The Extraordinary Hope of Dawn Brightside

by Jessica Ryn

Grace

  AS THE ST JUDE’S residents finish their picnic at Samphire Hoe, Grace pulls her cardigan from around her waist and pushes her goosebumped arms into the sleeves. She stands to her feet, jumping from one to the other to warm herself up and wake up her metabolism. All around her, St Jude’s residents are layering up against the plummet in temperature as newly arrived grey clouds join forces to cordon off the July sun from the grass banks of Samphire Hoe.

  They swallow their last mouthfuls and shove the rubbish away, some into bins and some into pockets but Grace is pleased that no one leaves any on the ground. If only they could keep the hostel as tidy, she might not have such a huge task on her hands. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left the office and brought them out today, not when so much needs doing before the inspection. On the other hand, teambuilding is important. It’s at times like this that people need to work together. Teamwork makes the dream work.

  ‘They have some interesting displays in the Samphire Visitor’s Centre. It’s just behind where we parked the coach,’ she says, watching as Dawn gets swallowed by the tunnel in the distance. ‘There’s a lovely one about some local butterflies.’

  Once they’re all inside the centre, Teardrop Terry and Peter begin a big debate by the beetles and rare insects stand about who would win in a race out of a wart-biter bush cricket and a leaf-beetle.

  Jack is looking at the noticeboard but keeps glancing back at Grace and smiling. He knows Grace is still on edge today and she throws him a grateful nod, trying to forget that last time they’d seen each other alone, he’d been in his boxer shorts. And how he’d no longer looked like a lad who’d lost his way, but like the grown man he was. With his sharp wit and interesting opinions – and just the right amount of chest hair… Grace turns back to the display, hiding her pink face from the others. It’s probably just sunburned. Should have put on some factor fifteen.

  Only after she’s immersed herself in the wealth of information regarding six species of butterflies, does Grace allow herself to rejoin the group in the middle of the hall. After all, the only fence against the world is a thorough knowledge of it, she’d read somewhere.

  ‘Where’s Cara and Jack?’ Peter asks as he peers through the gaps in the heads of their huddled group.

  A commotion is brewing outside. Grace yanks open the door and strides across the grass until she has a clear view of their missing residents. The ones having a huge barney by the tea and coffee kiosk.

  ‘Why the hell did you think you could steal from some woman’s handbag and get away with it?’ Jack’s voice is several octaves higher than usual and Grace can see his jaw twitching from eight metres away.

  ‘You know why. I’ve told you,’ Cara blots at the tears on her pale face, ‘I can’t cope no more and it’s only gonna get worse if I can’t sort something.’

  ‘But you could have just asked me, I could have helped,’ says Jack.

  ‘Pfft, yeah right,’ Cara spits on the ground next to her and Grace prays that no one outside of their group is watching them. ‘Not if you’d have known what it was for, you wouldn’t ‘ave.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Grace asks once she’s reached a respectable speaking distance.

  Jack is watching a middle-aged couple in the queue for the drinks kiosk beside the visitor’s centre. The man whispers something in the woman’s ear and she throws back her head as she laughs, causing her wide-brimmed sunhat and Louis Vuitton handbag to wobble about. A pair of sunglasses falls from her bag and the man picks them up and puts them back before doing up the zip.

  ‘You should be more careful,’ the man says with a smile.

  ‘Thank goodness you noticed,’ the woman laughs, ‘I’m sure it was zipped up though.’

  Both Cara and Jack’s eyes are following the same path from the handbag, back to each other, and then at the floor.

  ‘Nothing’s going on,’ Jack says, leaving his gaze where it is.

  ‘It’s not as if they can’t afford it,’ Cara mumbles.

  ‘That’s not the point. If I hadn’t stopped you…’

  ‘Then maybe I’d be okay later on, and now I won’t be, thanks to you,’ Cara snaps back at him.

  Grace watches in silence as she begins to work out what’s happened. This needs sorting, pronto. But having the two of them sniping at each other is not a good look for the hostel.

