Summer's Out at Hope Hall

by Pam Rhodes

  “I have been. Not now it’s summer though.”

  “Why? Isn’t a comfy bed a good idea whatever time of the year it is?”

  “I don’t mind the summer nights.”

  “Are you sleeping somewhere dry and warm?”

  “Well, it’s got a lot of unintentional ventilation, shall we say?”

  “Not weatherproof, then?”

  “It used to be. It was a good place then. It’s pretty old now.”

  “Is it a building?”

  He shook his head.

  “A shed perhaps?”

  “Stop asking. I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

  “Then I’ll just say this,” replied Sheelagh. “My name is Sheelagh Hallam, and if you need anything, I want you to let me know.” She pushed a piece of paper along the wall towards him. “That’s my number. Get someone to ring me. Or you could just ring my number twice and put the phone down straight away. I’ll know it’s you and call you back straight away. I won’t mind. Any time, about anything at all. I’ll worry a lot less if I know you’re staying somewhere safe and secure. And if, one day, you feel you’d like to share some of the things you’re facing with a friend who will respect your need for privacy, then I’m here.”

  She thought he might just get up and go. Instead, he stared at the piece of paper for a short while before reaching out and stuffing it into his pocket.

  “Do you fancy coming in to take a look at what clothes are there?” she suggested again.

  He shook his head. “Just grab me anything. And a pillow would be nice. A duvet too, if you have one.”

  She smiled at him. “I’ll go and see what I can find. Will you do me a favour?”

  He shrugged indifferently.

  “Don’t sleep rough if you can have a bed. Go to the Salvation Army. Have a good meal. Take care of yourself, Michael – please?”

  He said nothing and the silence stretched out between them.

  “Size ten. You remember what I said?”

  She smiled. “I remember. And you remember what I said too!”

  When she turned on her laptop the following evening, Maggie’s stomach did a flip as she scanned the list of emails waiting for her. He’d answered! Sitting back for a few moments and taking a big breath to calm her nerves, she finally found the courage to open the message and start to read.

  Hi Megs

  It’s good to hear from you! You’re right, school was a long time ago and I’m aware I’ve done a very poor job of keeping in touch with old friends. Ever since I wrote that first email, I’ve been wondering why on earth I ever imagined you’d have any recollection of me at all. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to hear from you after that, just to know that I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself!

  Perhaps you’ll think me odd for saying that I felt a bit nervous about digging up the past. It’s not that I haven’t got many happy memories of my schooldays and living at home with the family. It just seems like another life. So much has happened since that I hardly recognize the young lad I was then.

  Fancy you living in Linden Avenue now! Those houses always seemed so roomy and stylish to me, because they were built in such a different way from the Victorian terraced houses on our estate. I always loved looking at buildings when we were at school, trying to work out why they chose that particular design, or what the problems might have been when they were in the process of building. You won’t be surprised to hear, then, that I’ve been an architect all these years, and I’ve loved every minute of it. I’m a partner in a practice in Chichester now, but I worked for a big design firm in London for quite a while, which gave me some wonderful international experience. I’ve designed and supervised projects in the Arab States, across Europe, India and South America. I was abroad more than I was ever at home. Then I met my wife Sandra and we got married in 1997, and when, after a couple of years, our first son was on the way, I realized it was time to clip my wings and settle down to family life.

  We had three children, David and our two younger girls, Melanie and Sarah. They’re all grown up now. David’s a bright lad. He did a joint degree in computer science and Japanese, would you believe? It was a great idea, though, because he’s now based in Tokyo working for a British company that designs electronic components for manufacturing machinery. He’s going out with a Japanese research scientist who’s really lovely. He’s blissfully happy and earns an absolute fortune – so he’s okay! Melanie’s next. She’s just 22 and married her childhood sweetheart, Simon, earlier this year. Simon’s working in an estate agent’s in Bromsgrove up near Birmingham, so I don’t see them as often as I’d like to these days.

