The Choir on Hope Street

by Annie Lyons

  ‘Ooh, it looks nice. Maybe we could all go there one day, Mum?’ enthused Matilda.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. Such a useful word – ‘maybe’. It embraces possibility without ever committing. ‘I’ve made your tea,’ I added, placing the mug on a coaster in front of my mother. She gave me a fleeting smile of thanks. I turned, ready to escape.

  ‘Let’s look at some more,’ said Matilda. ‘Mum, do you want to look too?’ Both she and my mother were staring up at me with pleading eyes.

  I didn’t. It was one thing to look at photographs with Matilda, to fill the blanks in the family tree of her mind with pictures; but I couldn’t – wouldn’t – look at them with my mother. I wouldn’t pretend that we shared treasured memories. There was no game of Happy Families to be played here.

  Still, I hated disappointing Matilda. I swallowed down a raw feeling of guilt. ‘I’m afraid I need to get on with dinner,’ I lied, turning swiftly on my heels. Once in the kitchen I put on the radio, letting music drown out my thoughts. I sang along and thought about the three care homes I had lined up to visit the next day.

  Problem solved. Crisis averted.

  However, the search for a new nursing home proved to be more challenging than I thought. Clearly, that irritating jobsworth, Peter Jarvis, had felt it was his duty to inform any prospective new home about my mother’s issues.

  ‘We don’t feel that we could offer your mother the care she requires,’ said the manager of one place I phoned.

  What with the campaign and the day-to-day care of my mother, I’d had little time to leave the house, let alone take the matter further. It was therefore with an unexpected amount of relief that I found myself leaving Oliver, Matilda and my mother at home and heading to Croydon for the south-east London regional choir heats on Sunday. Yes, even Croydon town centre seemed a more enticing prospect.

  I had offered to pick up Natalie and immediately wished that I hadn’t, as she was predictably late. I thought she would appear at the door as soon as I pulled up. I had said nine o’clock sharp but I noticed that all the curtains were still drawn. I sighed and got out of the car, realising that I would need to ring the bell.

  A man, whom I guessed to be Woody’s father, opened the door. He wasn’t my type – too much facial hair – but I could see that he was attractive, with dark hair and smiling brown eyes.

  ‘Hi, I’m Dan. You must be Caroline. You’ve probably realised by now that Nat is always late, so why don’t you come in for a sec?’ he said, standing back to let me pass.

  I glanced at my watch. ‘Okay, thanks,’ I replied, stepping into the hall.

  Natalie’s face appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Oh hi, Caroline. Sorry, I thought you said nine-fifteen. I just need to dry my hair and I’ll be with you.’

  No, I said nine o’clock. And I texted to remind you last night because I knew you would do this.

  I did my best to mask my impatience. ‘It’s fine. I wanted to get there early but we’ve got plenty of time,’ I said, smiling casually at Dan. I heard the sound of a hairdryer upstairs.

  Dan grinned at me. ‘Would you like a coffee while you’re waiting?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’ve just had one, thanks,’ I replied. I spied the kitchen from where I stood in the hall.

  Did people really enjoy this kind of chaos? There were empty pizza boxes, beer bottles and the remains of that day’s breakfast strewn over every surface.

  Dan noticed me looking. ‘Excuse the mess,’ he said. ‘Haven’t had a chance to clear up yet.’

  ‘I understand,’ I smiled. Except that I don’t. I never leave the washing-up overnight. I can’t bear an untidy kitchen.

  Woody appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh hey, Tilly’s mum,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Woody,’ I answered. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good, thanks,’ he replied. ‘Is Tilly with you?’

  ‘No, Matilda is at home with her father,’ I said, correcting him.

  ‘Oh, isn’t she going to see the choir?’ he asked, sounding disappointed.

  ‘No, she isn’t. Why? Are you?’

  He nodded. ‘Definitely. Dad’s taking me,’ he said, looking round at his father.

  Dan smiled. ‘Got to support your mum, haven’t we?’

  I felt a pang of sadness. Here was a man estranged from his wife, who was supporting her in every way and yet my own husband wouldn’t be there to support me.

