by Pam Rhodes
“That’s the Can’t Sing Singers’ table,” explained Ellie, determined to ensure that Gregory understood clearly what heartbreak and uproar he had caused when he unceremoniously turfed out long-serving members of the church choir. “They are doing wonderfully well, so I hear. That’s their new musical director on the table with them – Ronnie Andrews. Do you know him? He’s worked professionally on all sorts of productions and musical shows for many years. He’s very accomplished.”
Gregory did not reply. He’d never heard of the man. He was of no consequence whatsoever.
Through the hatch where drinks and snacks were being sold, Maggie glanced up from the kitchen area where she and Liz were putting the finishing touches to the puddings and cakes. Longnecked glasses of lemon syllabub, chocolate mousse and elderflower jelly stood tall next to plates of pavlova meringues topped with bright red berries. Cheesecakes and flans were adorned with an array of exotic fruits. Darkly sumptuous toffee and chocolate sauces had been piped through sundaes piled high with toasted nuts and freshly baked finger-sized stem ginger biscuits. Hot desserts were ready to go into the oven at just the right moment: cinnamon-flavoured bread and butter pudding, melting chocolate fondants and hot lemon sponges that could be served with warm egg custard, home-made vanilla or chocolate ice cream, or crème patisserie. There were biscuits and cakes of all kinds: flapjacks, brownies, rocky road bars and crispy cornflake chocolate cakes. All made with love, no calories spared and every single one destined to disappear before the event was over.
Kevin was at the freezer, pulling a tray of frozen sweets out to defrost, when he spotted a familiar figure taking her place at a table quite close to the hatch.
“There’s my mum!” he exclaimed. “She’s brought my nan. I’m not sure what you’ll make of her. And that’s Tracey, our next-door neighbour, and Sonia her daughter. Sonia’s got a car, so she brought them all here today. Nan says she can’t walk far, but she’s pretty good on her legs when it suits her.”
“How old is your nan?” asked Maggie, leaving the desserts and moving across to the hatch so that she could see through to the table where Kevin’s family were sitting.
“Nan has told us for the last four years that she’s sixty-one and deserves lots of special presents. Even Mum isn’t sure exactly how old she is, because she’s lied about her age all her life.”
“Doesn’t anyone have a birth certificate for her?”
Kevin shrugged. “Don’t think so. She comes up with different dates every time she’s asked about when she was born. On her pension book, it says she’s seventy-three now – but honestly, I’m not sure. She’s looked just the same for years.”
“I’d like to meet them all,” decided Maggie. “Can I do that, before things get too busy here?”
It wasn’t clear from his expression whether Kevin was pleased or appalled at Maggie’s suggestion, but he laid down the tray and followed her out of the kitchen into the foyer and through to his family’s table in the hall.
“Well, Kevin, don’t you look posh in your chef’s overalls!” cried his mother, getting to her feet as her son and Maggie reached them.
“I’m Deirdre. Everyone calls me Dee – and if that son of mine gives you too much lip at any time, you have my full permission to sort him out.”
“There’s no need for that,” smiled Maggie. “Kevin has a natural flair for cooking, although I guess you know that.”
Dee shrugged. “Oh, he’s always whingeing on about wanting to cook this and that. I don’t take much notice really. This is my neighbour Tracey and her daughter Sonia. We only asked Sonia because we needed her car. She’s not looking forward to this – are you, Son? She’s a bit serious – always got her nose in some book or other. This kind of thing is not really her cup of tea.”
Sonia smiled up at Maggie shyly, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I am glad to be here,” she mumbled. “I like the fact that the afternoon is raising funds for Good Neighbours, because they help out with Lily a lot.” She gestured towards Kevin’s grandmother, who was concentrating on working her way through a packet of chocolate biscuits.
“When are they serving the puds?” Lily asked, staring at Maggie. “I’m starving. Are they ever going to feed us?”
“Well, we’ve got lots of lovely cakes and puddings lined up, Lily. They’re not quite ready yet because we’re serving them during the break in the middle of the Beetle tournament.”
“What have you got?”
Maggie rattled off the selection of puddings, putting the ones she thought Lily was most likely to enjoy right at the top of the list.
“How much are they?” Lily demanded to know.
“Your ticket allows you to have a pudding of your choice, and then they’re a pound each after that.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “But I’m so hungry. I’ll need at least three, and I’ll never be able to afford them on my pension…”
Maggie looked down at the elderly lady with sympathy before leaning over to whisper in her ear, “Well, I’m taking part in one of the teams here too, but when it’s break time, you and I can go up together and I’m sure I’ll be able to treat you to an extra cake or two.”
Dee clapped her hands triumphantly. “Great, the whole crowd of us will bring Nan up when you go – and then we can tell you what we’d like best too.”
Knowing she had been completely outmanoeuvred, Maggie said her goodbyes and started walking back towards the foyer with Kevin at her heels.
The moment they reached the comparative quiet of the kitchen, Kevin grabbed her arm to hold her back. “I’m sorry. My family are a nightmare. And don’t believe a word my nan says. She always gets what she wants, and she doesn’t care how.”
“Yes, I think I’m beginning to realize that.”
