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last love a romance in a care home

by Sophie Elmhurst What was the song? Mary couldn't quite remember. It was one of Mr Pepper's classics, certainly. A ballad?

Possibly you are my sunshine.

What did it matter?

The point was the voice. Not Mr Peppers. She knew what he sounded like well enough

being one of Easterly Rest Homes regular afternoon entertainers.

No, this voice was new and belonged to a man who had sat down in the chair next to her and started to sing along. She was so stunned by the way his voice seemed to pour out of him

by its fierce clarity and defiance of age that she turned to stare.

The man winked at her, cheeky bugger, thought Mary.

It's not entirely clear when this was, two years ago, maybe three.

Timings, the Order of things, time in general can be confusing, but there are some things

we know for sure. Mary is Mary Turrell nearly 80 years old.

She had been living at Easterly Rest Home in Denmede near Portsmouth for a little while,

a year or two perhaps, when the man with the voice arrived and his name was Derek Brown.

It's funny what sticks in the memory, the crystalline moments, mostly from childhood, like building a telescope with her older brother Ian one summer,

or hiding in a bombed-out crater in the woods,

or having hooping cough, and the feeling of the crusty saw that developed on her upper lip.

Her mother told her not to pick it, but it was so tempting.

Age five at primary school in Norbury, South London, Mary started winning races against the boys.

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