Summer's Out at Hope Hall

by Pam Rhodes

  Ida remained seated to allow slower members to move on ahead of her. She suddenly became aware that someone had stopped as they walked past her. She looked up to see Percy at her side.

  “Thank you for asking that question,” he said. “I was glad to hear the answer.”

  She smiled for just a second before reaching into her bag as if she were searching for something important. “Run along, Percy. I’ll be right behind you.”

  He smiled too, then turned and headed for the main hall door.

  When Terezka and Mili reached the old school classroom where their English lessons took place the following morning, they were surprised to see their Spanish friend Mariana already sitting at her desk.

  “Mariana!” squealed Terezka. “Where have you been? You weren’t at the dance night on Friday when everything happened with Carlos. You weren’t there!”

  “I had headache,” replied Mariana. “I stay home.”

  “You stay home?” challenged Terezka. “Wherever Carlos is going, you always want to go too!”

  Mariana sniffed. “Not any more.”

  “Why not? He broke with you?”

  Clearly offended, Mariana’s eyes flashed with anger. “I broke with him!”

  Mili and Terezka looked at her in fascinated amazement.

  “Well,” said Terezka, “good. But a shock. I never think you will do that.”

  “I did nothing… Carlos did. I find him kissing the girl who works in kitchen at the pub.”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  “What did you do?”

  “I made that pig man less pretty. His eye have big bruises.”

  “Oh dear. I hope not too serious,” sighed Terezka, trying unsuccessfully not to giggle.

  “And I told kitchen girl she can have him. Welcome!”

  “What did Carlos say?”

  “He says he go to London, where people love him.”

  “Bon voyage, then!” grinned Terezka.

  “But you’re okay, Mariana?” enquired Mili. “You had a big love for Carlos.”

  “Carlos had a big love for Carlos!” snapped Mariana, before her expression changed to one of mischievous fun. “And did you see the new student from Estonia?” She gestured over to the corner of the classroom, where a good-looking young man was flicking through the pages of his exercise book. “His name is Nelu. His hair is yellow. Yellow hair and blue eyes. He’s pretty, no?”

  Along the corridor, in her office, Kath noticed the email from Celia Ainsworth straight away, and allowed herself one big calming breath before clicking the button to read it. The email came from Celia’s Apex Finance account, with her full office details and credentials as Director of Apex PLC Pension Fund displayed at the bottom:

  Dear Ms Sutton

  I write to inform you that the Good Neighbours minibus is now ready for delivery. Richard told me how very helpful you were in selecting the modifications that would best suit the elderly and disabled people who will benefit most from this minibus. Thank you for your valuable input. We very much hope this will be an asset to all your future work.

  As previously requested, we would like to feature some of the local people whose lives will be improved by this magnificent vehicle in a range of publicity material about the event that raised the funds for its purchase.

  Could you suggest a time next week when our photographer can come along to capture the moment of delivery? And would you mind inviting some of your most enthusiastic members to welcome the new arrival?

  Yours

  CELIA AINSWORTH

  Kath sat back for a minute or two to think about her reply, initially struggling with how she should address Celia. Should she use her Christian name, which was how Celia had been introduced to her in the first place? Or should she echo the formality of the email and address her as Ms Ainsworth? She finally started typing:

  Dear Celia

  Thank you so much for letting us know that our wonderful new minibus is ready for delivery. We’re still coming to terms with the generosity of this gift, knowing the wide-ranging benefits it will bring to this community, especially our most vulnerable and needy members. I know I speak on behalf of everyone at Hope Hall when I thank you most sincerely for your thoughtfulness in helping our work in this way. In addition, I would like to thank you again for opening up your home and garden for that unforgettable summer party. Your guests were incredibly benevolent, and we hope you’ll pass on our grateful thanks to them all.

  Having been fortunate enough to play a small part in the choice of modifications to the new vehicle, I know there will be no shortage of enthusiastic members to welcome its arrival. May I suggest that any time after eleven o’clock next Tuesday morning would be a good opportunity for your photographer to come? About fifty elderly people from the area will be here for their regular Grown-ups’ Lunch Club at that time. Many of them have mobility problems and will be greatly helped by the new bus. I have no doubt they would all be absolutely thrilled at the prospect of being photographed on this wonderful occasion, and I hope that among the pictures your photographer takes, there might be at least one showing the whole group. I can guarantee that such a photograph would take pride of place on the wall here at Hope Hall for many years to come! After that, groups or individual members can be selected by your photographer as needed – for as long as our ladies and gentlemen have the energy to stand and the patience to wait for their lunch!

  I hope you’ll be able to join us for this happy occasion, although we understand that the demands of your very busy professional role may make that impossible. That is all the more reason for me to thank you for agreeing to come to our Hope Hall centenary celebrations taking place on 28th August. We are particularly delighted that you have offered to speak at the laying of our new centenary plaque. I believe it was your own great-grandfather, Reginald Ainsworth, who was the moving force behind the planning and completion of this much-loved building. Therefore, it seems appropriate and fitting that you’ll be here to remind us of your family’s long involvement with Hope Hall on our special day of celebration and thanks for all it has meant to this community over the past hundred years.