“The other day the police knocked on the door to talk about what happened when she went over to that supermarket on the other side of town a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, she’d caught sight of a bloke walking in on his own, and targeted him before he’d had time to start his shopping. Then she just stood there staring at him with her eyes all watery, blowing her nose on a soggy tissue. The man got worried and walked over to ask her what was wrong, and she came up with some story about him looking just like her dead son who’d lost his life while he was serving with the Army.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Maggie kindly.
“It was a load of rubbish. But once she’d turned on the tears, the poor man was desperate to do something to comfort her, so she said that it would make her feel better if he would give her a big hug, just like her boy used to.”
“And did he?”
“Of course. He was practically in tears himself.”
Maggie frowned, wondering where this was going.
“Anyway, Nan seemed much calmer after the hug and as she walked off with her shopping trolley towards the check-out, she called out across the shop floor, ‘Goodbye, son!’”
“Oh, how touching.”
“It was – until the man finished his shopping and was told at the check-out that his bill was £87. He’d only bought a couple of pints of milk, a loaf of bread and a frozen dinner, and when he told the cashier that, she said that his mother had said her son would be paying for her shopping too.”
At two o’clock sharp, Derek Simmons, well known in the town as master of ceremonies, compère and comedian for just about every significant local occasion, got to his feet.
Taking his place in front of the microphone, he welcomed everyone to this special event aimed at raising money for Good Neighbours, and hoped that they would all be good neighbours themselves this afternoon, even though competition would undoubtedly be fierce between the twenty-two teams that had crowded into the hall. He then made sure that everyone was clear on the rules.
“Each of the numbers on the dice represents a part of the beetle’s body. You need a 6 for the body, 5 for the head, 4 for the wings (you need two of those), 3 for the legs (six for each beetle),
2 for the antennae (they have two), and a number 1 for each of their two eyes. I will count down to the start of each game, and then all teams begin playing at the same time. Every player has a sheet in front of them with twelve boxes in which to draw their beetles, one for each of the games we have in the tournament this afternoon. All you have to do is throw the dice, and draw in the corresponding body part. The dice is passed round the table with each player throwing as quickly as possible. The minute any player in the hall gets all the body parts they need, they shout out ‘Beetle!’ and the game stops immediately. That person is the overall winner, but each team member also has to count up the total of all the body parts they’ve managed to collect. That gives us a figure for each player, as well as for each team. Is everybody clear? Let’s start then! Ready, steady, go!”
A frenzied panic erupted as dice were shaken, orders shouted and body parts scribbled onto the pages around the room.
“Beetle!”
The voice was so quiet and ladylike that the MC wondered if he’d heard it right, but he obviously had when a huge sigh of disappointment echoed through the crowd as they strained to see who had called out. Shyly, Connie stood up from her seat next to Percy, who was grinning as if he himself had won. The master of ceremonies walked across to check the win and, on every table, totals were totted up and pencils resharpened for further battle.
The next game was won in record time by the Can’t Sing Singers, who immediately got to their feet to bellow out a tuneless version of “Congratulations”. At the sound of their singing, a cheer of delight echoed around the hall, while on the St Mark’s table, Gregory shuddered with distaste.
Time seemed to race by and before they knew it, the six games were concluded and tea was announced. Maggie had already left her seat on the management table, and was at the serving hatch with Liz and Kevin as the crowd stampeded towards the cakes.
Within minutes, Maggie saw Kevin’s family making a beeline for the front of the queue, with Dee parting the crowds in front of her as she called out loudly, “Excuse me, please! A very elderly lady coming through. Give her a bit of space, thank you!” But when they reached the front of the queue, in spite of shouting loudly, Dee found it impossible to catch the eye of either Maggie or Kevin, who seemed to be totally preoccupied with the customers they were already serving. In the end, the only one who responded to them was Liz, who said she had no idea about them having extra cakes, and could they please just make their selection and allow others behind them to be served too?
Kevin could feel the furious eyes of his mother on him as he worked. He’d be in for it when he got home, but it was such a glorious moment that he didn’t mind at all.
At the end of the tournament, a thrilled but red-faced Connie was declared Queen of the Beetles, and the line dancing group were acknowledged as the most successful team.
“And, ladies and gentlemen, taking into account the raffle as well as the tickets, plus the money you donated for all those extra cakes you worked your way through this afternoon, I am pleased to tell you that you have helped us raise £383 for the Good Neighbours scheme. That will mean so much to this wonderful cause. Thank you, everyone. Safe journey home.”
Sara’s funeral was a family affair, with the addition of a few close friends and neighbours. As she was lowered into the family plot in the churchyard at St Mark’s, where Ray’s parents and grandparents had already lain for many years, he wondered if there would be room to squeeze him in too when the time came.
The following morning, as Kath was just about to start the usual weekly management meeting with Maggie and Trevor, Ray walked in. He’d lost weight, most noticeable in the gaunt hollows of his face, but his expression was determined and businesslike. Before they could register their surprise, he pulled out a chair and looked across the desk at them.
“It’s been awful, but that time is now over. I’m ready to get cracking again. What’s coming up next and what do I need to organize?”
