. 

“Is Betty your friend?” asked William.

Silas pushed the mask to the top of his head, “Sort of.” He coughed into the back of his shaking hand. “One doesn’t tend to make friends for very long in a place like this. It’ll be me next.”

“That’s grim for a nice day such as this, Mr. Middleton.”

“It’s too bloody warm if you ask me, and the air conditioning is always broken.”

“Thursday they’re coming, I believe.”

“You have more faith than me.”

William placed his leather briefcase on his lap and pressed the brass release. The selection of papers he took from the lined interior were few in number but he shuffled them straight before handing them over. “As promised.”

Silas took a moment to catch his breath. “And you’ve not spoken to anyone?”

“You know I haven’t and never will.”

Silas winced at the many lines of print. “I don’t have to read all of that, do I?”

“It’s just the legal jargon. I’ve written it up as you requested. At the time of your death, the Middleton estate and everything in it is bequeathed to Beverley Middleton. It just needs your signature.”

“Wherever she may be.” Silas coughed heavily. William refilled the glass of water next to the bed and gave it Silas. He watched him hold the glass in shaking hands and sip at it but concluded more liquid had ended up on the bedsheets that in Silas’s mouth. 

William took the glass from his client and put it back on the bedside table. “I can’t understand why you won’t let me search for her now, why wait until you die? Don’t you want to meet her?”

Silas’s face expressed happiness. “It would fill my heart with joy.” But the lines around his eyes and forehead quickly fell forlornly. “But it would break my heart if I had to explain why she was given away.” Silas continued to cough and struggle to find his breath. William moved the oxygen mask over the man’s mouth and waited for the breathing and movement of the chest to regulate. 

“This is the curse of the Middleton family.” Silas moved the mask away from his face. “I just hope she’s found happiness in her life and this burden dies with me.”

“It may take some time to track her down.”

Silas’s thin fingers clawed at William’s arm. “You’ll find her though? You must find Beverley.”

“I doubt that’ll be her actual name. The adoption records you’ve given me don’t appear to be very…” William chose his next word with care, “…official.”

Silas fell back against his pillow as if pulling on William’s arm had taken all of his energy. “You have to; it needs to be kept in the family.”

William picked up Silas’s hand and placed a pen between his thumb and fingers. Putting the legal document in front of the weak old man, he watched the trembling fingers sign along the dotted line and drop the pen onto the bed. Before the ink was dry, William had countersigned the documents, placed them back into his briefcase and locked the brass latch. 

Silas took another couple of breaths from the oxygen mask. “You will help her?”

“Of course.” William stood up and patted Silas’s leg. “And if she’s musical?”

Silas closes his eyes and sighed. “The devil likes to be serenaded.”