by Pam Rhodes
Carlos snorted with derision. “There is no other singer like Carlos!”
“That’s absolutely true. Most singers have a more professional attitude and recognize the value of rehearsal.”
“Other singers need to rehearse. I am professional. I need no rehearsal.”
“Every band needs rehearsal. If Friction is ever going to get anywhere, we’ve got to put the work in. We want to go places with this band, not just in the local music circuit, but hopefully across the wider music industry. Other bands with much less musical talent manage to get recording contracts. Why shouldn’t we – with our own material?”
“Your own material?” sneered Carlos. “People don’t want to hear your own material. They want to hear the hits. They want to dance and sing along to their favourites. And they want a fantastic singer at the front of the group – me!”
“When all we’re doing is local gigs, it’s probably true that playing nothing but cover versions of popular hits is what the punters want. But is that where Friction should be content to stay? Playing at weddings and monthly dance nights? We’ve got to move on. Yes, we need to keep the money coming in with minor bookings like that, but let’s use our rehearsal time to work up to the next stage.”
Carlos stepped forward so that he was looking down at Andy, who was sitting at the keyboard. “You have big ideas, my friend – too big. What this little group has here and now is a few good musicians and a great singer. And if this little group is ever going to become big, it will be because I make you famous. The crowds love me. I am your magic!”
The other group members were so astonished at this outburst that words failed them.
“I choose the songs. And I say: none of your stupid little songs. We play big hits selected by your magical singer. That’s how we’re going to be recognized. I will bring in big crowds. Then we become famous.”
There was another stunned silence, which Carlos noted with satisfaction before he continued.
“But the name of the band is wrong. Friction – what does that mean? It says nothing. It doesn’t say what people like most about us.”
“So, what do you think we should be called?” asked Andy coldly.
Carlos’s face suddenly lit up with enthusiasm. “Look around us. We rehearse in the back room of a pub. This is where the magic happens. The band should be called Carlos and the Backroom Boys!”
The following day, on Wednesday evening, Kath put in a couple of hours’ extra time on the plans and invitations for the Centenary Celebration before deciding she’d had enough and packed up to go home. As she walked from her office in the old school building back towards the main entrance of Hope Hall, she saw there was great activity going on in the playground, so she took a detour through the side door in order to take a closer look.
The Sea Cadets were hard at work passing out pieces of seafaring kit, life jackets, wetsuits and other sealed boxes of different shapes and sizes from the storeroom in which they had been keeping their equipment. Shouting instructions from where she stood beside the open back door of their minibus, Muriel Baker was being ably assisted by Petty Officer William Carlisle, who was organizing the collection and stacking of each piece so that it could all be put into the van in the correct order. Watching from the sidelines with an expression of affectionate amusement was William’s father Richard, who glanced up and smiled as he saw Kath approaching.
“They’re heading down to Portsmouth for a week of training. I came to see if I could help with the preparations,” he grinned, “but William will never forgive me if I interfere.”
“Does he mind you being here?”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “You know, Celia asked exactly the same question. She thinks I’m too protective of him, but he’s been through a lot with his mum’s illness and then losing her when he was still so young. Celia loves William so much, and tries to fill that gap for him however she can, but there’s no one like your real mum, is there?”
Kath took a few seconds before she answered. “That’s true, but it seems William has a loving family around him, and I guess that security will give him confidence as he plans the life he’d like for himself.”
“You think I’m crowding him, don’t you?”
“Are you?”
“I hope not, but you do have a point. I tell you what, they’re going to be here for the next couple of hours, and you and I do have to settle the details of the Sea Cadets’ ongoing arrangements at Hope Hall. Could we have a business meeting at the King’s Head, when we could also grab a bite to eat and a quick drink? It would give us chance to chat, and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”
For a split second, an image of the remains of a chicken casserole sitting in her fridge from the night before flashed across Kath’s mind. Then, before she had time to think better of it, she nodded agreement. “Starving, thirsty and ready to talk business. Lead on, Captain!”
The King’s Head was always popular, with plenty of bustle and chatter as drinks were ordered and meals served. Still, they managed to find a quiet corner where there was a chance they might be able to hear each other. The menu wasn’t extensive, but it covered all the favourites so well that the pub had a good reputation for the meals it offered. Kath toyed with the idea of ordering salmon salad, which seemed ladylike and fitting to choose in the company of an influential business acquaintance she hardly knew. But then Richard enthused about the big bowls of spaghetti bolognaise they served, which he said was the best he’d tried anywhere, so when he suggested with a grin that she might just enjoy that too, she agreed in an instant.
He was easy company. The conversation started with the necessary discussion about the financial arrangements for the Sea Cadets’ use of Hope Hall, but then flowed comfortably between them as Richard asked about her role at Hope Hall, and the range of activities on offer there. They spoke about each one in some detail and Kath was impressed by the questions he asked, which suggested not just a genuine interest, but an informed knowledge of the aims, pitfalls and challenges facing each club and function. They had to halt their discussion about the financial issues facing an enterprise like Hope Hall when two steaming bowls of bolognaise were delivered to their table.