  We look forward to welcoming you here very soon.

  Every good wish

  Kath Sutton

  Kath read the email through again before pushing the Send button. She hoped it sounded formal enough, but friendly and suitably humble too. It was really generous of Celia to help Hope Hall in this very practical way. Kath felt nothing but gratitude towards the high-powered, efficient, professional woman.

  She didn’t have to like her though.

  As Maggie turned into her road at the end of another long working day, she was surprised to see her son Darren’s car parked outside the Linden Avenue flat. She peered through his side window to see that he had pushed back his driver’s seat and was stretched out with his eyes closed as he waited for her. She knocked gently on the window, not wanting to alarm him. He woke immediately and wound down the window.

  “This is a lovely surprise!” she exclaimed. “Have you been here long?”

  “Not really,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I started work early this morning, so I finished quite early too.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on and you can tell me all about it.”

  Ten minutes later, the two of them were perched on high stools either side of the breakfast bar in Maggie’s new kitchen, cups of tea in hand and large slices of home-made ginger cake laid out on a plate between them.

  “So, something more important than my ginger cake has brought you here. I’m guessing it’s your dad.”

  “He’s not doing very well, Mum.”

  Maggie said nothing.

  “I saw him last night. He looks dreadful. His face is really thin, as if he’s lost a lot of weight. His hair’s gone grey.”

  “Steph said he’d started dying it. Copper-coloured, she said it was.”

  “Not any more. I don’t think he’s got the time, the energy or th
e money for anything like that now.”

  “And you’re telling me because…”

  “Because I know you. I know what a soft heart you have. I know you were hurt so badly by what Dad did to you because he’s the only man you’ve ever truly loved. And I’m guessing you still love him enough not to want him to be ill or as desperately unhappy as he obviously is right now.”

  “Has he asked you to speak to me?”

  “Not exactly. He said he’d written to you but that you hadn’t replied.”

  “Trouble in paradise, is there?”

  “I think things are very hard at home with Mandy and the children.”

  “And what do you think I should do about it, Darren?”

  “Oh, it’s not my choice, is it? He treated you really badly, so I have no idea how this makes you feel.”

  “What do you think my choices are?”

  “Would you ever consider taking him back?”

  “Is that what he’d like?”

  “He did mention it, yeah.”

  “I’ll think about it, Darren. I don’t think it’ll take me long to make a decision, but I promise to think about it.”

  “Okay,” said Darren, getting up to give her a hug. “I hated having to come here to say this. Just don’t shoot the messenger, okay?”

  She smiled at him, ruffling his hair as she used to do when he was a small boy. “You look exhausted. Go home and get some rest.”

  And giving his mum another kiss on the cheek he headed out.

  Hearing the click of her front door shutting, Maggie sat in the kitchen, her mind a mass of conflicting thoughts. Darren was right. Dave was the only man she’d ever truly loved. She had met him when she was sixteen years old, and they had married when she was just twenty-two. She felt as if she’d spent her whole life with him.

  And now it seemed there was the prospect of turning the clock back, of welcoming this man she’d shared so much with back into her life and back with their family. But the deep and cutting pain she’d felt over the past year was only partly due to the shock that Dave had chosen another woman over her. Hardest of all was the huge void that had been carved out of the centre of her world when Dave walked away from the home they had shared for more than twenty-five years.

  He had done that. Dave had done that. Not the comfortable, familiar Dave she’d always known and loved, but another version of that man. A person she didn’t recognize at all.

  Was it possible to turn the clock back? Could old feelings be rekindled in the face of such pain and rejection?

  She sighed and got up from her seat in the kitchen, heading into the lounge where her laptop was waiting. When she opened her emails, Phil’s name was right at the top of the list. Smiling, she started to read:

  Hi Megs!

  How was your day? Was the café as busy as ever? Did you sell out of cupcakes and bowl ’em over with your cream buns? How lovely it must be to spend your working day doing something you love so much. I can tell from everything you say about baking that there’s nothing you enjoy more. You care, so you cook!

  I’m not great at cooking. My daughter Mel’s been nagging me to get with the times in the kitchen. She says I’m stuck in an old routine and ought to try out new things. So I decided to go trendy and buy some brown sugar for my coffee instead of the usual white stuff. I poured some out into the sugar bowl, made myself a coffee and added a spoonful with great flourish – then spat it out again. That’ll teach me not to forget my glasses when I’m out shopping. I took a proper look at the packet and found I’d bought couscous instead of demerara!

  Anyway, I have a suggestion to make – one I hope you may like. I’m so enjoying our emails – they brighten my day – but what do you think about us being a bit more daring? How about swapping phone numbers and actually talking to each other once in a while? Would that terrify the life out of you?

  I’ll understand if you’d prefer to keep things just as they are. But on the off-chance you might enjoy chatting too, I’ll put my phone number at the bottom of this email.

  Over to you…

  Phil X

  P.S. It was hard to type that with my fingers crossed!