A couple of hours later when Shirley was cleaning the glass windows in the foyer doors, Maggie walked past her on the way to the kitchen.
“Did you see Ray? He’s back and raring to go. Isn’t that great news?”
Shirley smiled and nodded before turning back to buff up a stretch of the glass that she knew she’d already polished.
That’s me gone, she thought gloomily. They only took me on temporarily while Ray needed time at home with Sara. Now he’s back, I’ll be getting my cards any minute. And with a small sigh, she moved across to the other door, where she sprayed and polished so hard, there was a real danger the etched pattern might disappear forever.
Claire looked down at the new number she’d listed in her mobile phone as “Beavers”. It wasn’t the number of Bear or any of the other scouting team who ran Josh’s Beaver class. It belonged to Gary. He had insisted she take it just in case she needed someone to talk to if things got difficult at home. He’d taken her number too. It was a simple, friendly gesture, nothing more. So why did she feel so guilty as she found herself staring at it for the second time that morning? And why did she sense just the smallest disappointment that he hadn’t felt the need to ring her – to check something about Beavers perhaps? To ask her a quick question about activity badges or uniforms? Or simply to hear her voice, just as she found herself longing to hear his.
This was ridiculous! She snapped the phone shut and shoved it into the deepest pocket of her handbag. She was behaving like a silly schoolgirl instead of a grown woman, wife and mother who’d had the occasional pleasant conversation with a fellow parent.
But she couldn’t recall ever being able to talk so comfortably to anyone before Gary. He listened. He asked the right questions. He suggested practical answers. He was kind and sympathetic. He understood. He was the complete opposite of Nigel.
At the thought of her husband, she was aware of the now familiar mix of anger, frustration and despair that coursed through her. They were barely speaking. She suspected that even if she could persuade him to sit down and talk things through in a rational way, there was nothing she could say that would make a difference. The situation was black and white to him. He found her resistance disloyal, and disloyalty was something he could not abide.
She knew he was talking to his family about her. She had always enjoyed the warmth of their welcome and support, and had got used to catching up with his mum or sister every few days. Neither had rung for more than a week now, and her messages to them had remained unanswered.
Her world was falling apart. The solid loving relationship she had taken for granted from the moment she first met Nigel now felt uncertain and vulnerable. It was hard to believe, but undeniably true, that the two of them were taking separate paths rather than walking together. His life revolved around work, hers around Josh. He thought his family was enough for both of them. She knew that the past few months of turning her back on her own parents had crushed her. She was at breaking point. So was their marriage. At least, she thought bitterly, she cared about what was happening to them. Nigel was making it clear that he couldn’t care less.
On the other side of town, Gary glanced at the clock with exasperation. Half past twelve already! He’d taken the boys to school and then rushed round the supermarket picking up essentials. When he got home he’d sorted out a load of dark clothes, which he stuffed into the washing machine, cleared up the breakfast things, run the vacuum over the floors, hung out the washing and made the beds. And during that time, he’d taken three complicated calls from his big client, promising to get back to them with answers before the end of the day. No chance! He’d been nowhere near his drawing board all morning.
Almost without thinking, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared again at Claire’s number. It would be good to ring her. He’d tell her about his disastrous day, and they’d laugh together. She’d wonder what he was working on, and ask questions that showed genuine interest. They’d swap silly stories about what their boys had got up to that morning, and they
’d say goodbye knowing that they’d be meeting up as usual by the coffee machine. It was nothing. But it was something. There was something in her conversation, her teasing, her understanding of what frustrated him, that made him long to push the button on his phone that could connect them. She’d probably be busy. Maybe Nigel would be with her. And in any case, what would he say? There really wasn’t anything they should be talking about – and yet he knew that the two of them could chat for hours and never run out of conversation.
Two years earlier, with the prospect of the one hundredth anniversary of Hope Hall looming, Kath had brought together a few key individuals to form a Centenary Committee. The members had come from both within and beyond Hope Hall, and each of them represented a local organization or was in a position of influence within the community. They turned out to be a very capable and enthusiastic team, coming up with all sorts of imaginative projects that were going on throughout the year in schools, the library, the town square and at Hope Hall itself.
The first big event in the Centenary calendar was the Easter Fayre, a traditional event held annually on Easter Monday at Hope Hall. This year there were plans to turn the clock back to capture the spirit of the town a century before. Roger Beck, the chairman of the town’s Rotary Club, was in charge of this event and was channelling in contributions and practical help from every quarter. The schools were planning displays, with the children all dressed in costumes from a century before. There was to be country dancing, a maypole, and children’s games with hoops and skipping ropes. The Women’s Institute members, under the direction of the formidable Barbara Longstone, were in charge of the many stalls which, weather permitting, would form a ring around the old school playground that stood immediately to the left of the main hall itself. The enthusiastic music teacher at the senior school was gathering together anyone in the town capable of making a sound on a brass instrument, and the race was on to form the motley crew into a new town brass band. It was hoped that the band would be able to take their place along with other performances being planned by groups old and young throughout the town as part of a grand concert. This would be the highlight of the events at Hope Hall on Easter Monday afternoon.