by J C Williams
He resisted the urge to look at Una, unsure if she’d be throwing him daggers. There was a collective silence apart from Terry, who continued to whimper.
“I was never into dogging. The truth is… the truth is, I’m gay.”
Kelvin didn’t know what to expect. He thought there would be an audible intake of breath, perhaps. But, instead, there was only a collective murmuring of acceptance and acknowledgement.
“The reason I was in that place is because the man I was meeting was also in the public eye, and we wanted to keep it private. Hell, I didn’t know it was a place where people went dogging. This slimeball must have tapped my phone and knew where I’d be and the next thing you know, I’m all over the front of his paper. I was married with a family and wanted to spare them the pain. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. Today isn’t about me, and I must apologise to Jack that I’ve inadvertently become the centre of attention. Today is about having fun, raising money for charity, and hopefully breaking a world record. If that’s something I can help with, I’d be delighted to do so.”
One of the members of the press began clapping, on his own at first, until he was joined by everyone else in attendance. Una walked towards Kelvin and placed her hand on his arm. “That took courage, Kelvin.”
Jack was in need of caffeine, and retreated to the van. “It’s like the bleedin’ Jeremy Kyle Show around here!”
Emma hit him on the arm. “Don’t be mean, that took courage!”
Kelvin began to relax and was the perfect host for the first arrivals. Hayley and her team of volunteers arrived with a staggering array of flowers of all shape and sizes. The smell when the van door opened was astonishing, almost overwhelming.
She took two small bunches of flowers and handed them to Jack and Emma. “Here!” she said. “You should have the honour of placing the first flowers.”
They posed for a picture before proudly weaving the first couple of flowers onto the wire mesh attached to the wooden wall. The two solitary flowers brought home the scale of the task in front of them. The promenade became a hive of activity in next to no time. The bouncy castles and candy floss machines were doing a roaring trade and Emma had a constant queue; everyone was upbeat and enjoying the day. People were bringing their own wonderful displays of flowers and placing them proudly on the wall. There was a prize of £100 for the most impressive display, so the competition was friendly but fierce; there were reputations on the line as the majority of florists on the Island wanted to stake their claim as the finest. Those who didn’t bring their own, could buy flowers for a small donation and make their own bouquets. People were writing notes to loved ones and attaching them, before putting them on the wall. They’d expected it to be busy, but Jack was overwhelmed with the success. He’d told the Silver Sprinters to come about 11 a.m., but he could have done with them from 9 a.m. It was difficult not to be touched by the effort that people had gone to, and how it brought people together. Entire classrooms of children were coming down on their day off, with the displays they’d spent all week working on.
Kelvin was wonderful with the children, taking time to help them place their work cautiously on the wall. He was on hand to speak with anyone that wanted to discuss any gardening related issues or needed advice; he was the consummate professional and the public adored him.
“I’m enjoying this, Jack,” he said, enthusiastically. “I’d forgotten how nice people can be.”
Jack smiled. “I should warn you about something,” he said.
Kelvin looked concerned.
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. I told a friend of ours about your news this morning. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine. The press are here, so the entire country will know by lunchtime!”
“Trust me,” said Jack. “If he knows about it, the country will already know! Anyway, my friend Pete is a big admirer of yours, BIG, and he’s, you know… gay. He’s gone to the garden centre to buy an outfit. I thought that I should, well, pre-warn you!”
“Thanks for the warning! It does seem a little strange talking about this in the open, at last. I’ll need to get used to it.”
“And the uphill jokes!” said Jack.
“Pardon?” said Kelvin. “Uphill?”
“Yes, you know. Uphill gardener!” Jack laughed nervously.
“Uphill gardener? I don’t get it?” Kelvin said, deadpan.
Jack was on the ropes. “Well, it’s, when, you get a… You’re winding me up?”
“A little bit, yes. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I will give you credit for the first uphill gardener joke, though.”
“Thanks, and well done, you had me there!”