  There’s so much more to say, but I’m probably boring you already. It would be much more interesting for me to hear about you and your family. Joe tells me you’re the most marvellous baker, and that your cakes are out of this world. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, so that sounds like heaven to me!

  I’d love to hear from you again if you’d like to keep in touch. I’ll look forward to hearing your news.

  All the very best

  Phil

  Maggie read through the email a couple of times before sitting back and gazing at the screen.

  He sounded lovely. He was friendly, successful and a devoted family man. But what was he doing writing to her? Did his wife know? She didn’t get much of a mention. Perhaps she was just really easy-going about his friendships, but how would she feel if this developed into a regular exchange of emails, even if it were only once in a while? Maggie doubted she’d be so happy about that.

  And when he said how much more interesting it would be to hear about her, he had no idea how wrong he was! The “Megs” he imagined didn’t actually exist. Instead, there was just plain old Maggie, recently dumped and divorced, with self-esteem issues and a very sweet tooth that had created quite enough problems already, thank you!

  No, this contact wouldn’t be going any further. She pushed the laptop away and switched on the TV in time for the main evening news. The newscaster was speaking in urgent tones about the events of the day, which were dramatic and challenging.

  Maggie didn’t hear a word of it.

  “He’s bailed on us again!”

  There was an uncharacteristic hardness in Andy’s voice as he and the other members of Friction waited in the back room of the King’s Head for their lead singer to arrive.

  “We’ve wasted half an hour hanging around for him already.” Drummer Nigel’s irritable comment was at odds with his usually relaxed and easy-going nature. “I promised I’d meet up with my brother after this, so why don’t we just get started without him?”

  “I don’t think we should bother with Carlos any more,” grumbled Jake, picking up his rhythm guitar and fastening it on to his shoulder. “We can all sing reasonably well; enough to belt out some really strong harmonies at any rate. We’ve got Graham too, and honestly I’d choose your vocals over Carlos’s any time, mate.”

  “But we need him, don’t we?” asked Andy. “I mean, as much as I hate to admit it, the girls do seem to like him.”

  “I think the girls like all of us,” retorted Jake. “In fact, I think audiences in general like us because we’re just a group of guys who want to play decent music that entertains the people who come to hear us. I know Carlos likes to think it’s all about him being a babe magnet, but we’re actually a great band. That’s why I like playing in Friction, because of you guys. We all love music and we’re good at what we do. The only one without any training or talent is Carlos.”

  “So, what are we going to do about it?” Nigel’s question hung in the air as they all considered the possibilities.

  “I think we should get rid of him,” Jake said with a determined gleam in his eye.

  “How?” asked Graham. “He loves being the centre of attention. He’s not going to give up singing with Friction voluntarily.”

  “We’ll have to make him want to leave then,” said Andy thoughtfully.

  “He�
�s got a terrifying temper,” said Graham. “It’ll be World War Three if we get this wrong.”

  “Then we’ll have to be really subtle about it.” A slow smile spread across Andy’s face.

  “Have you thought of something?” asked Graham.

  “You know what? I think I have!”

  The posters for the centenary celebrations had arrived safely. Twenty of them were to go in display cabinets at bus stops around the High Street and in the shopping centre, and the large banner needed to be erected in the lay-by on the ring road.

  True to her word after the conversation with Ray, Shirley made a point of telling Tyler how pleased she was to hear how his work with the Hope Hall computers was proving helpful. She also said that she’d heard about the centenary posters he was going to circulate, and how he was planning to create his own wooden display structure for the banner. Anxious to impress her, Tyler rushed to show her and his dad the plans he’d come up with to build something large enough to show the banner off to its best advantage, while also being sturdy enough to withstand the worst of the British summertime weather. He’d already built most of it in Ray’s workshop at Hope Hall, so Mick went down with him to see how the project was coming along.

  As father and son arrived home two hours later, Mick gave Shirley a cheery thumbs-up and a big smile to reassure her that Tyler really was working along the right lines.

