by Pam Rhodes
“And look which charity is being supported – Hope Hall’s Good Neighbours scheme,” beamed Trevor, leaning across to point out the small print at the bottom of the invitation. “Mary and I have been invited too.”
“Who’s organizing this?”
“Celia Ainsworth. She always opens her garden up one weekend in July, but changes the charity she supports each year. She must have been impressed by what she saw here when she came along to the trustees’ meeting for the Money Advice Service the other week. I remember how interested she was in hearing about all the activities going on at the hall, and she asked a lot of very pertinent questions about the Good Neighbours scheme then.”
“I see the event is being held at Ainsworth Cottage. I guess not a lot of people are expected then, if it’s in a cottage garden?”
Trevor chuckled. “Just wait till you see Celia’s home! Believe me, that house name is quite an understatement.”
“So how many people usually go along to these parties?”
“No more than sixty, I should think, but it’s the quality rather than the quantity that counts. Celia has some very well-heeled, charity-minded contacts. She always organizes an auction of wonderful gifts – holidays, opportunities to meet VIPs, visits behind the scenes at big football matches or concerts, perhaps even the chance to bag a couple of tickets for Centre Court at Wimbledon. And there’s always some artwork there, because that’s a passion of Celia’s. She picks out pieces that will definitely gain in value, so that those in the know can make a grand public gesture of donating to charity with the certainty that, in time, they’ll get their money back from their investment.
“But then investment is Celia’s area of expertise. You know she’s Director of the UK Pension Fund for Apex Finance; it’s a massive international financial institution with its parent company based in New York. In fact, this whole charity event is sponsored by Apex, who consider it a valuable PR exercise. That means Celia can approach a few choice individuals among her Apex business contacts and persuade them that it would be equally good PR for them if they were seen to donate an impressive auction item or two.”
“Wow! What a wonderful opportunity for us. How very kind of her. Does she require any help from us, perhaps with the publicity?”
“Oh, my dear,” drawled Trevor in the poshest accent he could muster, “this is an invitation only occasion. Only the crème de la crème are invited. The publicity comes after the event, in the society columns and Hello!magazine.”
“My goodness, how wonderful to think our lovely old Hope Hall might be mentioned in a magazine like that! What about the catering then? Could our team help out? I know Maggie would love to be involved in planning an occasion like this.”
Trevor guffawed with delighted laughter. “I can assure you that no help will be required from us at all. This is a high-class charity event for high-class worthies who expect high-class catering.”
“Don’t say that in Maggie’s hearing.”
“Oh, you know I could eat Maggie’s cakes all day long, but this is a world away from that.”
“Champagne and ice sculptures then, is it?”
“Absolutely! A chocolate fountain, endless varieties of canapés, crusts cut off the caviar sandwiches, bone china cups and saucers, and pinkies up!” beamed Trevor.
“My!” breathed Kath. “It sounds very grand.”
“And very lucrative. This could double the Good Neighbours reserves in just one afternoon.”
Kath sat back with a smile as she watched the expression on Trevor’s face. “I’m not sure whether you’re more delighted about this as Trevor the Hope Hall accountant, or Trevor who loves nothing more than a posh cream tea.”
“Both,” he replied, rubbing his hands together like an excited child. “This will be a red letter day in my diary!”
At that, Kath drew out her own diary from the top drawer and wrote in the details of the garden party for the second Saturday in July. As she wrote, she thought about her first impressions of Celia when she’d arrived at Hope Hall on the morning of that trustees’ meeting. She’d been the picture of elegance, expensively dressed, confident and completely aware of her impact on the people around her. She had shown no interest at all in Kath, even though she was standing alongside the other trustees. In fact, Kath still remembered the only recognition she’d had from Celia was when she threw an off-hand instruction in her direction asking for a decaf coffee with one sweetener and almond milk!
But this was the woman who had claimed Richard Carlisle’s heart, and who loved William very much too, from all he’d said about her. It was a happy solution to a very sad situation.
And this offer from Celia to organize such a prestigious event to raise funds for Hope Hall’s Good Neighbours scheme would bring so much benefit to elderly and isolated members of this community. It was kind of her, and kindness was obviously a quality that Richard would appreciate in his choice of partner.
Kath was glad for him. She really was.
“Right, listen up, you lot!” Shirley’s voice boomed across the foyer so that even the most hard-of-hearing members of the Grown-ups’ Lunch Club looked up from their dinner plates in alarm. “This is the last day for letting us know if you want to come to Southsea on our summer outing. It’s two weeks on Saturday. Make sure you put your name on the list pinned up on the noticeboard over there before you leave today if you plan to come with us.”
“How much is it again?” asked a lady who was still wearing a neat mauve hat with a flower on one side of it, even though she’d taken her coat off at least an hour earlier when she’d arrived at Hope Hall.
“It’s all subsidised,” bellowed Shirley, “so it won’t cost you anything for the trip, or for the lovely tea we’re all going to have at a big hotel right on the front. But if you want to bring back any souvenirs, or plan to have a flutter on the bingo, or buy a Kiss-Me-Quick hat while you’re there, you’ll have to bring your own money for that.”
