Some Kind of Wonderful

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘Like I said earlier,’ Jodie continues, while still rubbing my shoulders. ‘I’m happy for you to sit here and watch so you get the gist of what we do, but really it’s all about fun. Song-wise it’s a case of anything goes. As you’ll see, we can do anything from Bieber to Disney, Little Mix to Stormzy.’

  I laugh when she says that as my eye lands on a man who must be in his seventies, who isn’t even the oldest in the group. He looks like your average elderly man, although there’s something about the way he’s standing, looking around the room with a cheeky expression on his face, that makes him look like quite a character. That said, I can’t imagine him spitting out some rhymes Stormzy-style.

  ‘Stormzy?’ I repeat, wondering how I would even cope with doing something like that, never mind Granddad over there.

  ‘OK, we keep him for the younger lot once a few others have gone home,’ she laughs, leaning forward and smacking her thigh as though she’s in a pantomime. ‘My point is that anything is up for grabs. You hear a song you want us to do then bring it in and let’s do it. We even do musical theatre stuff sometimes.’

  ‘It all sounds great,’ I say, mustering up a huge smile to hammer home my excitement. It does, but I just want to see them now.

  ‘Proof’s in the pudding,’ she laughs, getting up. ‘We can catch up some more in the break.’

  ‘Fab.’

  ‘OK, everyone. Places, please,’ she says, clapping her hands together.

  The sound booms around the church, the incredibly high ceilings causing an echo. I love churches. I mean, I might not venture into them aside from weddings, christenings and funerals, but I find something calming about them. I don’t think I believe in God specifically. I’d agree that there is a greater being, but I think that’s actually the spirit of the universe rather than one giant man looking down on us and casting judgement and doling out challenges, joy and punishments. I don’t know what that classes me as, but I do know that I like being in here. Knowing that people congregate in this beautiful space and channel such love and devotion through their prayers leaves an atmosphere in the room that’s enchanting. Not enough for me to convert or become devout, but enough for me to respect the sacramental aspect of faith.

  The pianist starts playing as the stragglers become silent and join the more eager members of the group. All eyes are on Jodie as the assembled group begins to focus. She leads them through a warm-up, her arms waving around enthusiastically as they go up and down scales.

  ‘Brilliant,’ she praises, ending their finishing note with a twist of her hands. ‘We’ll end with all the festive numbers, of course. First though, seeing as this is the last session of the year, and we have an audience for once,’ she sings, looking over her shoulder to me and the others sitting in front of me. ‘Let’s kick off with some of the favourites.’

  A bubble of excited whispers spreads through the four rows.

  ‘Let’s start with Becky’s favourite,’ Jodie instructs.

  ‘Ooh …’ the happy group reply in chorus, the elation building as they flick through their folders to locate the right page, shuffling their weight from foot to foot, getting comfortable before giving their leader every ounce of their attention.

  The piano plays a few notes individually but gives nothing more. Then Jodie’s body bounces in front of them, leading them into the song. ‘Ahhs’ are sung out proudly, and even without the help of violins, I know exactly what the song is.

  It’s Elbow’s ‘One Day Like This’, but not as I’ve ever heard or seen it before. My body sits up a little straighter at hearing the huge sound being created. It’s wholesome, engaging, heartfelt and uplifting – and it’s only the intro. The piano kicks in at the start of the verse as the choir break into the emotional lyrics, all harmonized and brilliant.

  I’m smiling, literally grinning at them as they tell me to throw my curtains wide. Being here, watching them, it feels like I’m doing just that. And it’s not perfect. It’s full of quirks, personality and mistakes. I watch one lady, who’s standing on the end in orange, unable to stop grinning as she does her ‘bum, bum, bums’ slightly out of time, an older guy at the back singing with so much gusto he almost falls from the step he’s standing on, and there are questionable notes being sung out left, right and centre, but it’s the feeling. The emotion. It’s amazing. Electric.

  I’m so happy I came.

  How crazy that thirty seconds can make such a difference to how you feel towards something. I take in each warm expression before me, each lyric, ooh and aah, and let it fill me with a feeling of exhilaration.