  On Friday morning, Mick added Tyler to his van insurance so he could transport the structure to the lay-by. Tyler was used to driving his old Ford Fiesta, but this van was a much bigger challenge, and his heart thumped as he backed out of the drive under the eagle eyes of his parents. A mile or so down the road, though, he felt as if he was really getting the measure of the van. It was larger and wider, but it was also newer and more manoeuvrable. In fact, in some ways it was a good deal easier to drive than his shaky old banger.

  His optimism sank a little as he approached the lay-by. The butty van wasn’t there, but there was a truck parked towards the far end of the pull-in, leaving space for perhaps three or four other vehicles behind it at most. Tyler had thought very carefully about the positioning of the banner, and had decided it would be most visible if it were right at the start of the lay-by, closest to the road. So he gingerly pulled the van into the middle of the available space, leaving the area where he planned to erect the banner frame clear so he could get a good view of its position as he worked. He shunted backwards and forwards a few times, but it was soon clear that reversing a van was quite a different experience from parking his small car, and after three attempts he gave up trying to park in a straight line, and leapt out. The van was sticking out at an awkward angle, but he’d only be there for a few minutes.

  He opened up the back doors of the van and pulled out the various components of the display board, which were all ready to be fixed together on site. Then he climbed up inside the van to collect the tools he needed, completely oblivious to the fact that a Volvo estate with a middle-aged lady at the wheel had just driven into the lay-by looking for a space to park. Because the poster frame was now in the space at the beginning of the lay-by, and Tyler’s clumsy parking was taking up nearly two spaces in the middle, she had to try back into the small space between Tyler’s van and the truck. Eventually, red-faced with frustration, she pulled out again and slid on to a piece of wasteland at the very far end. Then, after several loud blasts on her car horn, she got out and started marching back down the lay-by to have a word with the inconsiderate driver who had abandoned his van in a terrible position and prevented anyone else from parking there.

  Tyler heard her car horn and peered around the back door, immediately realizing what he’d done. Anxious to explain and apologize, he jumped straight out of the back of the van and started running to meet her.

  But all the unfortunate woman saw was a strange young man storming towards her wielding a sledgehammer and a wooden stake. Screaming hysterically, she turned tail, ran as if her life depended on it, and drove off in a cloud of dust.

  Chapter 10

  “Didn’t we have a lov-er-ly time, the day we went to Southsea!”

  The singalong was in full swing as the coach wound its way through the outskirts of Portsmouth towards the popular old seaside resort of Southsea. The thirty Grown-ups’ Lunch Club members, plus Shirley, Liz and a group of volunteer family members who’d come along to help, had chattered and sung old favourites all the way down, occasionally knowing the words, but mostly filling in the gaps with a lot of la-la-las.

  “Would you like me to take you on the pretty route to Southsea?” asked Reg, the coach driver, over the tannoy. “Do you fancy taking a look at some of the sights of this old naval town of Pompey on the way?”

  “Yes!” came the general reply.

  “Make it quick,” hissed Vera. “I need a wee!”

  Ida gave Vera a disapproving stare from across the aisle. “You’re not being very ladylike, Vera. There are gentlemen present.”

  “On this bus?” chuckled Percy from the seat in front of her. “No chance of that!”

  “Anyone here been in the navy?” continued Reg.

  There were several men’s voices throughout the coach who acknowledged they’d been naval men.

  “My first hubby was a naval rating,” another lady said. “The blighter ran off with a wren! Never trust a sailor – that’s what I say!”

  “Were any of you based at HMS Vernon in the old days?” asked Reg.

  “It was the torpedo base,” came a comment from the back. “I had two tours of duty there.”

  “Well, you can do your shopping there now. Look, it’s become the Gunwharf Quays retail park.”

  “Are we going shopping?” asked one lady at the front hopefully.

  “Have they got a loo there?” asked Vera.

  “Vera!” hissed Ida.

  “And who remembers the dockyard?”

  Several men answered together about their time there.