“You’ll be needing one of those hats, Percy!” giggled Flora.
“Well, I’m not kissing him,” shuddered Doris, trying rather unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. “Perish the thought!”
“Ladies!” announced Percy. “Please don’t fight over me. Just form an orderly queue.”
A squeal of indignation went up from the ladies, while the gentlemen nodded approval in Percy’s direction.
“Actually, ladies and gentlemen,” announced Percy once the noise had died down, “when it comes to headgear, I plan to pay homage to my nautical past.”
“It’s going to be a Hello Sailor hat then, is it?” asked Flora.
Percy gazed over in her direction with an expression of disdain. “Actually, I was thinking of something more classy and to the point. I think my hat should simply say ‘The Captain’.”
While laughter and a variety of comments rippled around the hall, Ida sat bolt upright in her seat at Flora and Doris’s table, her face totally without expression. “How common!”
It was only when the noise had died down to the level of general chatter that her own comment was heard, loud and clear, by everyone sitting at the adjoining tables. Some ladies looked embarrassed. Percy spluttered with laughter.
Then Shirley stepped in to remind them all of the original message. “So, names on the board today! Understood? Anyone got any questions?”
“Should we bring our own sandwiches for the journey?” asked the lady in the mauve hat. “Only I have a condition. I need to eat a little and often.”
“Then be sensible and bring along whatever you particularly need to keep your strength up,” replied Shirley. “And if any of you have medication you should take, please remember to have it with you. We don’t want any unscheduled trips to the Queen Alexandra Hospital in Portsmouth!”
“I know we’re having tea,” continued the lady, “but that’s at tea time, and I’ll be really hungry by then. I need to know when we’re going to be eating. It’s important that I know.”
&nbs
p; Around the foyer, ears pricked up with interest to hear the answer to this question.
“We’ll be bringing along packed lunches for everyone.”
“One of Maggie’s packed lunches?” enquired Flora. “With cakes? Are we going to have some of Maggie’s cakes?”
“The lunches will have everything you need. They’ll be wholesome and nourishing.”
“Can we have sausage sandwiches?” asked Robert. “I love Maggie’s sausage sandwiches.”
“And some of those cheese biscuit things she makes?” suggested John, who was sitting next to Robert.
“And will there be any fresh fruit?” asked Connie. “I have to have fresh fruit every day. My doctor says so.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” exploded Shirley. “The packed lunches will be wonderful. You know they always are when they come from Maggie and the kitchen team here. But if you need anything special for your own particular diet, then let me know today and I’ll make sure we do our best to provide whatever you require.”
“Don’t bother with a packed lunch for me,” called out Percy. “I’m going to have a bag of chips sitting on the sea wall.”
“Ooh, that’s what I’d like to do too!” enthused Betty.
There were comments of agreement from all around at that idea.
“Listen!” cut in Shirley. “You will each be given a packed lunch which you can eat and enjoy or feed to the seagulls for all I care. Just do your own thing. It’s your holiday outing. We’re all going to have a great day by the seaside at Southsea. If having a portion of chips smothered in salt and vinegar is what you fancy, or if you’d rather get your choppers around a stripy stick of seaside rock, then do it! Enjoy yourselves. That’s all that matters.”
“What happens if it rains?” asked the mauve-hat lady. “I’ve got a Pac a Mac. Will that do, or should I bring my umbrella as well? Oh, and will we need our wellies?”
“Well, I’m going to have a paddle,” announced Percy. “But not in my wellies.”
“So childish,” snapped Ida. “It’s like having a five-year-old in the room.”
With a withering look in Ida’s direction and a huge sigh, Shirley simply turned on her heel and headed out through the foyer towards the main hall.
Further down on the left-hand side of the hall, the door that led to the old school building burst open to reveal Shirley’s son, Tyler.
“What on earth are you doing here?” demanded Shirley. “Have you cleaned your room and run the vacuum over it like I asked you?”
Tyler smiled in a way that immediately irritated Shirley.
“Look, Tyler. This is my place of work. If you’ve come here to see if you can wheedle any more money out of me, forget it. And what are you doing coming out of the old school building anyway?”
“I’ve been to see Ray.”
“What?”
“I’m working in Ray’s office. He’s having trouble with his computer.”
Shirley fell into uncustomary silence as her jaw dropped at this news.
“Actually,” Tyler continued, “there’s nothing wrong with his computer. He just doesn’t know how to use it.”
“And you do? Are you sure? There’s a lot of valuable information on that computer, Tyler. Don’t you dare lose it!”
Tyler shot his mother a pitying look. “The only danger to the computer in that office is Ray himself. He’s got no idea. Half the time he forgets to save things he’s written, and he’s obviously never worked out how to compile charts and graphs, because a lot of the information he needs would be much easier to access in chart format.”
“And Ray’s okay with all this, is he?”
“He’s ecstatic about it. He says I’ve set up the easiest and most efficient system he’s seen in years.”