Like watching a boiling pot, progress appeared slow. It was only when you moved away for ten or fifteen minutes and returned that you could see the development. The Silver Sprinters had arrived on the first of their shuttle runs, bringing the elderly from the nursing homes down. Like the schoolchildren, they’d spent the week arranging displays to put on the wall. Some of them weren’t exactly clear what they were doing there, but seemed happy, regardless. The difficulty with the older visitors was the pace they moved. Jack was encouraging their participation, but conscious of the people waiting. Two women who were barely mobile stood and seemed to be discussing the attributes of each flower individually.
“Hello ladies,” he said, using his charm. “Isn’t it just beautiful? It’s a wonderful effort, and look at all the people waiting to put their flowers on. If you’d like to watch from over there, they can put some more on for you to admire.”
The eldest and shortest of the two women had a cloud of coiffured white hair. She adjusted her glasses, which were as thick as milk bottles. “Is that you, Bobbie?”
Jack looked behind him. “Bobbie?” He glanced at her friend, who was equally as short-sighted and offered no inkling.
“Oh, Bobbie, isn’t it beautiful? Really wonderful,” she said, continuing to admire the flowers.
Jack knew he had to be tactful. “I’m not Bobbie,” he said, gently.
She took a moment to think. “Where’s my Bobbie? He’d love these flowers. He always helps me in the garden.”
Jack’s heart sank; this cemented why he’d got involved in helping the elderly. From his brief conversation, it was clear how fragile they could be.
“I’m sorry, my darling. Was Bobbie your husband?”
She looked mystified at Jack and started to get a little overwhelmed. It was apparent she was getting distressed, and Jack used his most compassionate approach. “I think Bobbie may have passed on. Can I get someone to help you?”
“Passed on? Oh, no… how awful,” she said, getting increasingly distressed.
Jack froze, and put a reassuring arm on her shoulder, looking frantically for their carer. It was a fair assumption that these two had not been let out alone.
“Are you with these two?” he mouthed gently, to a man dressed in a nurse’s uniform.
“Look, I’m really sorry, but she’s a little upset. The flowers reminded her of her husband, and she’s gotten herself a little worked up.”
“Oh, dear,” he said. “I didn’t think she was married, but not to worry, I’ll make sure she’s okay. They do get confused every now and then.”
The woman, now in floods of tears, sought comfort from her friend. “My Bobbie is gone!” she wailed.
Jack felt awful and thanked the nurse. “When she calms down, will you tell her I didn’t mean to upset her?”
“Of course I will, and thank you for looking out for her,” he said.
Jack looked down to the name badge on the carer’s chest. “Thanks… Bobbie,” he said, cringing.
He retreated to the sanctity of the coffee van. “What’ve you done?” asked Emma, who was juggling coffee cups like a circus clown.
“I’m fine,” he said, clearly agitated. “Just a bit of a misunderstanding.”
The vibrating phone in his pocket was a welcomed distraction as he moved to th
e sea-side of the promenade. He listened intently and nodded his head. As the conversation progressed, he raised his free hand and used his knuckles to punch his forehead. The force left four distinct white indentations.
“Pluck the duck!” he screamed, at the lapping waves.
The flower wall was resplendent in the midday sun and the bustle of people resembled bees attending their hive.
“They’re not coming!” whispered Jack, through gritted teeth.
Emma was bewildered. “Who?”
“The bloody Guinness record people,” he whispered, so as not to alert those in his vicinity. “They’re fog-bound over at Gatwick and don’t think they’ll be able to make it today.”
In a further tribute to Basil Fawlty, Jack began to hyperventilate and grin uncontrollably, projecting a shrill tone barely audible to a dog.
Sensing he was on the verge of a meltdown, Emma handed him a bottle of water. “Jack… chill… the… eff… out!” she said, with her hands placed on his shoulders. “When can they come?”
