Chapter five #2
‘Wheee,’ said Eunice, under her breath, without meaning to, as if the morning had taken an unexpectedly exciting turn.
Lewis’s plan had been to use the twenty-mile cycle ride from his rental house to circle the country lanes around Rosemount Court, taking in the locale while processing his plan of action, then shower in the staff quarters in order to assess those facilities, then change into the suit he’d had couriered to his new office the previous day, and begin his overhauling.
He wasn’t going to let the small matter of a resident moving out derail that. Not when so many new strategies had occurred to him as his long, powerful legs pumped both blood and good ideas to his brain.
However, now he was here, the scale of the task in front of him was more daunting than he’d realised.
Mr Stafford hadn’t been wrong, thought Lewis, as he briskly towelled himself down with a threadbare apricot towel that could have been left over from the establishment’s boarding school incarnation, circa 1963–81.
(PA Freda provided thorough briefing notes.) The place was a shambles.
As he’d passed unloved rooms and messy nurses’ stations en route to the showers, Lewis’s business brain had begun its background whir of calculations and causation, yet the overriding impression he got wasn’t financial, but emotional: he was struck by a feeling of intense sadness.
Sadness hung in the corridors, as noticeable as the cobwebs in the corners and the dust shading the detail on the skirting boards.
It was as physical as the greenish odour of boiling vegetables and bacon fat, or the powdery spots of mould speckling the window frames; this general sense that once this building had been grand and proud, and now it was filled with .
. . well, something that wasn’t grand or proud any longer.
It was falling apart, decaying with hopelessness.
Lewis was thrown by how much this upset him.
He normally strode into a premises and began reorganising it from the reception up, in the same way a naturally neat person instinctively tidies a room as they pass, collecting empty coffee mugs and straightening cushions like a brisk wind blowing through.
But the sadness in Rosemount tripped him off balance.
This was going to be a much bigger job than it looked on paper, he conceded, staring at his reflection in the staff bathroom mirror as he brushed his thick hair back into its neat half-quiff.
Lewis then made a mental note to make a literal note in his book about the staff showers, which were not completely clean and definitely not hot enough.
Once dried off, he dressed himself in his work uniform: white shirt, pressed; grey suit, freshly dry-cleaned; black shoes, polished, and his lucky tie, which had belonged to his other grandfather.
He polished his glasses and neatened his moustache, and with one last adjustment of his tie in the age-spotted mirror over the basin – an ornate gilt mirror that had perhaps once hung in an upstairs room, instead of this echoing basement area – Lewis frowned at his reflection, reminded himself out loud that he was more than up to the task in hand, and headed upstairs to the staff meeting he’d called for nine o’clock.
‘I want to be honest with you from the start: we need to make significant changes, if Rosemount is going to deliver at the level I believe it can. Not many of those changes will be easy. But I’m confident that once we’ve made those changes, everyone will feel the benefit, not just the residents who rely on us.
I believe that, before you know it, you’ll be bouncing into work with a spring in your step because this beautiful home will be the best place to work in the whole county. ’
Lewis looked around the dining room where the staff (minus those engaged in essential duties) had assembled to hear the worst. It was obvious from the expressions – which ranged from defensive, to exhausted, to curious – that the rumour mill had been churning 24/7 since the unexpected but inevitable departure of David Rigg, the man even the senior management team were calling something unrepeatable.
‘Is anyone going to tell us what happened to David?’ The nurse at the back of the room had her arms crossed over her narrow chest, already defiant. ‘He was sacked, right?’
‘David left for personal reasons, which I’m unable to go into right now.’
The owner of Acorn Care Homes, Eric Alexander, was a fair man, and he had allowed David to invent an unprovable medical reason for his ‘resignation’.
But he’d definitely been sacked. Decisions were still ongoing about whether he’d be arrested or not. The financial director had taken four days off to go through the accounts, and wasn’t answering his phone.
The nurse turned to her neighbour and muttered something Lewis didn’t catch, but her expression told him that she didn’t believe that for a moment. He made a mental note of her name badge: Ellie. She was clearly a smart cookie. One to get onside.