“Are you sure? I’ll be checking with him, you know—”
“Mum.” There was a steely note in Tyler’s voice as he stared directly at her. “You’re hopeless with computers. I, on the other hand, am really good. Ray recognizes that, and he trusts me to help him. And he’s right to trust my work and my judgement, because I really do know what I’m doing. The only person who doesn’t recognize how good I am with computers is you!”
Shirley stared back at him, her mind obviously whirring. Then a slow smile of pride spread across her face. “Good. That’s very good. Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”
“I’ll see you later, Mum, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, still grinning as she continued her journey out of the side door and into the old school building.
Because Maggie so often had to work at the weekends at Hope Hall, she usually tried to keep Thursdays as a day off in the week. Since moving into the flat, she found she enjoyed every moment she spent in her new home. She’d whiled away many pleasant hours rearranging the furniture, first in one layout and then another, until she was absolutely sure that the sofa and chairs, the sideboard and the rugs, the dressing table and the coat stand were all just where they looked at their very best.
As she laid out her favourite ornaments and family photographs on the shelves and windowsills so that they were shown off to their full advantage, she smiled to herself at the memory of the ornaments and pictures that had been on show at the old house, and how wonderful it had been to get rid of the ones she had never really liked. That was the compromise a wife made when her husband insisted on displaying every photo ever taken of him in either a football or a darts team since he’d been in short trousers at school.
He’d had so many collections that he couldn’t part with. High on the list were his old albums from the nineties (lined up along the floor on his side of the bed), his beer mats (displayed on a specially built shelf in the dining room), and his ornamental bottles of liqueur from various Continental destinations that he’d brought back from their many family holidays. These liqueurs were never drunk, never even touched, but the variously shaped bottles had still been lined up along the windowsill in the conservatory for years on end.
The feeling of relief and freedom was exquisite when she finally packed the whole lot up and sent them round to his new home with Mandy. Dave was the man with whom that floozy had decided to share her life. Let Mandy find room for them on the shelves and walls of her house. Good riddance!
And for Maggie, there was huge enjoyment in planning the furnishings and decoration of her very own home. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to allow for the tastes and habits of other family members, first her parents and then her husband. So now, in her new home, her windowsills were adorned with pots of lush plants with variegated leaves and vibrant blooms that she watered, fed and sprayed with tender care. Everything felt fresh, and lighter.
Obviously she still wanted her family to be on display, though. Every single one of the scribbles, Mother’s Day cards and cardboard creations made by Steph and Darren during their schooldays was now lovingly stacked in a box in the top section of her wardrobe, and it was grandson Bobbie’s creations that were proudly on view on her fridge door.
The final touches were put in place when her son Darren helped her hang some new pictures and prints on the walls. She had treated herself to several that had caught her eye. There was one that showed a woodland scene of a small wooden bridge stretching over a bubbling stream. Any walker coming to that bridge would be faced with a choice. Should they take the path to the right on this side of the stream, or the one to the left? Or did they have the courage to step out across the bridge and follow the path that stretched ahead into the distance, destination unknown? She knew which choice she had already made. This move into a new home meant that she had crossed that bridge towards whatever lay ahead. At times it was daunting, but the knowledge that the future was hers to discover and make her own was exhilarating too. With a warm sense of satisfaction, she realized she wouldn’t turn the clock back for anything now this huge upheaval in her life was behind her. This flat was testament to the fact that she was beginning to enjoy herself.
Some of th
e items she’d bought for the flat were out of necessity rather than desire. The only mirror in the place when she’d moved in covered the full length of the door in the bathroom. She was appalled by it. The bathroom was the very last place she wanted to catch sight of every generous inch of herself! Her body always looked dreadful in the mirror – short, dumpy and far too round. It was true that the scales told her she’d lost a few pounds during those manic weeks when she’d been racing around packing up the old house, but wherever those pounds had previously been, their loss didn’t seem to have had a noticeable impact on her silhouette. She was still fat, and she still hated it.
And it was that thought that led to her considering again the email that had arrived in her inbox the evening before. It came from one of her oldest friends, Sylvie, who had lived next door but one when they were growing up. Sylvie and she had walked to school together in the mornings, and waited for each other to make the return trip every afternoon. Sylvie eventually married Bill, an electrician who’d opted for a full-time job with a building firm in south London. They’d moved away shortly after their wedding, thinking quite rightly that a permanent position in a busy and established building company would give them the financial stability they needed in order to start their own family. It had been a good choice. Three children, four grandchildren and twenty-seven years later, Bill had just retired as a director of the company with a generous pension and a holiday home in southern Spain.
Distance had never dimmed the friendship between Maggie and Sylvie, though. At first, they’d kept in touch via regular phone calls and even the occasional newsy letter, but in latter years the technology of internet and mobile phones meant that rarely a week went by without the two of them being in touch.
But yesterday’s email from Sylvie had sent Maggie’s mind into a whirl.
Hi Mags. How are you doing? Have you got all that painting done in the new place yet? And have you sorted out how the central heating works? Although you won’t need it for a while, with all this lovely weather we’re having. My advice to you is to ask an eight-year-old. They know everything these days!