Throwback Thursday: ‘Stella Ryman and the Thief Named Edge’ by Mel Anastasiou

Even after three months of life in Fairmount Manor Care Home, Mrs Stella Ryman remained uncowed by authority. She was equipped with all the strength and expansiveness of thought that came with her forty-year career as an elementary school librarian, but she had added to these an almost pugnacious determination, acquired over her past few months as an unsung amateur sleuth within a strangling institutional setting. So here she was, standing guard outside the Chrysanthemum Corridor bathing facility at eleven in the morning, up to her ears in danger, all on account of Thelma Hu.  

So far, so good, though. She and Thelma had chosen their moment well. It was the Hour of the Talk Show. From Thelma’s room across the corridor a television hummed and applauded, and they had mounded up Thelma’s bedclothes so that she would seem to a curious eye to be watching it. It was also the Hour of the Mall Trip, when many residents were off site. And most of the rest were at Active Movement class in the Activities Hall.  

But it would not do to get cocky. Stella tried not to look sideways at the sign above the bathroom door handle. She had always been a reader, though, so she couldn’t help reading the top line now: This door must be locked at all times when not in use. Signed, Mrs Perdita Warren, Director of Fairmount Manor.

Mrs Warren. Stella called her the Warden, and for good reason. The Director had far too much control over Stella’s freedom and happiness. If the Warden found out …

From inside the bathroom door, Stella heard a thump.  

She read again the second line: Residents must not access bathing facilities unsupervised. Signed, Mrs Perdita Warren, Director of Fairmount Manor.

Water gushed inside the bathroom. Stella looked both ways along the corridor. The doors to the residents’ rooms stood open or shut, but there was no stir of activity that she could make out.  

She reached behind her and rapped with her knuckles on the bathroom door. “Thelma! Are you in the bath yet?”

The sound of running water stopped. There followed a quivering pause. Then, Thelma’s voice: “Whoever you are, go away!”

Stella sighed. “It’s not like you to be so forgetful. It’s just me.” Stella felt, as always, the error in grammar. But she could never bring herself say ‘It is I’. She’d bet the Scarlet Pimpernel could pull it off, though. “Remember, I’m guarding the door so you can take a bath. All by yourself. Unsupervised.”