  Woody seemed to pick up on this. ‘We’ll cheer for you too, if you like,’ he said.

  I felt a tug of affection for this little boy. ‘Thank you, Woody.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Tilly’s mum.’

  I was about to correct him again but thought better of it.

  ‘Sorry, Caroline,’ said Natalie, hurrying down the stairs, doing up her blouse as she went.

  ‘Aww, Mum!’ cried Woody, uttering enough embarrassment for both of us.

  ‘Sorreee,’ sang Natalie, reaching forwards to kiss him on the forehead. ‘Mwah! Love you. See you later. Okay?’ She looked towards Dan, who gave a smiling thumbs-up.

  Dan and Woody were still there waving us off as I started the engine. I’ll confess to feeling a little envious at Natalie’s easy affection with her son and the way Dan was supporting her, despite their situation.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘That’s Dan.’

  Natalie stared out of the window. ‘Yup, that’s Dan. He stayed over last night – we had a bit of a family evening.’

  Why did people feel the need to share information that no-one had asked for?

  ‘U-huh,’ I replied, trying and failing to mask my disapproval.

  She glanced at me. ‘What does “U-huh” mean?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all. It’s none of my business.’ And that’s the way I intend to keep it.

  She folded her arms. ‘Come on, out with it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You obviously have an opinion about this, so out with it.’

  ‘Only if you want to hear it.’ And I doubt you will.

  ‘Caroline. Just tell me. Otherwise I will be forced to change all your pre-set radio stations to Kerrang,’ she threatened, hovering a finger over the buttons.

  I shivered at the prospect. ‘Okay. I just wonder if it’s a good idea for you to let Dan dip so freely in and out of your life. I’m not sure I’d allow Oliver to do that.’

  ‘Well I don’t have a lot of choice, do I? He’s Woody’s dad.’

  ‘And you’re Woody’s mother. You have a say too, you know. Plus, it must be confusing for Woody not to have boundaries regarding when his father’s around. Children need boundaries.’

  She went quiet for a moment. ‘I’m doing my best, Caroline.’

  I could tell she was hurt and I felt a little guilty. ‘I’m sure you are. I’m just telling you how I see it. Of course Woody has to see his father, but maybe just at set times.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she murmured.

  ‘You have to protect yourself sometimes, Natalie,’ I said more gently. ‘Otherwise he’ll walk all over you.’

  ‘Dan wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘I’m sure, but then you never thought he’d do this, did you?’

  Oh dear. Maybe that was a little too candid. Natalie went quiet and stared out of the window. I’d obviously struck a nerve. ‘How about some music?’ I suggested, turning on the radio. ‘Everybody’s Changing’ was playing and I began to sing along. I glanced at Natalie with smiling encouragement. She rolled her eyes before joining in, picking up the harmony. Actually it sounded pretty good and the tension was broken.

  ‘How are things with your mother?’ she asked after the song had finished.

  I would have told most people that things were just fine but I knew this wouldn’t wash with Natalie. She was such an open person. I’d have to give her some details, just not all of them.

  I sighed. ‘It’s a bloody nightmare, if you must know. I can’t bear being in the same room as her, whereas Matilda adores her. I’m having no luck finding a new home that wil
l take her at the moment, so we seem to be lumbered!’

  ‘Have you tried talking to her?’

  ‘What’s the point? She can barely speak and I don’t have anything to say.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Natalie, I know you’re going through counselling at the moment but I would appreciate it if you didn’t psychoanalyse me.’

  ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’

  ‘The lady will drop you off and make you walk if you carry on in that vein,’ I retorted.

  ‘Just telling you how I see it,’ she said with a wry grin.

  ‘Touché,’ I smiled.

  It was still early when we arrived at the Fairfield Halls – a large modernish concert hall and something of a haven in the cultural wasteland of Croydon. There were a lot of nervous-looking people milling about, mostly women with the odd man thrown in for good measure. We had arranged to meet at the far end close to the coffee bar and I noticed Pamela and Guy already there with a few others. Pamela looked very red in the face.

  ‘Good morning!’ I smiled as we joined them.