  I want to be here.

  Never mind having one day like this a year. Just having one little moment like this, one that gives me hope that new beginnings are here. That’s what I need.

  Yes, it’s a love song, of course it is. But love has many guises, one being self love. It’s been rubbish lately. Life has been shit. My soul and heart have been crushed. But being here, watching them, hearing them …

  I want to be in their team!

  As the song comes to an end my body propels forwards, standing as my hands find themselves clapping so hard they almost ache. No one else joins me, and the eyes of the choir are on me as a result.

  Surprisingly, I don’t feel like a total tit as I sit down and get ready for the next number to start.

  I’ll be honest, on my way here I told myself that I didn’t need to stay for the mulled wine or mince pies. I thought I could nip out beforehand to stop myself feeling awkward for gatecrashing their rehearsal. Yet here I am, with one hand holding a plastic cup filled with warm festive goodness, while the other shoves a whole pie in my gob.

  ‘I remember you!’ says Mr Higgins as he too shoves a whole mince pie in. I recognize him instantly. He used to run the pet shop at the far end of the village and I visited at least once a week to longingly pick up the hamsters and gerbils. He never once got shirty about the fact I never bought one. I think he felt sorry for kids like me whose parents wouldn’t let them have pets.

  ‘That’s good,’ I smile, brushing away loose crumbs from my top.

  ‘You’ve not changed one bit! Did you leave for uni or something?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Sheffield,’ I smile, touched that he remembers the details. ‘Then I moved back down to Essex but bought a place in Chelmsford.’

  ‘And now you’re back here?’

  ‘For now,’ I nod. ‘Staying back at Mum’s.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says in surprise, his eyes widening at me. ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘Ah. Erm,’ I struggle, my mind not giving me the words to share what’s happened with a near stranger. When things like this happen you instantly think everyone knows all the details straight away. This is meant to be the downside of social media, village life and gossiping, but at least it gets the news out there quickly so that you don’t need to explain it to everyone you see. ‘Just … you know,’ I shrug, looking down to inspect my plastic cup.

  ‘A man,’ he rightly assumes.

  ‘Yep,’ I blink.

  He purses his lips knowingly, looking down at his own drink. ‘We’re not all bastards. Just keep that in mind.’

  After offloading his words of wisdom he winks at me, his green eyes sparkling in my direction.

  ‘Thank you,’ I smile.

  ‘Whoever he is, he’s clearly a fool. I wouldn’t let a fine-looking thing like you slip by,’ he says, a grin now appearing on his lips.

  ‘Albie, I heard that, you rotten swine,’ a woman of a similar age playfully reprimands as she bats his arm lovingly. I recognize her from the pet shop too.

  ‘Nothing to see here,’ he says, chuckling naughtily as he takes a mouthful of his drink.

  ‘Honestly, sixty years of marriage and he’s still seeing what else the world has to offer,’ Susan Higgins says kindly to me, clearly not offended.

  ‘Keeping my options open,’ Albie laughs.

  ‘I’m Susan, this is Albie,’ Susan says, ignoring him completely.<
br />
  ‘I know. I’m from here. I used to be in your shop all the time.’

  ‘I knew I recognized your face. You’re Linda’s daughter!’ she exclaims, looking happier than ever. ‘Yes, I’m terribly sorry about what you’ve been going through,’ she says, shaking her head as she remembers what she’s heard. ‘This one did the same to me, you know. Came running back two weeks later though, didn’t you.’

  ‘I said we’re not all bastards,’ he says, referring to our previous conversation as he shrugs apologetically. ‘I’m not one now.’

  ‘It was a blip!’ nods Susan.

  ‘Quite,’ says Albie, putting an arm lovingly around her waist. ‘I wouldn’t change it though. I think losing you made me realize how special you were.’

  ‘You big softy,’ she smiles.

  Love wins.

  Sometimes.

  I find myself getting lost in the chatter. Before long I’m sitting again, the Christmas carols have been sung and I’m saying goodbye to everyone as I’m leaving with a bounce in my step.

