The Choir on Hope Street

by Annie Lyons

  ‘How about this, Mands?’ asked Zoe, holding up something for her inspection.

  ‘That’s pretty but a bit last year,’ observed Amanda. They were right outside my changing room.

  ‘Mmm, maybe. So anyway, I haven’t had a chance to tell you – I saw Oliver today.’

  I held my breath.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Amanda, ready for gossip.

  ‘Oh, my God, he looked terrible. It’s like he’s given up since he lost his job.’

  ‘Terrible,’ echoed Amanda. ‘Poor Caroline. Have you seen her?’

  ‘No. I think she might be keeping a low profile. Mind you, you can hardly blame her.’

  ‘Totally. I mean, I thought about inviting her today but it’s probably hard for her financially.’

  ‘I thought the same. What about the drinks thing next week? Shall we ask her to that?’

  Amanda sighed. ‘Best not. That cocktail bar is pretty pricey, plus she’ll probably just be moaning. You know how she can be.’

  I felt my body go rigid as Zoe laughed. ‘True, she does put a dampener on things sometimes. Let’s just keep it the two of us then.’

  ‘Perfect. Are you going to get that? I’m done here.’

  ‘No, I’ll leave it for now. Let’s grab lunch.’

  I heard the shop bell tinkle, indicating their departure. I stayed still for a moment, suddenly aware of the sound of my own heart. I felt crushed, as if I couldn’t breathe. I must not cry. I must not cry. I looked at the clothes still on their hangers, before pulling my top back over my head and leaving the changing room.

  ‘Any good?’ smiled the lady behind the counter.

  ‘No, not today, thank you,’ I said, before hurrying from the shop. I practically ran to my car and sat in the driver’s seat, wondering what to do next. I was rather surprised when I found myself sitting outside Natalie’s house ten minutes later. I rang the doorbell, my face ready with a smile.

  Natalie’s face, on the other hand, was set in a frown, which relaxed a little when she saw me on the doorstep. ‘Oh, Caroline, hi. Do you want to come in?’ she asked.

  ‘If you’re not too busy,’ I replied.

  Natalie sighed. ‘I’ve been farting about all day trying to finish the next Ned story, so a distraction would be welcome.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, following her to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m just making a sandwich. Would you like one?’ she asked.

  ‘That would be lovely – thank you.’

  She opened the fridge. ‘Okay, we have cheese – or – er, cheese?’ She grinned, holding up a parcel of cheddar.

  ‘Cheese is fine, thanks,’ I replied, shouldering off my coat.

  ‘So-o, how are you? Is everything okay?’ she asked, looking at me with genuine concern.

  How to answer? I hate my mother and my friends have been mean to me? You sound like a six-year-old, Caroline. Besides, I don’t hate my mother. I just don’t know her, not really and I’m starting to wonder if I’m being a little unfair.

  The truth was, I’d never tried to talk about these things before because I’d never felt the need, but now, I was hitting a low point. My ordered life was starting to look a little less than ordered and I was beginning to feel desperate. I didn’t really have anyone else to talk to. Oliver had enough on his plate and Natalie had offered. Plus, I found her easy to talk to. She may have been chaotic but she was kind.

  ‘I had a visit today from the woman who used to be my mother’s carer,’ I began.

  ‘Oh, that was nice of her.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, yes it was.’ I thought for a moment. ‘She believes there are issues which my mother is trying to resolve.’

  ‘What kind of issues?’

  I stared at the ceiling. This was hard. ‘Issues relating to our relationship.’

  ‘I see. But you don’t feel as if you can talk to her?’

  Actually, I don’t want to talk to her. I’m scared of talking to her. I hesitated. ‘I find it tricky.’

  She nodded. ‘It’s not easy. I had a similar thing with my father when he was dying.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  Natalie stared at me and puffed out her cheeks. ‘You and I are very different. I’m not sure I’m the best person to advise you, Caroline.’

  ‘Please,’ I said.