He moved on smoothly. ‘But what I want to say to you is this: as of today, things have already changed for the better. This report was hard reading, but it’s a turning point for Rosemount.
By taking an honest look at the problems it’s raised, we’re already on our way back up.
What’s happened has happened, but there’s always something we can learn from it.
We can only improve as a team, and that’s what I’m here to do – to turn us into a team.
From the moment each of us walks in each morning, we need to ask ourselves: is this somewhere I’d be happy for my mum to live?
My dad? My grandparents? Is it somewhere I’d want to live?
And if not, what can I do to make it better? ’
He let his gaze drift across the room. The unhappiness of the building had infected the staff; they looked so miserable. Tired and uninspired. Three carers had handed in their notice and walked out before the meeting even started.
‘Little changes,’ he said. ‘Lead to big changes.’
Ellie rolled her eyes. As did four other nurses.
It was the first thing they’d done as a team.
Lewis planned to speak to every member of the staff in turn, one by one, to find out more about who they were, what motivated them, but most importantly, what the real problems were in Rosemount.
You found out more that way. Especially if some of the problems involved people right there in the group meeting – and his instincts had already identified a couple of weeds in the flowerbed.
None of his sit-downs would last more than ten minutes – Lewis could gather what he needed to know in under five – and he’d requested the weekly rota ahead of time, so Freda could work out a schedule that was convenient for everyone, and so he could winnow out those making up excuses for not attending.
Pamela Woodward was first on his list, and she was there on the dot of her assigned time.
‘I didn’t ask to be made interim manager,’ she said, before she’d even sat down.
‘But thank you for stepping up to the task,’ he said. ‘That shows oomph.’
‘And I never liked David,’ she added, biting her lip as she spoke. ‘I didn’t like the way he talked to the nurses, especially the ones who don’t have English as their first language. He used to mutter.’
‘He muttered?’ echoed Lewis.
‘I was always told it was rude to mutter. And of course, our deaf residents didn’t appreciate that either. None of us appreciated it, to be honest. You always left the room wondering what he’d said. David always had to have the last word. Even if he muttered it.’
Lewis sat back in his chair and regarded Pamela.
She responded by sitting up in hers, her back straight, her lips folded inward like a child braced for a telling-off. She had a kind face, soft and anxious, and dark mahogany hair tipped with red highlights, cut into a spiky style that didn’t seem to fit her personality.
Lewis wondered if the hair was an attempt to project a different Pam to the world. Like his moustache.
‘Pamela – is that what you like to be called? Or Ms Woodward?’
‘Pam’s fine.’
‘Pam.’ Lewis smiled. ‘Let’s draw a line under David.
He had his strengths but this particular role wasn’t the best match for his skillset.
Our focus now is Rosemount. I’ve got a checklist covering every official issue we need to address.
’ He tapped the file in front of him. ‘Those boxes will be ticked. Make no mistake about it. That CQC inspector won’t recognise this place when he comes back.
But what’s going to transform Rosemount isn’t box-ticking, but understanding our people. ’
‘People,’ repeated Pam cautiously. ‘The residents?’
‘All of us.’ Lewis spread out his hands. ‘Cleaners, cooks, nurses, carers, volunteers, managers. I’m interested in making everyone feel like a vital cog in our machine. I mean, there’s no point serving a spectacular lunch if there are cobwebs in the dining room, is there?’
Immediately, Pam’s gaze flicked up to the corners of the room.
There were no cobwebs in Lewis’s office. Not now, anyway. He’d made sure he’d removed them before the meeting. There was no point in making Pam feel even worse than she already did; besides, he knew that she would know he’d removed the cobwebs.
‘You’re a housekeeper, you’re the person who knows how this machine runs best,’ he said. ‘In your opinion, what do you think are the three most important things that need to be fixed first?’
Pam shifted in her seat. ‘Mr Levison . . .’
‘Lewis, please.’
‘Um, Lewis, before we start, I didn’t know Eunice Stafford’s son was going to do what he did this morning. I would have done something. I’m mortified, first impression you got of us was that . . . scene. I’m getting hot flushes thinking about it.’
Lewis sipped his tea. He liked the fact that Pam had brought out the VIP cups and saucers with the company crest, a winged gold acorn. He liked the fact that she wanted to get on the front foot with an apology, not excuses. ‘Why do you think Mrs Stafford wanted to leave?’