  ‘Morning,’ grinned Guy. ‘How are we feeling? Raring to go? Are the words to “Something Inside So Strong” etched into your subconscious?’

  ‘Labi Siffre haunts my dreams,’ joked Natalie.

  ‘Is it me or is it very hot in here?’ asked Pamela, fanning herself with the programme.

  ‘It’s not that warm,’ I observed.

  ‘’Scuse me then, I’m having a moment,’ she said, hurrying off to the bathroom, muttering, ‘bloody menopause.’

  ‘We’ll see you in there,’ I called after her. ‘Let’s go up,’ I said to the others.

  We made our way up the stairs to a registration table. It was very crowded so I volunteered to register us.

  ‘The Hope Street Community Choir,’ I announced, smiling broadly at a woman with a list.

  ‘Hope Street, Hope Street … ah, here you are,’ she said. ‘You’re on in the second half and you’re last. The ushers will show you where to sit,’ she added, handing me a card. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied, feeling a sudden rush of nerves.

  ‘Last on is either a really good thing or a really bad thing,’ observed Guy when I told them.

  ‘I think it’s a really good thing,’ I said. ‘It gives us time to eye up the competition.’

  ‘Let’s go with that,’ smiled Guy.

  ‘I’d rather go first,’ said Natalie. ‘Get it over with.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I told her. ‘Deep breaths, everyone. Come on, let’s go in.’

  The concert hall was grander than I’d remembered – a mixture of ambient lighting and an open modern design gave it a soft and rather intimate feel. We took our places in the seats behind the stage and everyone started to relax a little.

  ‘I think this might be fun,’ murmured Doly, taking in her surroundings.

  ‘I intend to enjoy myself,’ agreed Jim, who I noticed was wearing a jaunty red waistcoat over his white shirt. It gave him the appearance of an usher and I wasn’t surprised when one lady asked him where the toilets were. ‘Up there on the left, darlin’,’ he replied with a friendly smile.

  ‘Where’s Pamela?’ asked Natalie, looking worried.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be back soon,’ I said. Sure enough, Pamela appeared moments later. She still looked very flushed but I was relieved to note that she’d stopped sweating.

  She sat down with a sigh. ‘Oh, my stars, getting old is no fun at all,’ she declared, fanning herself.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Doly.

  ‘Yes, thank you, dear. It’s just the change, you know? It all went a bit pear-shaped after my hysterectomy.’ I winced. Doly smiled and nodded politely. I noticed Guy and Natalie exchange glances. Pamela took a swig of water from a bottle in her bag. ‘I’ll be all right in a sec,’ she added, closing her eyes. ‘Just need to get my breath back.’

  I looked around at the other competitors. Most were wearing the choir-performance uniform of black skirt or trousers and white top, but I noticed one small group of women who were all attired in smart matching dark-blue trouser suits with sequin detail on the cuffs and pockets. They looked very professional. One of their number turned and caught sight of me looking. There was a moment’s recognition before she started to wave.

  ‘Caroline! Oh my God, is it really you?’ she cried.

  ‘Danielle!’ I replied. ‘Wait there, I’ll come to you.’ As I made my way over, I noticed the other women in her group shift and stare at me, unsmiling and suspicious.

  Danielle seemed pleased to see me, though. She looked almost exactly as she’d done at school – huge blue eyes and a glowing peachy complexion, although I did note with a certain satisfaction that her lips were a little plumper than I’d remembered and I could see virtually no wrinkles. She’d definitely had work. She held me at arm’s length. ‘How long has it been? No, don’t answer that. It will make us feel old. You look fabulous,’ she declared.

  We laughed. ‘How are you?’ I asked. I hadn’t seen her for at least ten years. We used to meet up every now and then for drinks but then she’d gone to live in Australia for a while and the communication had filtered out.

  She twisted a strand of hair around her finger as I remembered she used to do when we were at school. ‘I’m wonderful,’ she replied. ‘Living in a ridiculously huge townhouse in Dulwich, married to Owen, who’s in property.’

  ‘Lovely,’ I said, swallowing my jealousy. ‘Any children?’