  Natalie heard the desperation in my voice. She took a deep breath. ‘I talked to him, did my best to work through it,’ she said. ‘I had a very trying relationship with him but I always took Woody when I went and actually, they had a good relationship – better than my own with him. And now my father’s dead, I’m glad I did it because I did my best. Life isn’t about smooth edges and neat endings. It’s about doing your best. At least, that’s what I think.’

  This was an alien concept to me but it was starting to make sense. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘You’re welcome. Now, do you want pickle in this sandwich?’

  I laughed. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’

  ‘Pickle it is then,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘How about you? Are you talking to Dan?’

  Natalie sighed. ‘Not really. He took Woody out for pizza the other day but I hid in my office when he rang the doorbell and he stayed in the car when he dropped Woody back.’

  I couldn’t imagine how that would feel. ‘I’m sorry, Natalie. It must be hard for you.’

  She shrugged. ‘I have good days and bad days. Choir days are always good days though,’ she said, handing me a sandwich.

  ‘Very true,’ I agreed.

  ‘Well, there’s one thing we have in common then,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘That and a love of cheese-and-pickle sandwiches.’

  I laughed. ‘A match made in heaven.’

  Maybe sharing isn’t such a bad thing after all, I thought as we sat and chatted. Maybe sharing with the right people actually helps. Maybe it enables you to face things you’d never thought possible and resolve them once and for all. Maybe. Just maybe.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NATALIE

  ‘Jim, I think your bud-up-bahs might be a bit off,’ said Guy, following our third run-through of ‘God Only Knows’.

  ‘My bud-up-bahs are always off,’ giggled Doly, nudging me. ‘Natalie? How are your bud-up-bahs?’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, yes, bud-up-bahs, all over the place,’ I agreed.

  ‘You seem a bit distracted tonight,’ observed Doly. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘It’s just been a long day.’ This was true. It had been a long day and I felt as if I’d been hit repeatedly with a boxing glove filled with every conceivable emotion.

  BAM! Searing fury.

  POW! Extraordinary sadness.

  WHAM! Unexpected attraction.

  It was very confusing and to be honest, I felt exhausted. When Ed appeared half an hour before choir, I’d had an overwhelming urge to send him home and eat my own body-weight in cheese. Like I said, it had been a very confusing day.

  Still, the London Choir Finals were looming and one of my more annoying traits is that I find it almost impossible to let people down. So when I’d seen Doly earlier that day during an emergency run for jammie dodgers (I would like to claim that these were for Woody but I’m fooling no-one) and she had asked if I was going that evening, I couldn’t refuse. Besides, I enjoyed the singing. It enabled me to release tension in a wholly fulfilling way. Plus, it was cheaper and less knackering than kick-boxing and there was always cake. I’d wrestle a tiger for a decent slice of Battenberg.

  I was glad to see Caroline back to her ebullient self. I heard her giving Pamela instructions about T-shirts during the break. Apparently, there had been an online vote to decide if we should go for a shade of teal or ecru and Pamela couldn’t quite accept that teal was the majority choice.

  ‘It’s just that ecru doesn’t suit everyone, Pamela,’ explained Caroline. ‘It washes people out and we do have our male singers to consider.’

  ‘I preferred the brow
n,’ observed Jim, rather ill-advisedly choosing this moment to join their conversation.

  ‘See?’ huffed Pamela. ‘Jim prefers ecru.’

  ‘Do I?’ said Jim, looking confused.

  Caroline held up her hands for calm. ‘I’m sorry, both, but the majority have chosen teal. It’s democracy in action. Don’t you agree, Natalie?’

  I was painfully aware that three sets of eyes were upon me, expectant and ready to narrow if I gave the wrong answer. I smiled. ‘I’d be happy with either,’ I said. ‘Now what triumph have you baked for us this week, Pamela?’ I added, putting an arm around her.

  She gave me one of her indulgent grins. ‘Triple-chocolate brownies,’ she replied, holding up a gigantic tin, which was promptly fallen upon by an appreciative crowd.

  ‘That was a neat deflection,’ observed Guy, helping himself to a fat slab of chocolate heaven. ‘You could work for the UN with those skills.’

  I gave a little bow. ‘Why thank you. I am actually thinking of going into international diplomacy if the writing career takes a nose-dive.’