  ‘Pete, could you take Cara and everyone else back to the hostel? Jack and I will be fine to walk back. Just keep an eye on her,’ Grace adds in a lower voice. ‘We’ll separate them for a bit. I’ll talk with her once she’s calmed down, but she really doesn’t look well.’

  Peter starts rounding everyone up for the bus journey, and Grace walks towards the sea, nodding at Jack to follow her.

  ‘You did a good thing back there from what I can work out,’ Grace says when they’ve reached the strip of concrete that spans the water’s edge. The sky is beginning to clear again, making the coast of France just about visible on the horizon. She adjusts her pedometer and checks the display.

  ‘I just hate it when people from St Jude’s give people exactly what they expect from us,’ Jack bursts out. ‘Everyone already looks at us like we’re scum in our town. Maybe lots of us deserve it, including me. But it’s hard when you’re trying your best to change and prove them all wrong and then someone goes and acts like a junkie.’

  ‘Don’t call her that, Jack,’ Grace says softly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean it, I know she’s trying, and I know she’s had a shit life. I just look at some of the others that stay at St Jude’s and feel bad that they’re all marked with the same pens. Like Rory from Room 8 – do you think people even know he used to be the head of the whole history department at some university? Or that Karen from Room 11 owned her own café and used to run a soup kitchen from it on Sunday afternoons? People never see any of that, they just see a load of crackheads who want to get off their faces and waste their taxes.’ Jack’s voice cracks apart as he speaks, spilling out hurt through the gaps.

  ‘Most people just fear what they don’t understand. They don’t realise most of us are only ever three steps away from homelessness. Two pay packets, in lots of cases, it said in The Big Issue the other week. Often all it takes is a break-up or a lost job.’ Grace places her hand on his arm and leaves it there this time. He covers it with his own and blinks several times before turning his face towards her.

  ‘Good thing we have St Jude’s and people like you,’ he says, his dimple creasing beside his smile. ‘At least some people give a shit.’

  Grace is interrupted from her brief thoughts about Jack’s full mouth as his words about the hostel hit her right in the chest.

  ‘That’s why I can’t let anything happen to it,’ she says, watching as two seagulls fight over a crust of bread.

  ‘And it won’t.’ Jack looks back at Grace and she can see the concern leaking out.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place, I’m sorry. I certainly shouldn’t be worrying you with it.’ Leaders should be strong. Don’t spill your weakness and leave it for others to mop up, her mum would say.

  ‘Course you should’ve. I might be a resident, but I’m not a child. I want to help.’ Jack takes his hand away from Grace’s, causing hers to feel immediately colder. She removes it from his arm, feeling awkward that she’d left it there.

  Within seconds, he’s beside her, his arm slung around her shoulders, guiding her to walk along the path towards the beach. An elderly couple walk past with their Highland Terrier and they smile as they pass by. With a jolt, Grace realises they probably think they’re a couple. Surprised by the thrill this gives her, she fights to keep her face impassive and her eyes on the sea as Jack pulls her closer, stroking his thumb across the skin on the inside of her elbow.

  ‘So, tell me,’ he says once they’ve reached the beach and flopped down onto the shingle next to the large, grey rocks. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Grace laughs, forcing herself not to answer his
question the way her mind first tells her to.

  ‘To help, I mean. With the hostel. Whatever it is that’s happening.’ He’s blushing, and Grace straightens her face. She hadn’t meant to make him feel uncomfortable, it’s just the proximity of his thigh to hers is making her feel giddy. His arms have caught the sun, and his T-shirt is damp with sweat across his chest. And those shoulders… Stop it, Grace. Duty of care.

  He is moving out soon, though, Grace reasons with herself. He has worked through his issues and is definitely no longer someone who she would class as ‘vulnerable’. Would she still feel guilty about noticing his shoulders if they’d met in other circumstances?

  Jack pushes himself up to a sitting position and starts lobbing small stones into the sea in front of them. ‘I could have a word with the others, we can help get the place spruced up and work out some things to say to make you look good. Not that you don’t look good already. I mean, you definitely do, but that’s not the point I was trying to make.’ He breaks off as his cheeks return to his previous shade of pink. ‘We’ll pass,’ he adds. ‘You, Peter, all of you; you do a great job.’

