Summer's Out at Hope Hall

by Pam Rhodes

  Shirley nodded, looking thoughtful. “He said something about college the other evening, but his dad wanted to watch a football match that was just starting, so Tyler gave up. They both ended up on the sofa in front of the TV instead.”

  “He’s been reading up about the courses he could take, and what qualifications he needs to get a place.”

  “He’s passed his GCSEs. He did quite well, really, but he just wanted to get out of school as quickly as possible, so Mick organized for him to get a labouring job at the place where he works. He did all right for a couple of months, but then he started missing his shifts. They got rid of him pretty soon after that.”

  “Yes, he told me he’s tried a few jobs.”

  “He did deliveries for a friend of ours who has a distribution business, then worked at the garage on the ring road for a while. He even tried doing night shifts in one of those warehouses on the industrial estate, but that didn’t last long. Our Tyler definitely likes his sleep.”

  “I think that was just the wrong type of work for him. Those were the jobs he could get, rather than ones he could actually enjoy.”

  “And you think going to college might be the answer?”

  “It might be an idea for you and Mick to talk it over with him. Tyler’s done a lot of research, but he’s not sure of what your reaction will be, so he’s nervous about bringing it up.”

  Shirley pulled a face.

  “Oh, come on, Shirl. You’re terrifying! You even scare me.”

  “He knows he can always talk to me, though.”

  “What he doesn’t know is whether you’ll listen – really listen.”

  Shirley fell silent while she considered this.

  “Anyway,” continued Ray, “changing the subject completely, Kath’s asked me to organize someone to put up a few posters around the town about the centenary of Hope Hall. After the official ceremony, we’ll have the display here throughout the following week and there’ll be some really great events and activities going on to reflect the history of this place.

  “Peter at the council has organized a few public marketing spaces where we have permission to put up our posters, and he’s even agreed that we can erect a really long banner on our own display stand in that lay-by – you know, the one on the bypass that lots of cars pull into because the coffee and bacon butty van is usually there? The traffic’s always slow along that stretch of road in rush hour, so drivers will have time to take a good look at our poster while they’re queuing. It’s a fantastic opportunity for us.”

  “You can say that again!”

  “But I need someone to put the posters up. I’ve asked Tyler.”

  “Tyler who doesn’t like hard work – that Tyler?”

  “He seemed quite keen. He got on to the computer straight away to look up the best design for the display stand.”

  “What, you mean he’s got to build it?”

  “He seems to think he can. Can he?”

  “Actually, he probably could. Mick’s great at carpentry, and Tyler’s always taken an interest in learning about the right tools and techniques since he was a youngster.”

  “Apart from that one huge poster on the bypass, all the rest are just the usual size and can be slipped into the display frames that are already there.”

  “When’s all this happening?”

  “The posters are due to be delivered here today, so perhaps tomorrow.”

  “Well, now I know, I’ll have a word with Mick. He could talk through Tyler’s design for the lay-by display stand with him, just to make sure it’ll all work.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  “Right,” said Shirley, gazing around the messy hall and grabbing the biggest brush from the cupboard. “I’m off to have fun!”

  Maggie avoided opening her laptop all weekend. Steph, Dale and little Bobbie came over on Sunday morning for one of her wonderful roast dinners. It became a leisurely family day, with Bobbie helping his dad mow his nanny’s small patch of grass at the end of the garden. When Maggie bought the apartment, she had been relieved to hear that her responsibility regarding the large garden at the back of the house was conveniently limited, as the majority of it nearer the house was owned by the couple below, who were keen gardeners, leaving her a strip of grass at the bottom that was just big enough for a garden shed and a rotating washing line.

  During the afternoon, Steph gave her a hand sorting through a couple of cardboard boxes that still remained unopened after the move, and putting a few more “wanted but not needed” items out of the way up in the attic space. After tea, when everyone had tucked into thick honey roast ham sandwiches and a Victoria sponge cake with fresh cream and real strawberries, it was nearing Bobbie’s bedtime. As Maggie scooped the little boy up on to her lap to give him a goodbye hug, she noticed his trouser pocket seemed unnaturally bulky. Gingerly, she slid her fingers inside to pull out what looked like a half-eaten piece of cucumber, soggy chunks of Victoria sponge cake, several raisins and the remains of a small white chocolate lollipop.

  “Bobbie, what’s all this?” asked Maggie, pointing at his pocket.

  He looked down at the pocket as if he didn’t understand the question. “My snack hole, where I keep my snacks.”

  Smothering her giggles, Steph knelt down to investigate the other pocket, which was obviously another of Bobbie’s “snack holes”. Much to Bobbie’s alarm, Maggie gathered up the sticky mess to throw it away, while Steph tried to explain to him that trouser pockets were really not made for sweets.

  “What are they for, then?” Bobbie demanded to know.

  About to answer that they were for handkerchiefs, keys and wallets, Steph looked down at the tiny pockets on her little boy’s trousers and realized she couldn’t think of one thing that could sensibly go in them. Instead, she smiled with relief as Dale stepped in to pull his son up for a piggyback ride, making sure his small arms were tightly clasped around Daddy’s neck.