  Walking home I think about Jodie. All of the people in that church, doing something that clearly gave them a buzz and filled them with joy, were there because she decided to put a group together. How wonderful that she’s able to do that for others. It must be so fulfilling for her. So satisfying.

  I feel more like me than I have in months. Years. Thanks to such a positive experience even after being probed by Albie and Susan, I have no doubt that I’ll be starting properly with the group in January. In fact, I decide to take my phone out of my pocket and message Jodie so straight away.

  19

  ‘You’ve joined Jodie Craig’s choir?’ Connie laughs the next afternoon.

  I’m walking back from the station after work and thought I’d give her a buzz. She’s been a bit shit lately at picking up her phone when I call so we’ve been relying on texts, but even they have been sporadic. It could be that I’m noticing how little we actually manage to speak now that my attention isn’t focused on trying to be a domesticated goddess. Either way, I’m surprised when she actually answers with this statement, which she practically shouts down the phone.

  ‘That’s correct,’ I say proudly, still thrilled with myself for doing something on my list. The buzz from last night is still humming away in my tummy and I’m excited about getting involved with Jodie’s tribe of melodic excellence.

  ‘This is exactly why I said for you to come stay with me,’ Connie sighs, as though my life has taken a tragic turn for the worse – which is comical because it’s basically already become as bad as it could get thanks to Ian’s shunning of me as a bride, or having me in his life all together for that matter. ‘You’ve been sucked back into village life,’ she continues. ‘I think it’s already too late to save you … a fucking choir?’

  ‘It was fun!’ I admit, her horror at the thought of group singing putting a smile on my face. I do love it when she’s like this – fiery and humorous.

  ‘Fun? Oh babes! You’re already in too deep,’ she gasps. ‘Oh shit – you’re going to forever be singing in my face like you’re in some godawful musical, aren’t you!’

  ‘Calm your boots,’ I chuckle, turning off the busy high street and up towards Mum’s. ‘Anyway, my first rehearsal isn’t until January because of the Christmas break. Oh my gosh, you should so come with me!’ I blurt, before really thinking about it.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come with me! Join the choir! Be a part of the singing tribe,’ I say, feeling excited at the thought of us having a regular thing to do together. ‘We’ve never joined a club.’

  ‘Have you forgotten all we went through in Girl Guides? We worked incredibly hard to get as many badges as we could, as quickly as we could so that we could fill up that dreadful sash. You know what, I think the hard work paid off. I now know crap about nothing much,’ she declares.

  She might rubbish it now but I know how much we loved those weekly club sessions. Although we did disappear quite a bit to play Knock Down Ginger on the nearby houses – banging on doors as loudly as we could, then running away before getting caught by the owner. Come to think of it, I don’t think Connie has always brought out the best side of me. But then, it could’ve been my idea. It’s hard to remember who dragged who into what when we have so many years of friendship behind us.

  ‘You know how to do some proper knots now,’ I offer, remembering how we painstakingly studied a manual while sitting on the Christy Hall floor for hours on end, trying our hardest to wrap and loop as instructed in the hope we’d impress our leaders.

  ‘When was the last time you had to do a sheet bend double knot?’ she retorts.

  ‘That sounds more like a sexual position than something you’d do with a bit of rope.’

  ‘Pah!’ she breathes, taken by surprise, having not heard me talk like this in quite a while. Funny, we used to talk about sex all the time, but when I was in a relationship and actually having it (well, at least at the start when we were like two hungry sex pests), it felt wrong to share the intimate details.

  ‘Is this what I’ve got to look forward to now that I’m a spinster? Someone sheet bend double knotting me?’ I ask, making her laughter rise a notch further.

  It’s nice having that reaction from someone. I haven’t felt funny for a long time – but looking back at the old me who left for uni, I was always in a huddle of laughing people. Laughter was once a big part of my life. How can you lose something as simple as laughter? I fail to believe my life had become void of a giggle, chuckle or cackle. Maybe I was too blind to see the truth that our love and enjoyment of one another was fading, that we were more miserable than happy.