  Grace turns over as Jack lays back and turns towards her at the same time. There’s barely an inch between them but neither of them moves back. ‘I don’t want everyone to worry,’ she continues, covering her embarrassment. ‘And Peter doesn’t want us to say anything.’

  ‘You’re the boss though.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Grace doesn’t feel much like a boss right this second and she can only imagine what the other staff members would say if they could see her lying on a deserted beach almost toe to toe with a service user – a shit term and crappy label to stick on someone, in her opinion. People couldn’t just be residents or clients or patients anymore. ‘I probably shouldn’t discuss Peter with you. It’s not professional.’

  A smile arrives on Jack’s face before he can cover it and they both chuckle. The dimple by his cheek disappears after a minute and his expression falls into something more serious as he looks into Grace’s eyes. Grace holds his gaze, hoping he can’t see that she’s shaking. Must be the cold. His arm snakes around her waist and Grace closes the inch between them, leaning her head on his shoulder; her cheek against the light stubble of his face, resolutely keeping her mouth away from his. Some places are tricky to come back from. Grace can feel Jack’s heartbeat against her chest and it’s thudding as fast as hers is.

  ‘This shouldn’t be happening,’ she murmurs.

  ‘Neither should lots of things,’ he says. ‘But we’re not doing anything wrong. Can’t friends hug anymore?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘On an empty beach, where no one would see them anyway.’

  Grace smiles but stays exactly where she is. They lay in silence, listening to the crashing of the sea as the wind gets up and the waves get higher and louder. Every part of him that’s touching every part of her feels warm and electric.

  ‘I suppose we’d better go soon, Miss.’ Jack’s grin seeps through into his voice and he laughs as Grace swipes at his chest.

  ‘How many times have I told you not to call me Miss?’

  ‘I promise I won’t say it ever again,’ he smiles as he tucks her hair behind her ear.

  Grace’s mind falls to the staff handbook. She’d read it cover to cover on her very first day (to be successful at work, it’s important to know the rules and essential to keep them), and she’d committed it to memory. This morning, she’d glanced again at page six, paragraph two, just in case it had changed. It hadn’t. Personal relationships between staff and service users are forbidden. Not discouraged, not frowned upon. Forbidden.

  Be a good girl, Grace. It’s the way her mum used to end every phone call to her and has done since she was first old enough to hold the receiver in her tiny chubby hands. What would she say if she could see inside her mind right now?

  Grace knows it’s only a matter of time before she kisses that mouth.

  Chapter 16

  Grace

  GRACE MAKES A BIGGER space between her and Jack as they make their way up the hill to St Jude’s.

  ‘Finally,’ says Peter when they reach the foyer, ‘I was starting to worry. It’s pissing it down and I felt bad we took the minibus.’

  ‘Sorry we’ve been ages. Traffic was terrible.’ Grace peels off her soaking wet cardigan.

  ‘But weren’t you on foot?’ Peter asks.

  ‘Yes, but that was what made it terrible,’ she says, knowing she’s making no sense whatsoever.

  ‘Do you need me to stay on any longer?’ Peter glances at the time in the bottom corner of the computer screen.

  ‘No, it’s fine. How’s Cara been?’

  Peter waits until Jack has left the hatch before answering. ‘She’s not well – looks as if she’s withdrawing. She’s out of methadone way before her next prescription is due. Probably best to let the night staff know when they get here and ask them to keep an eye out.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Also, erm, before I go, I’m just going to pop to the staff flat for a shower. I’m going straight out from here and don’t have time to go home first.’ Peter picks up his bag. He’s almost out of the office when Grace remembers the message he’d showed her from Caroline.

  ‘You’re going on a date, aren’t you?’ she grins. ‘I knew it. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Shitting myself,’ Peter admits. ‘We’re meeting at Francine’s, the Italian place on the seafront. She might not even turn up. She could be doing something Lorna’s told me is called catfishing. Hell, she may not even be a she.’