As they ate, they laughed over the wily antics of some members of the Grown-ups’ Club, groaned at how difficult it would be to do the movements taught in the street dancing class, and discussed how to handle groups of teenagers using the hall then leaving a trail of litter behind them as they made their noisy exit. And as the plates were cleared away, they shared their genuine concerns for the vulnerable people who often had to find real courage to come along to the Food Bank in order to feed their families, or to access the Money Advice Service when debts were confusing and frighteningly overwhelming.
“What made you take on the job at Hope Hall?” he asked as coffee was served.
So Kath told him about this being the town in which she’d grown up, but that she’d chosen to do her degree in Business Studies at a London university, which led to her staying on in the City as she started her working career. She explained how she had been drawn to the complexity of hospital management, where her natural wish for organization and order were stretched to the extreme. And how, faced with all the various challenges of personalities, equipment failures, financial restraints, political manoeuvring and unpredictable medical emergencies that were involved in the running of an inner-city hospital, she’d happily given her heart, soul and probably her health to her job as Senior Administrator.
She explained how her resolve had been reinforced every morning as she’d walked through the main entrance and passed all the various departments where patients were waiting with an air of trepidation in rows of seats lining the walls. Or as she’d picked up a coffee in the small restaurant where groups of family members often huddled around a table, anxiously discussing the failing health of a much loved mother or son. Or as she’d visited the wards to try and grab a word with staff who were run off their feet as they strugg
led to do their best for too many patients with too few resources and on too little sleep.
“You have a real heart for people,” Richard said softly. “That’s plain to see from the way you work at Hope Hall. But you were clearly at the top of the tree at that London hospital. Why would you leave that when you found such fulfilment in your work there?”
“My mother developed Parkinson’s disease. Dad had died some years earlier and she was alone here. She’d always been such a powerhouse of energy and activity, and it broke my heart to see her health deteriorating, so I left London and came back home.”
“When was that?”
“More than four years ago now. I nursed her for two years until she died, but it didn’t take long for me to feel a bit rudderless when I no longer had Mum to look after. Then Ellie, the vicar’s wife, mentioned the administrator’s job here. I applied for it, and the rest you know.”
“Any regrets? Do you ever wish you were back in London keeping that hospital in good working order?”
She smiled, stirring her coffee as she considered the question.
“No regrets. I did love that job, but I enjoy this one even more. I don’t miss the brashness and mess of London. I like the whiff of sea air here when I go running in the morning. It’s been good to be aware of the changing seasons again and the friendliness of community life. This is home now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Richard, touching her arm lightly as he spoke. “We need you here.”
“Heavens, look at the time!” exclaimed Kath as she caught sight of a huge wall clock. “When’s William likely to finish?”
“About now, I reckon,” said Richard, getting to his feet.
“Well, thank you for this unexpected treat. It’s been good to meet you properly.”
“Not just while I loiter with intent up against the playground wall, you mean?”
She laughed. “Think how many people must have done exactly that over the past hundred years at Hope Hall. You’re in very good company.”
“I certainly have been tonight.” His eyes were warm with humour. “Thank you, Kath.”
And with that they went their separate ways – Richard towards the bar after insisting on paying the bill, and Kath out of the back entrance of the pub so that she could head across the park to her apartment. As she walked, she mulled over her conversation with Richard, finally considering the things that hadn’t been said.
She hadn’t mentioned Jack’s part in her decision to leave London, nor that he was now living and working only an hour’s drive from where she lived. And why should she? That wasn’t at all relevant to the conversation between business acquaintances like her and Richard.
Nevertheless, Kath thought, as she opened the door to her apartment, Celia Ainsworth was a very lucky lady.
Chapter 7
“No sign of him at all,” sighed Sheelagh, as she peered out of the window at the front of Hope Hall just in case she might catch a glimpse of Michael trying to keep out of sight behind the trees that lined the road.
“Usually there’s a queue round the building whenever we open up the canteen at the citadel in the evenings,” said Jackie, who had arrived that afternoon in her usual Salvation Army uniform. “Is it the same here with the Food Bank?”
“There are definitely a few stalwarts who clearly feel they’ll only get the pickings of what’s on offer that week if they get through the door quicker than anyone else. It’s shocking how cut-throat they can be, but who can blame them when they badly need food and clothes for themselves and their families? But I’ve only ever noticed Michael much later in the session, although it’s possible he could’ve been hanging around outside for a while before I’ve spotted him.”
“Well, there’s another thirty minutes before the Food Bank closes here today, so he may still make an appearance.”
“I really hope he does. He was pretty desperate for food both times I’ve seen him. I wonder how he’s managing. Have your teams come across him at all in the last week or so?”