  Maggie sat back against the settee cushions with a thump. And so it begins! Phone calls now; then what? Seeing each other, of course. And that would be the end. Without a doubt, that would be it.

  An image of him shovelling couscous into his coffee brought a grin to her face. That was the thing about Phil. Without even trying, he made her laugh. They shared the ups and downs of their days. They opened up. They pooled their thoughts. They covered everything in the comfortable way old friends did – everything, that was, except the pleasure of having a proper conversation.

  Suddenly, she knew she wanted to hear his voice very much indeed. Without giving herself a moment longer to change her mind, she picked up the phone and dialled his number.

  Chapter 13

  Once the Grown-Ups’ Lunch Club members heard the news that their photos might end up in Hello! magazine, there was a buzz of excitement in the air. Local hairdressers reported an unprecedented increase in bookings for pensioner cuts, restyling and perms. The department store in the High Street almost ran out of “summer dresses for the young-at-heart”, meaning any lady over retirement age. Gentlemen’s white shirts were snapped up in the supermarkets, and shoe departments noted record sales in wide- and very-wide fitting shoes.

  At eleven o’clock on that Tuesday, the time at which members would usually start arriving on prearranged transport or meandering in under their own steam, the foyer was already full.

  “Blimey, they scrub up well!” grinned Liz, Maggie’s assistant, who was putting the finishing touches to the lunch that would be served at noon.

  “I’ve never seen so many blue rinses or red roses in gentlemen’s buttonholes,” agreed Maggie, as she handed a tray of hot muffins over to their work experience kitchen assistant, Kevin, so he could arrange them on a serving tray.

  “The photographer’s already arrived,” said Kevin. “Did you see him? He’s got lights, reflector boards, laptop computers and a whole range of cameras to choose from. I’d like to go and have a look. Could I do that later?”

  Maggie looked at him sternly, but with a kind understanding in her eyes. “Once you’ve finished all your work here, you’re very welcome. Believe me, Kevin, this crowd may be lining up to have their photos taken now, but they’ll be much more serious about making sure of their place in the queue for lunch. When it comes to food, nothing will distract them. Not even stardom!”

  Suddenly, there was a commotion outside the hall, and the members in the foyer started making a dash to squeeze through the door. The kitchen crew couldn’t resist following them and arrived at the back of the crowd just in time to see a sleek, sparkling, cream-coloured minibus driving into the old school playground.

  “Wow!” breathed Kevin. “She’s a real beauty.”

  “It’s got writing on the side, hasn’t it?” asked Maggie, craning her neck to get a better view. “Oh, why am I not six inches taller? I can’t see a thing!”

  “It says ‘GOOD NEIGHBOURS’ in huge letters in the middle,” read Liz, squinting a little as she tried to make out the words. “Then underneath it says ‘Hope Hall’ and the address. And there’s something written down in the corner, with a picture of some sort. Can you see it, Kevin?”

  “‘A gift from the Ainsworth Family, part of this community – and from Apex Finance, caring for communities everywhere’,” he read. “What’s Apex Finance?”

  “No idea,” said Liz, “but I like them already.”

  “Well, all this won’t get that gravy made,” sighed Maggie. “Come on, team. Let’s get this lunch on the road!”

  “Oh look!” squealed Betty as she tried her best to peer around the crowd in front of her to get a good look at the minibus. “It’s got a hoist in the back. What’s that for?”

  “Particularly heavy ladies,” whispered Percy as he stood behind her. “Are you
going to put your name down for a lift?”

  Flora giggled when she overheard his comment. “Betty doesn’t need that. Ada over there in the corner is much heavier, and that friend of yours, Harry, is so broad in the beam he needs two seats!”

  “I can’t see what’s going on properly from over here,” grumbled Doris. “Do you think they’ll be looking for models to try out the various bits and pieces on the van? Only I’d like to volunteer. Should I go and tell the driver? I definitely want to be at the front so I can see everything. Are you all coming?”

  Outside, not far from where the minibus had been parked, Kath was looking anxiously at her watch. There had been no word from Celia about whether she or anyone else was planning to be with them that morning to officiate at the formal handover of the magnificent new bus. Kath couldn’t help feeling that with the society photographer and several members of the press in the crowd, a formal public thank you to Celia and Apex Finance was the very least Hope Hall could offer.

  “There you are! I thought I’d lost you.”

  Richard Carlisle’s familiar voice had Kath spinning around immediately. “Is Celia with you?” she asked. “She didn’t reply to my invitation, so I don’t know if she’s planning to be here for the handover or not.”

  “She’s not, I’m afraid. She was hoping to get away from the office, but apparently she’s having a particularly busy morning.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. We’d have liked to say thank you to her properly. And all these press people are here. What are they expecting? Celia didn’t let me know how she wanted the occasion to be run, but surely someone official should say a few words?”

  “You’re absolutely right,” agreed Richard, smiling at her. “And here’s your man! I’m not sure if you actually met Douglas Ainsworth at the garden party. Douglas, this is Kath Sutton, the wonderful woman who organizes everything here at Hope Hall.”