  “Blow a kiss to Nanny!” said Dale.

  “Night night, Nanny!” Bobby called as he and his dad disappeared through Maggie’s front door, Bobbie squealing with delight as he rode downstairs on his father’s back. Steph and her mum laughed and hugged before the family were finally all in the car and on their way.

  The following morning, when she reflected on the rest of her evening, Maggie found herself recalling a phrase she’d come out with years earlier that had gone down in family history. It had been during one of those countless periods when she’d been on “yet another” diet, and Dave and the kids had caught her red-handed, tucking into a box of chocolate eclairs. Much to their mirth, she had defended herself by explaining, “I went into the cake shop, and I can’t remember what happened next!”

  Well, that more or less described the events that unfolded once Steph and family had gone home. Maggie knew she had pottered around the apartment for a while, clearing up the kitchen after the family visit, tackling a pile of ironing, which included a blouse she wanted to wear to work the following day, and poring over her favourite cookery books to dig out an old recipe she fancied trying again. She remembered thinking it was time to change the sheets on her bed, which was a job she hated, because years of experience had proved that her legs and arms were just too short to tackle the huge expanse of a king-sized duvet cover. Nevertheless, she knuckled down to the battle of the bedclothes with gusto, sighing with triumph as she gazed over the fresh new linen on the bed, thinking how nice it would be to slip into sheets that smelt of the hours they’d been blowing in the summer breeze in her garden. She had a shower. She tidied up the bathroom cabinet, which had been irritating her with its clutter, and then, glancing out of the window, she realized it had grown dark outside and it was time to draw the curtains in the front room.

  And that was it! Sitting on the coffee table in the middle of that room was her laptop, and she couldn’t quite remember what happened next. All she knew was that somehow, somewhere along the line, she ended up replying to Phil’s em
ail. She had been mulling over various possible responses in her mind for nearly two days by then, but had always ended up thinking it would simply be better not to reply. But that night, in a moment of complete madness after a cup of drinking chocolate and a coconut macaroon, she must have opened the laptop, found the email and started typing.

  Hi Phil

  What a surprise to hear from you after so long. I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.

  I’ve thought about our walks to school each morning quite often lately because I recently moved to Linden Avenue. Do you remember Susan from my year who used to join us as we walked along this road? Well, her house has now been divided into apartments, and I’ve just bought the top one. I’m loving it here, and it’s certainly brought back memories from our schooldays.

  I’ve lost touch with Susan now, but Sylvie and I are still good friends. Because she lives a good few miles away, she didn’t get to the reunion, and I didn’t either. Honestly, I didn’t fancy it – a bit like you, I suppose.

  Anyway, I wish you well.

  She didn’t sign her name at the end. He had called her Megs, which sounded dainty and delicate. In reality, Maggie suited her better: down-to-earth and practical. The no-nonsense side of her nature had her finger hovering over the Send button for several seconds. Then she gave it a push, shut the laptop and headed off to bed.

  “You’ll never believe how much Celia’s garden party raised on Saturday!” exclaimed Trevor as he burst through Kath’s office door on Monday morning. “£32,300!”

  “What?” Kath sat back in her chair in amazement. “We can run our present service for a whole year on £32,300! That’s a nice round figure, I must say. No loose change, then?”

  Trevor grinned. “I don’t think any of those auction bids were made in units of less than £100. They live in a different world, my dear Kath.”

  “They certainly do.”

  “Who cares, though, if it benefits our Good Neighbours scheme? Speaking of which, Celia asked if we would consider spending a significant portion of that money on a really specific item – something we might never be able to afford ourselves, like a minibus. If that seemed like a good idea, she has a contact who could get us a brand new minibus, purpose-built for the elderly or disabled, at a hugely discounted rate.”

  “Well, that would be wonderful. We’ve needed a decent minibus for ages, and to have one that caters for all sorts of disabilities would be just perfect. Are there any strings attached to that offer?”

  “Two. Would we be okay with having an Apex Finance logo somewhere on the bodywork?”

  “Of course. Provided that there’s also a huge sign on the side that says HOPE HALL GOOD NEIGHBOURS SCHEME. What’s the other condition?”

  “Well, this one comes from Douglas, I reckon. Have we got, and I quote, ‘a bunch of old ladies and gents who’d like to be photographed demonstrating the benefits of the new minibus, and would they mind having their picture in Hello! magazine’?”

  Kath threw her head back and laughed out loud. “I think we’d have enough volunteers to fill a double-decker bus!” she spluttered when she could finally find her voice. “Say yes, Trevor! YES PLEASE!”

  Just before the Food Bank opened for business that afternoon, Sheelagh had a phone call from Jackie at the Salvation Army. She’d just checked with her contact at the Family Tracing Service, but there was still no news that might help them identify and hopefully support the elusive Michael. They’d been making enquiries with the head offices of the supermarket chains that had branches in Basingstoke to see whether they could throw any light on a past employee who might fit Michael’s description, but it was a slow business, complicated by data protection issues and other employee safeguards.