  ‘Come on, Con,’ I beg. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Have you heard me sing?’ she sniggers.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I declare, remembering that Connie is probably the most tone-deaf person I’ve ever met. ‘Jodie says anyone’s welcome. Really, you should’ve seen some of the people last night. She’s managed to pull in such a diverse bunch. She’s amaz—’

  ‘Jeez,’ she says, stopping me. ‘You used to talk about Ian non-stop. Then a few weeks ago all you were going on about was Natalia. And I imagine, now that she’s gone quiet on you, all I’m going to hear about is Jodie. You fickle beast.’

  ‘Oi!’ I say, taken aback. I’m used to her taking the mickey out of everyone, but usually she’s on my side – and she’s never complained about me talking about Ian before so it hurts to think she might’ve thought I went on about him like an obsessed groupie, albeit one who actually got to keep the guy for a while. ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Just an observation,’ she mutters.

  ‘You’re making it sound like I flit around like an idiot. Leeching on to people who don’t want me,’ I tell her.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You basically did,’ I shrug, not willing to back down even if I know she probably didn’t mean it in the way it sounded. The point is she’s said it, and knowing Connie, that means she’s felt it, but what am I meant to do when her diary is the busiest it’s ever been? ‘I can’t just sit around and wait for you to have time for me, Con.’

  ‘Babes,’ she sighs. ‘I don’t expect you to.’

  ‘What have you been doing?’ I poke, lowering my voice as I pass an elderly couple, who are shuffling along while holding hands. I smile at them, and quicken my pace to move me out of earshot. I have a feeling this conversation with my best mate is about to turn ugly.

  ‘Working on the book.’

  ‘Just that?’ I ask, perturbed that she has a bona fide, adult, her-life-is-on-course-for-greatness reason to be absent from my life. In the last six weeks, where I’ve done nothing but watch my tan fade, she has been achieving and reaching for the stars in a way S Club 7 would be proud of. ‘Or have you been going on your little dates too? Because I have to say, you were there for me at the start of all this shit, because I left you with no choice, but you’ve been pretty shoddy since,’ I hiss, s
uddenly angry at her – my whole face screwed up as I speak. I know I have felt this way, but it’s still a surprise to me to hear the words spurt out of my mouth. Even as they spill down the phone line between us I’m aware of how unreasonable I’m being, but I can’t stop. ‘So where have you been? Whose bone have you been busy with, huh?’

  ‘I have a boyfriend,’ she replies matter-of-factly, rebuffing my childish remarks as though she hasn’t even heard them.

  The words stop me. Literally stop me in my tracks as I’m turning on to Mum’s street. Telling me I’m a twat for being rude to her would’ve hurt less than this – and that makes me feel like a failure of a friend.

  ‘Is it Mr Tinder? When did this happen?’ I ask, trying to make my voice light and cheerful, attempting to do a complete U-turn.

  ‘I haven’t wanted to say anything because it felt like an insensitive time to tell you,’ she says softly, a tone she rarely uses, even with me.

  ‘So now I’m single you’re coupled up,’ I say, my constricting throat making the words come out more like a squeak.

  ‘It looks that way,’ she says quietly.

  ‘Wow …’

  ‘It’s early days still,’ she offers, as though the thought of her also going through a break-up might console me. Clearly it doesn’t. I don’t want her to feel how I do. ‘Who knows, I might be back on the boning market soon enough …’ she continues, with a feeble laugh.

  A silence invades, which is something that never usually happens with us on the phone. More often than not we’re yapping away until one of us has to go or we get cut off when Connie hits the underground and runs out of signal. This uncomfortable void isn’t like us at all, but then we’ve never been struck by these complex emotions. Even when Connie was footloose and fancy free in London while I was in Netflix and chill land with Ian, I never felt jealous of her. Maybe that’s because she was always my single friend, who wasn’t about to overtake me into marriage like the others. Maybe I was attracted to what I considered imperfections when compared to what I was striving for in life. But the world has shifted.