by Pam Rhodes
How’s Steph? Is Dale’s work still going well? Bobbie okay? He must be growing up so fast. Send pictures! How old is he now? Is he three yet? I lose track of birthdays with all these youngsters to remember. And are Darren and Sonia still going strong?
All my lot are fine. We love seeing Carol’s two girls every day after school. I always do tea for them, and give them time to play in our garden, which is much bigger than theirs. It may be a bit naughty, but as Nanny I think it’s my job to spoil them a bit, and I’ve always got ice creams in the freezer and their favourite pizza or pasta for tea. Mind you, Bill’s showing his age, because I can tell he finds two small girls a bit of a handful. He usually arranges to have urgent jobs he’s just GOT to do in the greenhouse when they arrive. The trouble is that the more he disappears, the more desperate they are to see him! And just to be helpful, I always point the girls in the right direction to find him. That will teach him to duck out of his responsibility as Grumpy Grandpa!
Anyway, love, ignore my ramblings because I’ve got a message to send on to you. My brother Joe rang me last night, which as you know is a rare treat. It’s the first time I’ve spoken to him since that school reunion. We should have gone, shouldn’t we? At least I had an excuse because I live miles away, but I’m still cross you didn’t go along to spy for both of us! I’d love to have seen pictures of some of our old classmates. I bet that would have given us a right giggle. Anyway, I’m teasing. I know you had a lot on your plate at the time.
So, coming back to the point, Joe went along and met up with quite a few of his old friends. He really enjoyed himself, and said they all had great fun talking about the teachers and the pranks they got up to and which girls they fancied. Like nothing had changed really!
Now, do you remember that when Joe walked to school with us, his friend Phil sometimes used to join us too? He lived in Bertram Street, right at the bottom – can you picture him? Well, Phil and Joe have kept in touch every now and then, even though it’s been years since they actually saw each other. Phil has been working along the coast somewhere near Chichester.
Anyway, Phil’s a nice bloke. At least, he always was a nice bloke when he lived around the corner all those years ago, so I guess he’s still quite nice now. And he asked about you! When he discovered you weren’t at the reunion, he asked Joe if you and I had kept in touch. Joe told him I had your email, and he said he’d like to drop you a line. I didn’t think you’d mind, so I’ve passed it on to him. You could just ignore his email if you’d rather not write back. Let me know what happens!
Must go. I’ve got a cottage pie in the oven and Bill is waiting for his tea.
Loads of love, as always,
Sylvie
Xxx
Maggie had read the email through so many times, she practically knew it off by heart.
Phil Coleman! Just his name sent her reeling. She couldn’t believe Sylvie had asked her if she remembered him. She must have kept her adoration of Phil a very close secret if even Sylvie hadn’t realized how the presence of Joe’s friend as they all walked to school together had catapulted fifteen-year-old Maggie into a heady mix of devotion and terror. Phil Coleman was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. “Beautiful” wasn’t really the right way to describe a young man, but it was the only word she could think of to do justice to the way he looked. He had thick dark-brown hair, and eyes that she thought were probably hazel, though she’d never really been brave or close enough to check. He wasn’t particularly tall, and yet there was an air of strength in his broad, sturdy frame that translated into real talent on the rugby field. Lots of the girls in her year liked him. He was two years ahead of them and had seemed out of reach and glamorous. He had always been so well at ease with girls and she had often seen him around the school at break times chatting to one leggy beauty or other.
Maggie sighed. She had never been leggy. She reckoned her legs were about four inches too short for her to be average, let alone leggy. But those short, strong legs of hers had made her a natural on the hockey field, and quite early on in her school career she got a reputation for being the fiercest member of the girls’ hockey team. But then what teenage girl wanted to be known for her thick, muscly legs and her ability to pack a punch on the hockey field? She’d wanted to be leggy. She’d wanted to be popular. She’d wanted boys to notice her for the right reasons, especially Phil Coleman when he walked in the same group as her to school every morning. Surely he just viewed her as Joe’s younger sister’s dumpy, irritating friend? How could he ever have seen her as anything else? She’d never made the butterfly stage. In fact, in her mind, she’d not moved on from being the equivalent of a short, round, hairy caterpillar.