“Not exactly,” replied Jackie, “but I had a cup of tea a couple of nights back with one of our regulars, Frank, who’s been coming along to our soup kitchen for about a year now. He’s a nice man who’s fallen on hard times, a bit of a grandad figure for some of the younger people we meet.”
“An elderly man sleeping rough? I don’t like the idea of anyone’s grandad having to do that.”
“He gets a bed in our hostel most nights for just that reason. The places are allocated on a first come, first served basis, but Frank usually makes sure he’s at the front of the line. He’s very sensible that way.”
“Is there any chance of getting him a permanent home?”
Jackie smiled ruefully. “He doesn’t seem to want one. He’s quite happy with the life he has now.”
“That’s really not a lifestyle you’d expect anyone to choose. It seems an impossible choice for someone like me to understand, but then I’m fortunate enough to live in a comfortable, settled home.”
“Well, we’re keeping a close eye on Frank. If his health becomes an issue, or if he changes his mind about the outdoor life once winter comes, we’ll sort something out.”
Sheelagh nodded thoughtfully.
“Anyway,” continued Jackie, “it seems that Frank has come across Michael. They’ve chatted every now and then over the past few weeks.”
“That’s wonderful news! Where does Frank meet him? Did he say?”
“One of the cafés in town often puts out whatever food is left over at the end of the day just as they’re about to close up. Michael sometimes shows up there.”
“So, what did he say? Anything that might give us a clue about who he is or what’s happened to him?”
“Frank said Michael had made a few odd comments about his job as a supermarket manager, but he didn’t take much notice. We often find people create a fictional story about their past because they have good reasons for wanting to keep their actual circumstances to themselves. Frank initially thought Michael was just trying to give the impression he’d been a big shot in the retail world. But then apparently Michael started talking about the café they were getting the food from, and the ways in which they could improve their business strategy, and Frank found he was quite impressed. He thinks Michael is the genuine article.”
“He didn’t let his surname slip to Frank, did he?”
“I’m afraid not. What Frank did say, though, was that Michael might have been very efficient as a shop manager, but he’s not managing well at being on the streets. He’s trying so hard to keep out of sight that he’s missing information about how and where to get the help he needs. He gets most of his food from people’s dustbins, and his clothes and shoes are in a real state, apparently.”
“Does he have any idea where Michael’s living?”
“Only that he thinks he’s got a bolthole somewhere. It sounds as if it might be an old farm building. Frank is going to try and find out more if he sees Michael again.”
“That’s great information, although it doesn’t actually give us much to work on right now, does it?”
“Well, there was one detail Frank did remember. Michael mentioned that the superstore he managed was the biggest in the town.”
“Which town? Did he say?”
“Yes. Basingstoke. Quite a long way from here, but that could have been his home for some time. Anyway, I’ve passed that on to our contact at the Family Tracing Service, and he’s going to follow up on it. Hopefully that will throw some light on who Michael is and what he’s been through. Then we might be better placed to find him help.”
Kath was deeply engrossed in organizing the volunteer rota for the Good Neighbours scheme when a quick knock at her door heralded the entrance of Trevor, a file of papers tucked under his arm.
“I was just about to call you,” smiled Kath. “Brian Mack has been in touch. He’s got a stonemason lined up, along with a couple of his best builders, for the removal of the original foundation
stone next week. They’re planning to start work at nine on Monday morning, but they say it will take a couple of hours at least before they are ready to pull the old stone out.”
“I suppose they’ve got to do everything very carefully to make sure they don’t damage the surrounding brickwork. That might spoil the effect when they replace the stone again.”
“That’s right. So Brian says that if the people who need to be there could turn up around eleven, everything should be ready then for the great unveiling of whatever may have been left behind the stone.”
“That sounds exciting. Will it be okay if Mary comes along? Say no if you think that might be one person too many.”
“Of course Mary’s welcome. I know how interested she’s always been in the history of this building.”
“I’ll give Celia a ring as well to let her know what’s happening,” added Trevor. “I’m sure she’ll be too busy at Apex to come along for this initial stage of the operation, but she’s asked to be kept in the picture about anything we find.”
“Michael Sayward wants to be present, of course,” said Kath, looking down her list. “He might even want to bring along a few other key members of the Historical Society, because this is a big moment in our town’s history. Roger from Rotary and Brenda from the WI showed an interest in coming too, and I’m not sure whether or not Peter Radcliffe from the council plans to be there. I’ll drop each of them a note to make sure they all know what’s happening on Monday.”
“That reminds me of what I actually came in to tell you.” Trevor sat down on the chair on the other side of Kath’s desk so that he could rummage through the papers in the folder he was carrying. Finally, with a note of triumph, he pulled out a thick, cream-coloured envelope on which Kath could see her own name written in beautiful italic script. Carefully, she drew out an elegant card embossed in gold lettering.
“A charity garden party!”