A small party was held to mark each resident’s birthday, whether they wanted it or not, but the home’s management didn’t take too much trouble over arrangements, assuming correctly that people of that generation didn’t want a lot of fuss. Cups of lukewarm, watery tea were dispensed in plastic cups; small slices of vanilla cake from the local supermarket served on paper plates to be eaten with plastic forks were handed round; and a quick verse of “Happy Birthday” was sung by a few members of the staff who then hurried back to whatever they’d been doing. Still, a birthday party didn’t happen every day and it broke up the monotony for the residents, many of whom derived great vicarious pleasure from the little gatherings. Penny, carrying a modest bouquet of cut flowers wrapped in cellophane from the local florist, entered the lounge and spotting the balloons, made her way over to them. She was pleased to see Jimmy and sat beside him. “Doreen not here yet?” she asked. “No,”