And now here was Phil Coleman, invading her world again! Just his name brought back all the feelings of insecurity and angst that had coloured most of her teenage years. Even now, after years of marriage, running a busy family home, and then going on to establish her own baking business with such success that she now held the extremely responsible and challenging role of Catering Manager at Hope Hall – even now, she recognized that her body shape, and the way she knew she looked, undermined any positive thought she ever had about herself.
It was her own fault. She was a baker. She loved baking, and all good cooks had to test whatever they produced! How else could she be sure that the flavours were just right and the quality of the bake was up to scratch? And, of course, her dilemma wasn’t helped by her complete lack of willpower when it came to sticking to any diet regime. She’d tried dozens of them over the years. She’d given up carbs, then meat, then both for a very short time, until she swore she would never eat a lettuce leaf again. She tried starving herself for five days each week, but then stuffed herself with so much food on the other two that she’d defeated the object of the exercise.
She had tried exercise too, of course. She’d always enjoyed sport, so she’d taken herself along to the local gym only to find that she was so embarrassed by the way she looked in tight-fitting sports leggings and skinny top that she’d scuttled out again, despite having paid more than two hundred pounds for a whole term! She’d never told Dave about the money. He’d have been furious if he’d known she’d plundered their holiday savings to pay for the gym fee. But then she hadn’t even told him she was planning to try the gym, because she knew he’d say she’d never stick at it, and he was right.
Now, however, so much had changed for her. She was no longer married to a man who didn’t understand how low her self-esteem was when it came to how she looked. Dave had never encouraged her to stick to any healthy regime. He had simply said “I told you so!” whenever she failed. But she didn’t have to put up with unhelpful comments from him, or anyone else, from now on. She was her own woman, living in a wonderful flat and holding down the job she loved. The last thing she needed was Phil Coleman coming back into her life, dredging up painful memories. So if he did send an email, she wouldn’t even open it. She’d just remove it from her inbox. That’s what she’d do.
Probably…
Chapter 8
Terezka and Mili walked into Hope Hall together on Monday morning, ready for their English as a Foreign Language class. Mili tried to go along to at least three sessions a week, because she found the grammar tuition and the help with colloquial English extremely useful. Terezka had been in England for nearly eighteen months, and while her English speaking was not always completely fluent, it was certainly very good. Mili felt she had a long way to go before she was as comfortable with the language as Terezka, but she was aware that it became easier every day. She also suspected that sometimes she was dreaming in English rather than her native Czech, which must be a good sign!
Mind you, her father wasn’t so sure. Mili linked up with her family through the computer at the language class once a week, and her father was very concerned that his beloved daughter was becoming far too comfortable away from home. She was longing to tell her mother about the fun she was having at The Bistro, about the band night sh
e’d been to, and most of all about Andy’s company, but she was aware that her father would also be listening. He might insist on rules that had to be obeyed whether he was there to check or not. Like expecting her to be home by nine every evening, because he’d seen too many TV dramas about England, and feared that she might be frightened or even attacked. There’s no doubt he would frown when he heard about the sort of music played by Friction, worrying there would be alcohol at these dance nights, which might also lead to her being frightened or attacked. And if she ever made the mistake of mentioning that she had a boyfriend – even a perfectly nice, wonderfully kind and talented young man like Andy – her father would worry about that more than anything else. For if his daughter with her sheltered, respectable upbringing had found herself a boyfriend, then she would definitely be frightened and probably attacked too!