  “Apparently,” explained Jackie, “the HR managers they’ve been talking to at the supermarkets are all very understanding about the delicacy and urgency of the situation, but all the data protection rules might mean they’re not able to help as much as they’d like. My contact at Family Tracing says it’s just a matter of waiting now, in the hope that they may be able to unearth something that could be useful.”

  “I’m hoping Michael will put in an appearance this afternoon,” replied Sheelagh. “Perhaps I can get him to say a bit more about himself. I really do hope so.”

  “Give me a ring later to let me know what happens. Bye, Sheelagh.”

  It turned out to be a particularly busy day at the Food Bank as a steady stream of regulars called in to collect the rations they needed for themselves and their families. Sheelagh found herself engrossed in an emotional and complex conversation with a single mother of three children who was having problems on every level: with a bullying ex-husband, credit and loan companies, the Council Tax department at the town hall, and a private landlord who had started eviction proceedings against her after several months of her not paying rent.

  It was only as the woman stood up to take her family over to help themselves to the buffet, which offered hot pies and sausage rolls that day, as well as baked potatoes, beans, cheese, tuna, and a variety of fruits and salads, that Sheelagh suddenly caught a glimpse of Michael hovering around the door. Quickly gathering up the plastic bag of food she had already prepared for him, she poured out two cups of sugared tea and walked out of the main door as casually as she could manage. For a moment she peered around in search of him, worried he might have slipped away, but suddenly, almost as if he’d been watching out for her, he pulled out a little from behind a large tree that lined the pavement some distance down from the main entrance to Hope Hall. Giving him an encouraging smile, she went to sit on the low wall nearest that tree and put the two cups of tea down. She then delved into the carrier bag, pulling out a couple of packs of sandwiches, which she also laid out on the wall where he could easily reach them.

  “How about sitting here, Michael?” she suggested. “Then you’ll be able to see if there’s anything here you fancy. There’s plenty more in the hall, if you tell me what you’d like.”

  She didn’t look at him directly, but instead busied herself pulling out some biscuits, cakes and other savouries from the plastic bag. She didn’t really expect him to join her, so it was with surprise and some relief that she sensed him inching closer, finally sinking down on to the wall, where he grabbed a tea, took several large gulps, then reached out to tear apart the packaging of the nearest box of sandwiches.

  Sheelagh said nothing, just let him get on with the urgent business of eating.

  “Do you need more tea?” she asked at last. “We’ve got some hot meat pies inside too, chicken or beef and onion. Choose your favourite, or I’ll bring you one of each if you can’t decide.”

  He looked at her with instant interest. “Both,” he grunted.

  “We’ve got some beans to go with them. Any sauce needed? Red or brown?”

  From his nod, she got the message that he’d like anything that was going, so this time as Sheelagh made her way over to the hall she felt reassured that Michael would be waiting for her when she got back. She loaded two meat pies and a huge spoonful of baked beans on to a plate, grabbed a knife and fork, and walked back to join him. He was just finishing his second cup of tea as she placed the plate on the wall beside him.

  Again, she allowed him to eat in silence until she sensed he was feeling replete enough to suggest conversation might be possible.

  “I’ve been looking out for you since we last met. It’s good to see you today. How have you been?”

  He shrugged, and kept on eating.

  “I can see how much you’re enjoying that meal. Do you manage to find something to eat every day?”

  He shrugged again. “Sometimes.”

  “Do you mean that you sometimes have nothing to eat all day long?”

  “I’ve got a few bits stashed away. It depends what I’m doing. I’m not always in town.”

  “Oh? I thought you were probably living nearby.”

  He snorted. “I don’t like towns. Too many people.”

>   “People who might be able to give you a hand, though. People who hate the thought that you haven’t got enough to eat. People who’d like to help – like me.”

  He looked up at her, as if he was considering what she’d just said, then abruptly turned back to concentrate on what he wanted to eat next.

  “Why should you worry?” he said eventually. “I’m nothing to you.”

  “Well,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “you’re right. You and I have only just met. But I wonder who might really be worried about you – your family perhaps? If you were part of my family I’d like to think that someone was looking out for you, caring how you are, and thinking about what you might need, even if you had your reasons for staying distant from us.”

  He stiffened, keeping his eyes resolutely on the food on his plate.

  “Are you married, Michael?”

  “Not any more.”

  “Children?”

  “None that need me.”

  “And what do you need?”

  His eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t need some do-gooder busybody trying to stick her nose into my business.”

  Sheelagh immediately backed off, changing the subject when she spoke again. “We’ve got some new men’s clothes in this week. Do you need anything? Shoes? Underwear? Trousers and tops? We had pillows and bedding in too. Any good to you?”

  “Shoes.”

  “What size?”

  “Ten.”

  “There are quite a few pairs there. Do you want to come and take a look yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring a few bits out. Would you like another food box, like last time? Anything in particular that would be useful?”

  “Some razors.”

  “What about other toiletries? Shampoo, deodorant?”

  She looked up to see that he was smiling a little as he replied, “Some of that body spray that makes you smell better.”

  She smiled in return. “I’ll see what I can do. But we do have a shower here, if you’d like to use it any time. Or there’s one at the Salvation Army hostel, of course. Do you ever go there?”