  He laughed. ‘And what about other stuff?’ He said ‘stuff’ in that wincing way men adopt when they feel uncomfortable talking about affairs of the heart.

  ‘By “stuff”, do you mean my imploding marriage?’ He grimaced. I nudged him. ‘It’s okay, I’m being mean because you’re a man and I basically blame you for all this.’

  He put one hand on his heart. ‘Fair enough. I take it on the chin and apologise for men everywhere. You should avoid us at all costs.’

  I smiled. ‘Well, you’re one of the good ones so I’m not going to avoid you.’

  He pretended to doff a cap. ‘I shall do my best to restore your faith.’

  I curtsied. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ This feels good. I miss indulging in a bit of silly banter with a man. ‘And how are things with you?’

  ‘I’m fine. I’ve got my mother settled into her new home – she seems pretty happy.’

  ‘Oh, that’s where my mother was before they threw her out,’ scoffed Caroline, appearing from nowhere. How does she do that? It’s as if she’s got special powers. ‘How are you finding it? The home manager, Peter, is very officious, isn’t he?’

  I could see Guy shrink away at her questioning and to be honest, I was irritated by her interruption. Jog on, Caroline. Can’t you see that I’m enjoying a bit of harmless flirting here?

  ‘They’ve been pretty good with Mum, actually,’ he admitted.

  ‘Well they were a nightmare with my mother. They said that they could cope with her condition but basically they kept her confined to her room and then they lost her one night. It’s a scandal! I would be very wary if I were you,’ she warned Guy.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Guy uncertainly. ‘Right, we better get started again.’ He smiled at me before returning to the front of the room. ‘Okay, my singing friends – I know I don’t need to remind you that we’re singing at the School Summer Fair on Saturday and then the London Finals are on Sunday, so we need to up our game. From my experience, the choir always gives the worst performance at the final rehearsal, so in that respect, we’re doing great!’ There were a few groans of concern. ‘But don’t worry. We just need to focus. I propose singing some of our old favourites and then one last run-through before we call it a night, okay? Let’s clear away the chairs and stand as we’ll be for the performance.’

  ‘Any progress with the counselling?’ Caroline asked as we stacked the chairs at the back of the room. I stared at her in disbelief as a few fellow choir members glanced our way.

  Keep your voice down, I wanted to say. What happened to the Caroline who sat in my kitchen eating a cheese sandwich, chatting like a normal person? I prefer her to this loud-mouthed know-it-all.

  Instead, I stared at the floor and murmured, ‘A bit,’ in a non-committal way. This was actually true. There had been progress, but the kind of progress where someone suggests the opposite of what you were hoping for. My baby-faced counsellor, Abigail ‘I’m just being honest, Natalie’ Walters, had suggested today that I consider the realistic possibility that not all broken marriages are salvageable.

  It was progress – progress towards marital Armageddon.

  I left the session feeling like a child who had just been told that both Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy aren’t real. My body was shaking and I felt as if I was about to either be sick or cry. Or both. It wasn’t the best.

  I had planned to go home and work but realised during the train journey, that my brain wasn’t capable of writing funny happy stories today; dark psychological thrillers where marriage guidance counsellors meet grisly ends perhaps, but definitely not books aimed at anyone under five. I made a detour at the station, heading to the nearest coffee shop, where I ordered an ill-advised double-shot flat white and weirdly, no pain au chocolat. It is a sign that I’m approaching the abyss when I turn down food. That’s the moment when I know I’m in big trouble.

  I had sat at my table for a long time, watching the other customers with their normal happy lives. Actually, there was a good chance that they were dealing with all kinds of issues but at that moment, I was the only person with real problems. I observed the exhausted woman with the sleeping baby in a pushchair, enjoying a precious moment of peace, and hated her. I watched the young dude plugged into his Mac, frowning at the screen, and I felt utter loathing.

  You people don’t understand what it’s like to be me. My misery reigns supreme.

  ‘Natalie?’ I looked up from my brooding stupor into the smiling face of Tim Chambers, local MP and, to my mind at that moment, utter cretin.