“Tomorrow, at ten a.m.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Just carry on with everything. We’ll know today that we’ve broken the record because the wall will be full. Tomorrow will just be a formality. It will be just fine. Now, take a deep breath and enjoy the rest of the day. I think you need to go and rescue Kelvin!”
Pete gave the appearance of a seasoned professional. He was dressed head-to-foot in green, sporting a pair of wellington boots with a dark pink trim that had no intention of gracing an allotment. He held his arms aloft, giving the gesture of a fisherman indicating — or exaggerating — the size of his biggest catch. Kelvin, ever the professional, listened intently and also raised his hands, but extended the size of his catch.
“They’re fine!” said Jack, whose stress levels were beginning to plateau. “They seem happy comparing the size of their cucumbers. Did you tell Derek about the ticket?”
“No, I’ve not seen him today,” said Emma. “And I’m a bit tied up here, so you should!”
A number of the Silver Sprinters had converged in the sunken garden. With the influx from the old folk’s home, it was like a huge congregation of grey hair and slippers. As Jack had hoped, the day was evolving into a social event, enjoyed by all of the generations. Even the council workers, who’d nearly brought the day to a premature conclusion, were now embracing the day enjoying the inflatable castle.
Derek was deep in conversation with Ray and the others and appeared to be having a fantastic day. Jack tried to attract his attention through the crowd, but Derek was lucky if he could see five feet in front of him, and there was no point in shouting as his ears were as equally inept. He waved frantically until he caught Derek’s attention.
“Jack,” he said warmly. “What a wonderful event. I’ve seen people here today that I’ve not seen for years.”
“That’s great!” said Jack, pulling him away from the other Silver Sprinters. “So, Derek, you know how you’ve become good friends with Emma and myself, and also part of the team at the shop?”
“You’re not letting me go, are you, Jack?” he said, with an anxious expression.
“What… no, no, of course I’m not. You’re part of the team. Please don’t think that Emma and I are sticking our nose into your business. But, well, we are. Thing is, we know that by being too nice, you’ve given most of your cash away.”
Derek was confused and struggling to keep pace with the topic of conversation.
“Aww, Derek. I’m not overly good at the ‘softly-softly’ — this is why I asked Emma to speak to you. I’ll keep it brief. You lost all of your money, so we’ve bought you a ticket to go to Italy for the christening… there!”
Derek looked more fragile than usual, like a sapling swaying in the wind. “Are you okay?” asked Jack, supporting him at the elbow.
Derek wanted to speak, but his voice broke every time he tried. His bottom lip trembled as he reached into his pocket for an immaculate white handkerchief. “Thank you,” he said, his voice wavering.
Jack continued to hold his arm. “Ah, you silly old sod. You’ve got me all upset, as well,” he said, wiping a tear away in a less refined way, with his sleeve.
That moment summed up what Jack had morphed into — a giver, rather than a taker. He looked with affection at Derek, a frail but wonderful man in his twilight years, and he took great delight in reducing him to tears. The money he’d used towards the ticket was his deposit on a new Vespa; never had Jack been so pleased to be commuting on his dilapidated, trusty workhorse.
The emotional exchange had not gone unnoticed by Emma, and when Jack caught her eye, she held both clenched fists to her chest and chewed her bottom lip; she blew him a kiss and hoped it would navigate through the throng of assembled people between them. Jack playfully shuffled with his hands, cupped like a wicket-keeper, ready to receive the gesture of affection.
The remaining members of the Lonely Heart Attack Club appeared and paid homage to the wall, under the careful scrutiny of Kelvin, who’d failed to distance himself from his new admirer. The dispatches with the day’s news had evidently not reached the Bingo Girls — who were insatiable — and Kelvin was clearly their target for the day. “Oh, you’re a strapping young man,” said one, as Kelvin helped her fix her flower to the wall. There was no requirement for assistance, but she played the inept card with precision and as he moved closer, he felt a firm hand squeezing his arse. “Firm like a turnip,” she said smugly to her friend. By coincidence, it transpired that she was the mother-in-law that the taxi driver had warned him about earlier. Pete gave the girls a barbed glance, slightly incensed that he’d not thought of that tactic.