  ‘Two boys – my pride and joy. They’re away at boarding school, having the time of their lives.’

  I nodded. ‘So you’re taking part in the competition?’ I asked.

  She glanced at her group and then back at me in surprise. ‘We’re the Dulwich Darlings,’ she purred. I looked blank. ‘We were on that show with Andrew Munday – you must have seen it? Everyone said it was a travesty that we didn’t win.’

  ‘Oh, right. How marvellous.’

  ‘I know, isn’t it just? So we’re doing this today as a formality to give it a bit of prestige. The organisers asked us and we couldn’t say no,’ she said with a smug smile. ‘We’ll fly through this and the next round but there’ll be some pretty stiff competition when we reach the final.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ I offered.

  ‘Thank you, darling. And you,’ she glanced over to where my fellow singers were standing. ‘Is that your group?’ she added, wrinkling her nose condescendingly.

  ‘Yes, we’re the Hope Street Community Choir.’

  ‘Oh, I heard about them. You’re trying to save that little community hall, aren’t you?’

  I bristled at her use of the word ‘little’. ‘We’ve got a lot of support.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she smiled. ‘And let me know if you want any help from the Dulwich Darlings – we’d be only too happy to use our celebrity status to help you. Here’s my number,’ she added, thrusting a card into my hand. It said, ‘Danielle Sheldon, Musical Director, Dulwich Darlings.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied, forcing a smile. ‘I best get back to the others.’

  ‘Of course. Lovely to see you,’ she said, turning swiftly away.

  I walked back to my seat, an unexpected surge of fury coursing through my veins.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Natalie as I sat down next to her. ‘Bit OTT, aren’t they?’

  ‘They’re the Dulwich Darlings,’ whispered Doly. ‘They’re amazing.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  They’re also our arch-rivals, I decided as the lights went down, signalling the start of the heats. And I have every intention of bringing them down.

  For seasoned competitors, being last on the bill may be an advantage but for us, it proved to be something of a disaster. For a start, it meant that we heard every other performance and this made us more nervous. I kept noticing details of what people were wearing and how they were standing.

  We had to sit through the Dulwich Darlings’ perfo
rmance of ‘True Colors’, too. It was over the top but they were very good. ‘They’re the ones to beat,’ whispered Guy. Yes, preferably over the head with a club, I thought, surprised at how agitated I was.

  When it was our turn, I felt jittery and truth be told, a little foolish.

  What were we thinking? We were never going to win this. We had no place here.

  We took our places and I noticed Natalie look out to the audience, where Woody and Dan sat smiling and waving. I felt an unhelpful stab of jealousy, wishing that Oliver and Matilda were there too. I did my best to channel my nerves into confidence as Guy stood before us.

  Then as we began to sing, something remarkable happened. I could still feel my nerves dancing in the pit of my stomach but they were numbed as the music washed over me and carried me along. For a small moment the worries about my mother, all the stresses and strains of my life, disappeared. I was lost in the music, caught up in the words of the song. I did feel strong, I did feel powerful. My body tingled with goose-bumps. Unlikely as it may sound for a woman, standing on a stage in Croydon singing in our mishmash of a choir, I felt wonderfully alive.

  Guy was nodding at us with delight. We sounded good. Better than good. We sounded fantastic. It was different to the pub. The audience were captive in front of us and from the grins on their faces, I knew they were enjoying it too. True, our movements could have been more relaxed and polished. Jim danced like a puppet, all jerky arms and gangly legs, and Pamela often moved in the opposite direction to everyone else, but we were starting to feel like a choir. A proper choir who took part in competitions and, who knows, maybe even won them!

  We were just reaching the end of the song and I remember feeling regret that it would be over too soon, when there was a loud thump. We turned and gasped as one at the sight of Pamela crashing to the floor in a messy heap.

  Her barrel-shaped husband, Barry, rushed along the aisle, shouting, ‘Pammy!’, whilst we all gathered around and the audience whispered their concerns to one another.

  ‘Give her some space,’ ordered the St John Ambulance man who charged on from the side of the stage, clearly overjoyed to have an actual incident to deal with. He knelt by her side just as Barry arrived.