  Really? I’m having a quiet coffee whilst indulging in a session of unadulterated self-pity and the world sends me this man. Thanks. Thanks a bunch.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I replied in an off-hand way, hoping he would take the hint and leave. He didn’t.

  ‘This is nice surprise,’ he remarked. ‘May I join you?’

  Quick, Nat! Make up an excuse. ‘I have to get my overdue library books back before I run up a fine?’ ‘I have The Choir on Hope Street a contagious disease that only Tory MPs can catch?’ What can I tell you? I’m not good under pressure.

  ‘Okay,’ I sighed.

  ‘Can I get you another?’ he asked, pointing at my empty cup.

  ‘Another flat white with an extra shot please,’ I said. Keep the caffeine coming.

  He returned with our drinks, put down the tray and took off his jacket, neatly folding it over the chair before he sat down. ‘So,’ he said, passing me my drink. ‘Pardon my frankness but you seem a little down. Is everything all right?’

  What the hell. I’m never going to be bosom buddies with this man. Besides, seeing as everyone else was being so straight-talking today, I may as well join in.

  ‘I’ve just been for counselling,’ I said. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Marriage guidance,’ I added.

  He nodded. ‘I’ve done a little of that myself,’ he said. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘How are you finding it? I have to say I found the endless quizzes a bit much – as if I were trying to save my marriage via the medium of a gameshow.’

  I gave an involuntary laugh. ‘I know what you mean. They’re like those crappy magazine quizzes I used to do as a kid.’

  He grinned. ‘Oh yes – Cosmopolitan’s were always the best. I learnt everything I needed to know about girls from those mags.’ I stared at him. ‘I had three sisters,’ he added, ‘in case you think I’m a weirdo.’

  I smiled. ‘And did they help? The quizzes I mean, rather than your sisters.’

  He put a hand on his heart. ‘I’m recently divorced, so possibly not. And as for my sisters, they like to tell me everywhere I’ve gone wrong with women. I probably deserve it,’ he shrugged.

  Heavens, a straight-talking politician – now that’s unusual. ‘So where have you gone wrong?’

  He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before counting them off on his fingers. ‘I’m vain, egotistical, arrogant, selfish and a li
ar.’

  Very straight-talking. ‘Wow, that’s what your own sisters say? Harsh.’

  ‘No, that’s what my ex-wife says, but then she was the one who had the affair, so it’s a little bit “pots and kettles”.’

  ‘And what do you think?’ I asked.

  He gazed at me. I hadn’t noticed before but he had intensely green eyes, like a cat’s. ‘I think I have been all those things but I’m trying to be a better man.’ There was something heartfelt about his words that struck me. Here I was, sitting with a man whose political convictions were a million miles away from my own, who I wouldn’t have trusted for one second and yet, I felt an odd affinity with him. It was a bit of a worry, but then, life seemed to be taking quite a few unexpected turns of late.

  ‘Well, you can’t do any more than that,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘And what about you? Excuse me for speaking out of turn, but what kind of idiot would let you slip through his fingers?’

  It was outrageous flirting – a completely blatant attempt to charm. Normally I was immune to this kind of nonsense. However, today was different. Today I was a woman who was losing hope and actually, this statement gave me goose-bumps. It was such a direct declaration. I took a sip of my coffee. ‘An idiot I thought I knew,’ I conceded.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Tim. ‘I really should mind my own business. Why don’t I do my compassionate MP bit and ask you about your community hall campaign?’

  We talked for another hour or so about the campaign and the choir and I felt my attitude towards Tim alter dramatically. Far from being a smug politician, I felt that he was listening. As we put on our coats to leave, he turned to me.

  ‘It was really good to see you, Natalie. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. I can see how much the hall means to your choir and the community. Whilst I can’t make any promises because this is technically a council matter, you have my word as your local MP that I will do my very best for you and your supporters.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘And as for your situation,’ he added, ‘I wish you all the luck you need. I hope you resolve it to your satisfaction and remember, I’m just a phone call away if you want to chat to someone who’s been through it. And I’m more than willing to do Cosmopolitan quizzes with you,’ he joked.