I was shooting a 65th wedding anniversary party in a gracious old home in Ascot Vale when Alison’s message pinged on my phone. The guests were beginning to leave, so I made an appointment with the elderly couple for the next day, packed up my gear and texted: On my way now to Alison. She’d never asked me for help before. It must have been bad.
On my way nowShe met me at the door, white faced and looking bilious.
‘I can’t talk any sense into her. There’s no water. The place is disgusting. She won’t get out of bed.’
I hadn’t seen Bernie since before Alison went to Golden Beach, and I was shocked at her deterioration and at the condition of the house. Worst of all was the smell. I put a hand over my nose and mouth.
‘It’s the toilet,’ Alison said. ‘No water. It won’t flush.’
‘How will she