By mid-afternoon, the crowds had begun to thin out. Their elderly visitors had been returned to their homes after a fun day out. Some children remained to take advantage of the bouncy castles and candy floss, and it was pleasing that the day had passed without incident. The Bloomin’ Wall was the star of the show. The scale was dazzling and an assault on the senses. It was as if there’d been an explosion in a paint factory, such was the array of vibrant shades, and the magnificent scent carried on the breeze. Hayley had worked like a trooper and skilfully managed the conveyor belt of people desperate to play a small part in the proceedings.
“There is probably only room for another three bunches,” said Hayley, beckoning Emma and Jack. “You should put the last few on!”
Jack shook his head and ushered all the friends and helpers into a tightly formed circle. “C’mon,” he said. “We’ll all do this together.” Everyone leaned in, and between them, placed the final flowers onto the wall. Jack deliberately held one vibrant bunch of yellow roses to one side. There was one small space in the wall remaining. “This is it, guys. This is the final piece of what has been one hell of a jigsaw.” He waved over one of the press and asked him to take a picture of the group as they all reached for the bunch of flowers that Jack held aloft, like Excalibur. “The Lonely Heart Attack Club!” shouted Jack, at the top of his voice.
“The Lonely Heart Attack Club!” they all shouted in a fit of giggles.
.
Chapter Thirteen
C ome on,” said Emma, pulling Jack’s arm. “And take your shoes off!”
“Emma… behave, my grandad is stood there!”
“It’s a jump you’re getting, but not that kind!” she teased.
Emma had bribed the bouncy castle operators with a coffee for a private audience. “Yes!” said Jack, kicking off his shoes. Emma loved the boyish innocence as he bounced like a coiled spring with limitless energy.
“Well done, today,” said Emma.
Jack held his hand to his ear, causing Emma to move closer.
“I said, well…”
Jack pulled Emma towards him — kissing her — as they bobbed like corks in water from the motion of the castle, swaying. “You didn’t do too badly, either. What a fantastic day!”
He gave her another kiss as the movement of the castle forced them eve
n closer.
“Jack, have you got a…?”
“What? No, not this time, I’ve got my phone in my pocket.”
“Are we going to get something nice to eat and open a bottle of something?” asked Emma.
Jack pulled a face. “I can’t tell you how appealing that sounds, but I think I need to stay here.”
“Eh? Why?” asked Emma.
“It doesn’t look like the record people are going to get over tonight. I can’t risk leaving those flowers unattended overnight otherwise there will be nothing left in the morning.”
Emma was disappointed but understood. “I’ll stay with you?” she said.
“No, you won’t. You’ve been on your feet all day. Go home and have a nice bath and we’ll do something tomorrow night. I’ve got a feeling a couple of the guys are going to take it in shifts and I’ve already heard Derek talking about popping home for his nice bottle of port. Honestly, we’ll be fine, it’s not cold. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” said Emma. “You can share your war stories with the guys!”
Jack sat on a requisitioned deck chair and watched the sun disappear to the west of the Island. He’d been left with blankets and food and, more importantly, a few tins of beer.
He reflected on the day and briefly felt a little flat. They’d been full-on for weeks, and the excitement for all involved was palpable. It was genuinely a team effort and part of him feared that the comradery would be lost. He’d met a truly eclectic group of people, one he’d grown deeply fond of. He consoled himself with the thought of how many people had been touched in a positive way — including Kelvin’s arse, which was likely to be still tender from the Bingo Girls; if Pete had his way it would be even tenderer.
Rather than being despondent, he thought to the future. There would be another challenge, another record to break. The club was growing in numbers. Maybe they’d need to expand, open more shops; global domination by taking on the corporate shysters. This was just the start for Jack, the shop, and the club. Rather than being a conclusion, he was determined that it would instead be a catalyst.