Sometimes her mother would come on to the screen, stare straight into the lens and ask quietly how Mili was really doing. Mili would nod with understanding and answer in a way that allowed her mother to read between the lines enough to recognize that her daughter was actually settled and very content. And when her mother asked her if she had made any particular friends, Mili mentioned Terezka, Mariana and all her fellow students at the English class. Then she spoke of Martin, her boss at The Bistro, and finally she mentioned Andy, a very nice musician who came to the café to write his new songs. Her mother watched Mili’s expression closely, and although nothing specific was said, she knew that the young man in question was probably the most significant reason for her daughter’s happiness in England. She smiled with understanding, and Mili thought that she had never loved her mother more dearly nor missed her so much.
“How come your Carlos has such a big head?” Terezka demanded when Mariana came into the class to join them. Because of their work schedules, and because Mariana was often hanging around waiting on the off-chance that Carlos might want to see her, this was the first occasion that all three girls had been together since the dance night. Terezka had nothing to do with the group, but she had picked up on the frustration of the other band members that evening and quizzed her flatmate Mili to give her every single detail. There was nothing Terezka liked more than a juicy bit of gossip and the possibility of trouble in other people’s paradise.
Mariana bristled at the question. “Carlos is allowed a big head. He is a star. He has the best voice. Because of him the band is allowed to play.”
Terezka huffed with indignation. “All the band members are good. Nigel is great on drums, Jake on guitar, Andy runs the show from his keyboard, and Graham has a better voice than your Carlos!”
The Spanish girl’s eyes flashed with fury. “So why do all the people cheer when Carlos comes into the hall? Why do they ask for many encores? They love him!”
Terezka’s expression softened. “You love him, Mariana. You are blind with love. But the boys in the band do not love Carlos.”
“Then they are stupid. They only work because Carlos is loved so much.”
“Carlos can’t play the guitar or the drums or the keyboard. He can’t play music at all. Without those players, he is nothing. He needs to treat them better, or they will leave him. You tell him that!”
“I will tell him nothing. What do you know?”
“I know that you, my lovely little friend, are crazy in love with a man who loves no one but himself.”
“Carlos loves me. He adores me. He says I am his angel.”
“How many other girls does he say that to?”
“You don’t understand!” snapped Mariana angrily. “He wants to marry me.”
“Then why hasn’t he put a ring on your finger?”
“It is too early. The time is not good. He will do it when he has money, when he’s famous, when the world knows how big a star he is—”
“Tomorrow, next week, some time, never?” intoned Terezka. “Wake up, Mariana! Carlos likes girls around him. He puts his arms around them. He whispers things in their ears. They are probably believing him too.”
Mariana stood up and grabbed her shoulder bag. “I won’t listen no more. I’m finished with you. You are not my friend!”
“Oh, but I am, Mariana. I really am. I am your best friend, who must tell you the truth.”
“I’m leaving!” The Spanish girl’s eyes had filled with tears as she headed for the door.
“And when you need your best friend, I’ll be here,” Terezka shouted after her, but Mariana had run away so quickly that she missed it.
Mili, who had been standing to one side throughout the whole exchange, looked at Terezka in shock and concern. “I follow her?”
“Leave her. She’s upset now. She will calm down.”
“You said cruel things.”
“Did I lie?”
Mili shook her head thoughtfully. “No, but is good we tell her?”
“If not us, then who?”
“Well, you are right, the boys had enough with Carlos. They don’t want to work with him.”
“Andy told you that?”
“Andy is very angry, but he is a quiet man, so he don’t like arguments.”
“What will they do?”
Mili shrugged her shoulders, her face full of concern. “Andy, Jake and Graham speaking in café yesterday. They don’t know what can they do.”
“They will find a way.”
“Is possible,” agreed Mili. “I hope it. Most I hope Mariana is not hurt.”
As Kath arrived at Hope Hall on that first Monday morning in July, she spotted Brian Mack’s van immediately. The builder stopped to give his two workmen instructions on what equipment was needed from the vehicle before coming across to join her. Kath stood to one side of the main hall entrance, staring at the wording on the old foundation stone:
TO THE GLORY OF GOD
AND IN MEMORY OF THE MEN FROM
THIS DISTRICT WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES
IN THE GREAT WAR 1914–1918.
