‘She passed away in October,’ he said. ‘Who is this?’
I didn’t want to lie but I couldn’t tell him the bald truth.
‘My name’s Palmer, Sal Palmer. My great-aunt has gone into Kingsfield – she was at Aspen Lodge for a while. My grandmother is beside herself with worry. I thought it might help if I talked to relatives of other patients – then I could tell Grandma what people thought of the care there. She’s talking about going private, you see, but we really can’t afford it.’
He didn’t ask how I’d got his number or anything. ‘Well, we’d no problem with the setup there. They did all they could, lovely staff. But…I don’t know…what happened to Winnie, it’s not going to be that reassuring for your grandmother, is it? She had Alzheimer’s, you see, and there’s no treatment yet. Mr Simcock, he’s the neurosurgeon at the Infirmary, he was very good as well. She went there for a scan, you know; they can see exactly what’s going on. But there was nothing they could do for her really. It’s a terrible thing.’
‘I am sorry. Had she been at Aspen Lodge for a long time?’
‘Three years. I couldn’t manage her at home. I’ve angina myself and she was wandering a lot. She settled in all right. It was a lovely home – well, you’ll know yourself. Then she started getting very agitated, last summer. She became very confused, she wouldn’t eat. She didn’t know who I was any more, couldn’t remember her own name from one minute to the next. Dr Goulden thought she’d be better off at the Marion Unit. Like I said, they really did their best for her. She was in there just two months before she died.’
I thanked him for talking to me.
There were some similarities in the path that both Winifred Saltzer and Lily Palmer had taken, although from the sound of it Winifred had been ill for several years before going to Kingsfield – nothing like the sudden deterioration that Lily had undergone.
Mr Saltzer’s willingness to help prompted me to try contacting relatives of some of the other patients. I thumbed the phone book and started by calling the names listed as living in South Manchester. I spent an intensive hour on the phone. My luck held. It was one of those days when everyone was in and happy to talk. I was flying. Some days I get nothing but answerphones or people being cagey, obstructive, stroppy.
I’ve always wondered what determines the pattern – me or them.
I crowed as I put down the phone after the last call. Did a little dance round the office. I’d found everyone bar Ernest Theakston.
The information I’d assembled didn’t tell me anything earth-shattering but there were some interesting facts.