Life in the old sea dog yet.

"But I haven't had my dinner yet!"

Moving four elderly vacationers along a mile long path is much harder than it should be.

"Yes you have Doris."

The big difference between this job and working with kids like I used to is the lack of noise. A confused seventy two year old and a stroppy four year old move at about the same pace, but comfortable shoes from Clarks mean the elderly do it much more quietly. My head whipped back and forth, tracking my charges.

"Derek, wait for Doris please."

"But I haven't had my dinner yet!"

Repetition is a clear sign that Doris's sometimes tenuous tether to everyone else's timelines had slipped a little, leaving her drifting in a conversational eddie.

"Yes you have. We had fish and chips, do you remember? Then we walked down to the ice cream shop for dessert."

"We didn't!"

Indignant outrage that someone the age of her daughter's granddaughter would lie to her turns her refutation into a gull's squawk, caught in the bracing sea breeze.

I take a deep breath.

"We did, ducky, you have ice cream on your cheek, and cone crumbs in your lap, see?"

"Well... I didn't have fish and chips, I don't like fish. All those horrible bones. My Aunt Petunia choked to death on a fish bone. Tragic loss, and her with two young boys.". All this said between furtive flicks of a mackerel grey tongue to remove the spilt ice cream from a mottled cheek.

"I know Doris, that's why you had a sausage."

Doris deflates slightly, at which point the knight in shining armour for the trip steps in.

"Doris m'dear, will you walk with me and tell me what happened to Petunia's boys?"

Edward's mind is still young, but it is drowning in an old man's body. In his black suit, the only outfit he has worn since his wife's death, he looks like the wasting corpse of a cormorant, narrow and jagged. If Terrance hadn't taken ill, and Sharon hadn't had to stay behind to look after him, those two gentlemanly relics would be idling in a pub on the pier, drinking mild and swapping stories with other former sailors. As it was, he'd spent the day puffing away in front of us, as his swifter neighbours took a more meandering route to our destination.

"You go ahead dear girl, we are in your wake."

Mouthing thank yous, and you're a saints, I moved with a purpose to steer Derek back to true, before performing the same task for Cynthia. Behind us, Doris repeated the same story we had heard an hour earlier, this time without the obstruction of the mouthfuls of mushy peas and chips through which it had previously been filtered.

Seventy five steps, or forty yards on, depending on your preferred unit of measurement, Cynthia raised a sheepish hand. Loosing hold on Derek's elbow gently, I bent over her so she could whisper in my ear.

"I need a wee wee."

The best thing about the seaside resort is that it is uniquely suited to the needs of the infirm. Less than 3 minutes of travel had seen us pass by two more chip shops and a pub, with a cafe just ahead.

"A cup of tea? Wonderful idea Cynthia!"

The group had the turning circle of a tanker, which meant that we had to retrace our steps slightly before entering our destination. Immediately Edward started the slow process of lowering himself into the moulded formica seating, whilst Cynthia made a bee line for the ladies. This was more like the literal bee line than the phrase's more figurative use, which implies directness. Cynthia opted for the zig-zag route, with the gentle collisions.

"Derek? Derek? Over here!"

The tanker turn commences once more. Teas arrive, and Edward sighs appreciatively.

"Can I ask you something Edward?"

"Of course, dear girl, an open book, my life."

I pause, uncertain how to phrase the query that had been nagging at me almost since the day I met him.

"You're a charming man, Edward, well presented, very sharp..."

"No need for all that butter dear, just ask."

"Why have you never remarried?"

"Ah."

He pauses for such a long time that, with any other resident of the Queen of the Bradgate Retirement Community I would have assumed that he had fallen asleep.

"Three reasons really. Firstly, my Edie and I were so very in love, that doing so would have seemed unfaithful somehow."

I choked up a little at this, the stark simplicity of the sentiment. I could feel tears beginning to form in the corners of my eyes.

"There there, dear, my other reasons aren't anywhere near so noble. Secondly... A man's needs. I am sure that the problem isn't unique to my gender, but what you crave when you reach my age is not what is on offer. And lastly, I hadn't met anyone who made me interested in them in that way until recently."

I blushed a little at the second, floundering, but grasped the spar which his final point offered.

"Recently? How recently?"

His answer was gentle, quieter than before.

"Oh, about six months ago."

I thought back, casting my kind back to new residents from my first months at the Queen of the Bradgate. None sprang to mind. Feeling foolish, I met his eyes, ready to admit defeat, and what I saw there made me realise who he was referring to.

"Oh."

Ever the gentleman, Edward's silence extended me the time to consider this awkward revelation. Behind me, a voice was raised in laughter, the meaning utterly lost to me.

"Die ist am Tag der offenen Tür untergegangen."

"Fucking Bosch!"

These words were the first I had ever heard from Derek. His stumbling lunge took him to within reach for the wild haymaker he threw at the startled youth whose laughter had provoked this unexpected assault. The punch missed of course, and pulled Derek over, his head catching with a soft thud on a table edge.

"He was a P.O.W, you know. Never forgave the Jerries."

Edward's laconic observation was his way of letting me off the hook, of moving us beyond the moment where I was the object of unrequited desire, to one where I was once more the carer for four frail individuals.

Mouthing thank yous, and you're a saints, I rushed back to my life.