THIS FOUNDATION STONE WAS LAID BY
THE RT REVD ALFRED WALTER, BISHOP,
28TH AUGUST 1920
“This is quite a moment, isn’t it?” she said, unable to take her eyes off the plaque. “Do you know, I’ve walked past these words most days for the past two years, and I’ve never really thought about what they must have meant to the people who placed this foundation stone a hundred years ago. Those young men marched away, didn’t they, and didn’t come back?”
“That’s right.” Brian was a man of few words.
“Have you removed any foundation stones like this in the past?”
“No.”
“So you don’t have any idea if there is likely to be some sort of time capsule behind the plaque?”
“Michael Sayward thinks there might be. He’s the history expert.”
“Well, we’ve tried to keep the numbers to a minimum so as not to get in your way. Those coming will all be here for eleven o’clock for the great reveal,” said Kath. “Do you and your lads want anything at the moment? Tea? Coffee?”
“Stu! Den!” Brian yelled over to his builders. “Coffee?”
“Yeah!” came the reply. “Two sugars each. And they do those nice cheese scones here, don’t they? Any chance of one of them this early in the morning?”
“A couple of slices of crispy bacon and some brown sauce in them scones would go down well too,” shouted the other workman.
Kath smiled. “I’ll see who’s in the kitchen. I’m sure something can be arranged.”
A full plate of bacon scones and several cups of coffee later, the builders were ready and waiting at quarter to eleven as the special guests started to arrive. Mary and Trevor had walked through the door of Hope Hall about an hour earlier, followed by Michael Sayward and his two guests from the Historical Society, Beryl Johnson and Derek Turner, who had been looking forward to this momentous occasion for years. Kath assumed Brenda from the Women’s Institute had been picked up by Roger from Rotary, as they drove up in the same car. Then, almost at the last minute, Pet
er Radcliffe, the council press officer, turned up with Tim, the official town hall photographer, who came with an impressive collection of cameras to record this auspicious event for the next one hundred years.
At eleven o’clock exactly, silence fell on the group as each one of them recognized the significance of what they were about to witness. One hundred years ago, another group of local people had stood on this same spot watching as the foundation stone was positioned into place. Since then, there had been a whole century of peace and war, lives and deaths, innovation and discovery. The group that had stood here so long ago could never have envisaged the technological developments that allowed the present generation to live with comforts and conveniences that were unimaginable back in 1920. But those people were the ancestors of families who still lived in the town today, linked to those who followed them by the human condition, the hopes, fears, ills and emotions familiar to all. The image of those mothers and fathers, brothers and children watching this plaque being put in place all those years back, just after the horror and loss of the war that was supposed to end all wars, had a poignancy which stretched down from that moment to this. They had chosen the name of Hope Hall for this wonderful building. Their hope was that war would never happen again, and that the sacrifice of the young men they loved and mourned would not be in vain and would never be forgotten.
“My boys have loosened the stone, so it should come out quite cleanly.” Brian’s voice broke into the thoughts of the group standing around him. “Is it all right for us to pull it out now?”
With general agreement all round, everyone manoeuvred themselves into a position where they could best see what was happening. With Brian supervising from above, Stu and Den crouched down to grip the sides of the stone, and then started to pull. There was a grinding sound as the old stone reluctantly shifted from its resting place, allowing the men to draw it out inch by inch until at last they could lay it flat on the ground, revealing a dark oblong cavity within. Brian looked questioningly towards Michael, who knelt down, stretching out his hand to search for anything that might be hidden within. Time seemed to stand still as he moved his fingers from left to right before lowering himself down so that he could peer directly into the hole. Then, with infinite care, he used both hands to draw something that seemed to be either heavy or cumbersome out into the sunshine of that July morning.