‘I’m not sure she does. I mean, she’s threatened to often enough, but that’s who Eunice is.
She likes a grumble. Keeps her mind active.
She’s always writing to the local paper – not about us, but complaining about litter and taxes and what not.
’ Pam pursed her lips. ‘Her son’s the problem, always finding fault – room’s too hot, room’s not hot enough, food’s repetitive, spices upset his mum’s digestion.
Everything he complains about, we fix, but I think in his case .
. .’ She glanced downwards. ‘I think he’s looking for a discount.
I think he was going to use the scandal of the inspection to negotiate a better rate.
He’s not the quickest when it comes to settling up. ’
‘I see,’ said Lewis.
Her small hand flew to her mouth. ‘Should that be confidential?’
‘You can tell me anything, Pam,’ said Lewis.
Because he’d find out anyway. Not that she needed to know that just yet.
He topped up her tea, and decided to reset the conversation. ‘Maybe we should start with something positive instead. What’s your favourite thing about working here?’
Lewis was all about the positives. Negativity worked hard enough without his encouragement.
The other interviews were equally revealing.
In the space of an afternoon, Lewis learned that the agency cleaners were late, inefficient and glued to their phones (from Ellie, the eye-rolling nurse); that there were regular complaints about boring, bland food (Basia, another nurse), the constant staff turnover was ‘a nightmare’ (Toni, and Roxana, both care staff), and general ‘attitude’ (too many people to list).
He was relieved to hear there were none of the upsetting issues he’d encountered in other places, harrowing tales of abusive carers, or disturbed residents with inadequate or incorrect diagnoses, but the combination of petty problems and the glee with which the staff laid into each other gave Lewis a headache.
Worst of all was that rumour of a whistleblower on the staff.
But he soldiered on, listening, querying, pretending to write things down to give people time to ramble, inevitably letting slip the nugget they weren’t going to reveal at first. He knew the staff were wary of him, but that was normal.
Wherever he could, Lewis tried to give out small wins, as with Kemi, one of the care team managers, who asked him, outright, ‘Are you here to shut this place down?’
‘No, I’m here to raise it up.’
She hoisted an eyebrow, unimpressed. ‘You know David put his personal laundry through the main wash house?’
‘I did not.’
‘The things that would go through that dryer.’ She rolled her eyes, then stared at Lewis. ‘You not going to write that down?’
If Lewis had been writing down every single one of David’s misdemeanours he would have run out of paper in his notebook before lunchtime.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because David’s gone.’ Lewis wished he had a pound for every time he’d said that too. ‘Unless you feel it should be a staff perk? Discounted laundry?’
Kemi was about to snort, but changed her mind. ‘That would not be a bad idea.’
Lewis wrote down: monthly laundry tokens.
‘You’ve been a carer here for five years, Kemi,’ he said. ‘What do you feel are the three things we should focus on, to make this a happier place?’
‘What? Me? You’re asking me?’
‘You spend the most time with the residents. You know what they complain about, what they enjoy.’
Kemi considered for a moment. ‘They like to talk. Some of them. Some of them don’t, and that is fine with me. They like things to be clean. They like bingo, even if there’s no prizes.’
Lewis wrote down bingo, cleaning, talking. Talking was high on his own plan.
‘And the staff also like to talk.’
He looked up. Kemi was giving him a beady look.
‘We like to feel listened to. David never listened to anything we said.’
‘I hear you,’ said Lewis. ‘I want you to feel heard.’
‘Nuh-uh. No jargon. Please.’ She raised a hand as if stopping invisible traffic. ‘Do not come here with your management “I see you” and “I hear you”. We need a pay rise, more staff and a better rota. Not a lot of words.’
Lewis liked Kemi. She was straightforward, and upfront. Her uniform was spotless and she wore shoes that suggested she expected to spend a lot of time on her feet. She was here to work, and he respected that.
‘Understood. If you think of anything else, please email me or leave a suggestion in the box by my door. Would you send in Helenka, please?’
Only two more today, he told himself, and then he’d let the cycle ride home process the findings.