  Grace smiles and pats his arm. ‘You will be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘I know I’ll run out of stuff to talk about, which is likely to happen before the starter appears. I never had to worry about this stuff with Jenny. She’d always been happy either to natter into the gaps or to leave them be. Maybe I should just cancel,’ he adds, looking panicked.

  ‘I’d come with you if I had someone to bring – take the pressure off you a bit.’ Grace chews the inside of her mouth, depressed that the only person she can think of bringing is her nan and she can’t even do that anymore. An alternative occurs to her and her heart thumps a little faster when it does. ‘How about Jack and I come with you? We won’t sit with you or anything, but at least I can be there for moral support.’

  ‘Jack? Resident Jack? I don’t think that would look right at all.’

  ‘Obviously, I don’t mean as a date.’ Blood rushes to Grace’s face until even her scalp feels hot. ‘I was planning to take him somewhere away from the hostel to go through his school speech – he wanted me to look over it.’

  ‘But I’m his keyworker – surely it would be bloody inappropriate to have him accompany me on a date.’

  ‘We’ll arrive separately and sit on the opposite side of the restaurant. It will help me as well – this way I can help Jack with his speech somewhere nice without breaking any boundary rules if you’re there too – and he deserves to go somewhere nice after all his hard work.’ Grace injects as much casualness into her voice as she can. Peter looks closely back at her. Maybe she overegged it. She fights to hold her head up and doesn’t look away.

  ‘Fine. Go on, then. But separate tables and don’t do anything embarrassing like trying to help me.’

  ‘Deal,’ Grace triumphs and shakes Peter’s hand.

  ‘I’ve never been anywhere this posh before,’ Jack whispers as he and Grace arrive at the entrance to Francine’s. It’s a warm evening and there are still straggles of people splashing about in the sea and several more marching along the promenade heading for their dinners. It’s as if the wind and rain from earlier in the day had never visited the town.

  ‘Table for two?’ the waiter asks. Grace tries to ignore the thrill this gives her and does a quick scan of the restaurant. The place is packed-full and she can’t see Peter anywhere. ‘We only have one table left – if you’d like to follow me.’ The waiter takes a path through the se
ating area and waves them towards a small table. One that’s inches away from one that Peter is sitting at.

  ‘Wow. Hi. I didn’t know you were going to be here.’ Jack’s face lights up.

  Guilt pulls at Grace. She should have just told him the truth. ‘Peter’s meeting someone. We’re here for backup.’

  Peter gives Jack an awkward grin before pulling off his glasses to clean them.

  Grace sits at the table next to Peter and Jack slides in opposite. His knees graze hers and she fidgets backwards in her seat.

  The waiter brings over a jug of water and Grace forces herself to relax as Jack pours her a glass. She breathes in the aroma of cooking and wine and listens to the hum of conversation around her.

  ‘Thanks for bringing me here,’ Jack says. ‘It will be good to hear what you think about the end part of my school speech.’

  ‘Absolutely. And I’m so sorry.’ Grace lowers her voice and places a menu between her and Peter. ‘I really did want to take you out to go through your talk anyway, then I thought Peter could use some support and it just made sense…’

  ‘Hey.’ Jack puts his hands up towards her. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It’s just good to spend more time with you.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t already seen enough of me today?’ she laughs, but then stops when she sees Jack’s eyes change.

  ‘No,’ he says softly. ‘Not enough by far.’

  Grace’s stomach flips and she glances at Peter. He’s busy studying his menu from various angles. That man really does need to see an optician about those glasses.

  A woman is walking past Peter’s table, her gaze firmly fixed on the door to the toilets. She turns her head to the left and catches Peter’s eye, smiling at him with an instant recognition. Perhaps that’s because Peter actually looks like his picture. She looks nothing like hers. Several years older in fact, and she’s shuffling towards his table with the help of a walking stick.

  ‘Arthur!’ the lady says when she finally reaches him. ‘You haven’t even ordered my drink yet, that’s not like you,’ she laughs. ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m only having a giggle. I don’t mind really.’ She looks at the stick as if she doesn’t understand what it’s doing in her hand before balancing it against the table and fumbling to pull the chair out from under it.