  “Well,” said Reg, “a bit like all of us, our old dockyard has become historic. Portsmouth Dockyard is now a place the kiddies can visit to find out about our maritime past.”

  “I worked there for about ten years,” said Robert, who was sitting next to his old friend John. “I’m not sure I like being thought of as a piece of history!”

  “Inside the gates you can visit King Henry VIII’s flagship, the Mary Rose, which they raised from the floor of the Solent nearly forty years ago now. It had been down there since 1545, when King Henry VIII watched from Southsea as it sailed out with hundreds of men on board to face a huge French fleet waiting alongside the Isle of Wight, ready to attack. Who knows what happened? Was it hit by a French cannon? Did it just topple over because it was overloaded and top-heavy? Or was it just human error?”

  “It must have been a man driving,” cackled a woman’s voice from the middle of the coach.

  “Well, the part of the ship they managed to bring up more than four centuries later is on display inside the dockyard now,” continued Reg. “But we’ve not got time to go in, so give it a wave and we’ll keep moving!”

  “Is there a ladies’ around here somewhere?” Vera was pleading now.

  Ida rolled her eyes and deliberately looked out of the window.

  “See that archway over there?” shouted one man on the right. “The best tattoo artist in Pompey used to work in that tunnel. It was called the Hole in the Wall, and I’ve still got his handiwork on my arm. Look! He engraved the name of my ship alongside the name of my lovely wife, Brenda. It brings tears to my eyes even now whenever I look at it.”

  “Yeah, I cried when a tattoo artist got to work on my arm with his needle too,” said Robert. “It bloomin’ well hurt!”

  “So now, ladies and gents, we’re heading in the direction of the Old Town of Portsmouth. Back in medieval times, these old cobbled streets used to be a hive of vice and debauchery. Nowadays, it’s a great place for traditional pubs and quaint tearooms.”

  “I could do with a cuppa!�
�� called Flora.

  “Me too,” agreed Betty. “Are we nearly there yet?”

  “Will there be facilities where we’re going?” Vera pleaded. “I’m really desperate…”

  Ida turned to glare at Vera again with a look that said it all.

  “Hold on,” instructed Reg, “we’re not far off now. Take a look to the right to see the traditional funfair, which has been a familiar sight here on Clarence Pier since the 1960s, when the old Victorian pier was refurbished after it was damaged in the air raids during the war.”

  “My Eric kissed me for the very first time on that big wheel,” sighed Connie.

  “That’s a coincidence,” quipped Percy. “I was slapped round the face for the first time on that big wheel!”

  “So common,” huffed Ida, turning away from Percy as if he were a bad smell under her nose.

  “Keep looking,” said Reg, “because Southsea Castle’s coming up on the right. That’s where King Henry was standing when the Mary Rose sank right in front of him. But this other building coming up on the right-hand side might be of greater interest to some of you. It’s called The D-Day Story. As you know, this area of coastline was right at the heart of the action on D-Day, and it’s all brought to life in there. So, if you’ve got time this afternoon after you’ve hit the big wheel, I reckon a few of you might enjoy paying that exhibition a visit.”

  “I’m going to embarrass myself, I really am!” wailed Vera.

  “Sit tight, Vera!” boomed Shirley’s voice from her seat at the front next to the driver. “We’re heading for the Queen’s Hotel, which is just on the other side of the common there. That’s where the loos are. That’s where we’re going now to sit in the garden with a cup of tea and one of Maggie’s wonderful packed lunches. While we’re all eating, we can work out who wants to go where in Southsea; who wants to do their own thing and who might need reminding that they’ve got to get back to this same hotel at four o’clock for our magnificent high tea. If you don’t remember that, we might just end up going home without you! So, wait until the coach has come to a complete standstill, then gather up any bits and pieces you might need this afternoon. Reg says you’re welcome to leave anything you don’t need on the coach. And while we’re at it, can we have a big thank you to Reg please, for his unscheduled detour around Portsmouth and the fascinating commentary?”