It didn’t take long to find out.
‘Howdy! Meryl Maverick at your service, sir.’ The fortyish woman standing on his doorstep looked as though she’d been rifling through the New Life Christmas costume boxes. Wearing jeans that were more rip than denim, a paisley shirt and tan suede waistcoat covered in fringes that swayed distractingly as she talked, she tipped back a black felt hat and winked, only a couple of inches smaller than him in her high-heeled boots.
‘Let’s get this show on the road,’ she added, in a broad West Country accent.
They initially sat in the kitchen, so they could chat without Gramps interrupting.
‘So, how many carers do you have?’ Beckett asked once he’d made them both a drink and Meryl had removed her hat to reveal what was surely one of Dolly Parton’s retired wigs.
‘Currently, it’s me and Tiger. Had a little issue with our sub-team. Those two were health and safety mad! Always droning on about risk assessments and “following correct procedures”.’ She screwed up her face and used a sneery voice while mimicking the sub-team.
‘What a waste of blinking time that could and should be spent cheering up the poor biddies we’re here to help. Honestly! Health and safety. Boring and boringer, I call it. What happened to plain old common sense, I ask you? Didn’t have all this nonsense when my gran was around, and she lived to be seventy-seven! Imagine if some NHS boffin had insisted upon risk assessments back when the Wild West was being won. They’d still be stuck in the east, arguing about slips, trips and falls.’
Beckett managed a polite smile.
‘How do you cover holidays and time off sick, with only two of you? I’ll be out working, so it has to be reliable.’
‘Oh, that’s not a problem. My Barry’ll step in if we’re desperate.’
‘He’s trained in domiciliary care?’
‘Well, he helped out with Gran often enough, and I’ve already told you how long she hung on in there for.’ She did a laugh-snort that sounded so like a horse Beckett almost choked on his coffee.
‘So, he isn’t trained?’
‘To be honest, I wouldn’t worry about it. Tiger usually covers my hols.’
‘How many service users do you have at the moment? I did explain on the phone that I’m looking for at least thirty hours a week.’
‘That’s not a problemo, Mr Beckett.’
‘Dr Bywater.’ Beckett couldn’t remember playing the doctor card before, but this felt like as good a moment as any to start.
‘Right. Apologies.’
‘Service users?’
‘Look, I can cover as many hours as you like. Well. Obviously we all have to sleep at some point! I wouldn’t mind the odd trip to the saloon for a little line dance.’ More snorting.
‘Are you saying that currently you don’t have any other clients?’
‘Well, like I said. We had a whole thing with the sub-team. Spreading misinformation. Fearmongering. All cleared up now, of course. The police have said they want nothing more to do with it.’
‘Yeah. I think that’s all I need to know for now. Thanks, Meryl.’
‘Er, that’ll be Dr Mav to you,’ she said, firmly sticking her hat back on.
‘You’re a doctor?’
‘I can be anything you want me to be, sunshine.’ This would have sounded alarmingly inappropriate, except that she growled it, as if pretending to be a baddie from an old western.
Beckett stood up. If Gramps woke up before she left, he dreaded to think what would happen.
‘No, seriously, though. It’s probably best if I meet the old fella before we agree on a start date.’
Beckett opened the kitchen door. ‘This way.’
He then led her straight to the front door and opened that one, too.
