by Gill Hornby
‘Shame Edward didn’t make it. I bet he can dance.’
The minute-hand on the hall clock passed the top of the hour and some of them dared to hope Edward wouldn’t turn up at all; that he had heard what was going on and had already packed it in. A few shoulders relaxed, conversations broke out. Then a car drew up and almost instantly the hall door thwacked back against the wall.
‘Evening, all,’ he boomed as he crossed the floor. ‘Aha. A better turn-out tonight.’ He flung his coat away, flourished his baton and looked around him. ‘Excellent. This I can do something with. Let’s get started.’ He raised his arms and looked over to Jonty.
Bennett got to his feet.
‘We won’t get started actually, Edward.’
‘Sorry?’ He looked amused.
‘You’re not starting anything around here.’
Edward laughed and called over his shoulder. ‘OK, hold that, Jonty. Apparently we’re not starting.’
Jonty giggled.
‘What are you up to, Bennett?’ Pat was just wrapping her needles up in her canvas and bending over the needlepoint bag at her feet. ‘All that protesting’s gone to your head.’
‘I am seeing that justice is done.’
The evening sun broke the clouds and shone through the high windows; it held the men in sharp relief against its beam.
‘Woo, justice eh? Big stuff.’ Edward crossed his arms and blew out his cheeks. ‘Justice. Wow.’
‘I have here,’ Bennett produced a jiffy bag full of votes, ‘the EVIDENCE,’ and strode over to the tea area, ‘that the election for the leadership of the Bridgeford Community Choir was rigged.’ He shook out the contents and spread them all over the table.
‘Boo.’
‘For shame.’
‘Cheat. Cheat. Cheat,’ chanted Lewis and friends, stamping their feet. ‘Out. Out. Out.’
Tracey sat hunched with her face in her hands.
‘How did you get your hands on them?’ shrieked Pat.
‘I retrieved them,’ Bennett was now in full Henry Fonda mode, ‘from your’–he pointed at Pat, built his voice up to the final flourish–‘WHEELIE BIN!’
‘Here!’ Pat was outraged. ‘You can’t go around doing that sort of thing. Poking around in someone’s wheelie bin? That’s creepy, that is. You’re a pervert, a horrible pervert.’
Edward was bent over his music stand in hysterical laughter. ‘You went into her wheelie bin?’ He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to get the words out. ‘Well, you’re not a weirdo, are you? Hello, Mr Normal. What about recycling–do you like a bit of that too, eh?’
‘Er, not really, no.’ Bennett was immediately sidetracked.
‘Oh yes, nothing like a nice rifle through someone else’s wet waste, is there?’
‘Actually that’s not at all my thing.’ He had completely lost his momentum now.
‘I might bring mine in for you next week as a special treat, seeing as you’ve made such a complete arse of yourself here tonight. So get back to your seat and we’ll all pretend it never happened. Now then. Warm-up. From th—’
‘No.’ Annie jumped up. ‘I’m sorry, Edward. Bennett’s methods may have been a little comic—’
Bennett frowned and turned his mouth down, affronted.
‘—but the injustice he uncovered is one that we take very seriously. We are, indeed, very proud of him and what he has done in the interests of the Choir. In fact, I think Bennett is a hero.’ She blushed. ‘Only because of him do we know the truth: that TRACEY won the election and NOT YOU.’ There was loud cheering. ‘And now we would very much like to ask you to leave.’
Tracey uncovered her eyes and watched the drama unfold.
‘Out. Out. Out.’ They were all on their feet now, clapping and stamping. Lewis and the lot from the council were loving it–fists clenched and faces contorted in anger at this enemy of democracy. This was the sort of people power Lewis had been wanting all along.
‘Look here, there might have been a minor discrepancy, I can’t believe there were many votes in it, and we’ve done so much work now for the contest—’
‘OUT!’ They were loud and united and strong and immovable.
‘Why don’t I take us through to that and then hand over to Tracey afterwards and—’
‘OUT!’ They were the entitled ones now: entitled to send Edward and his horrible smug friends packing.
‘Come on, Jonty.’ In this particular context, that name tripped off his tongue with ease. Lewis tipped up the chair and unseated him while he was at it. ‘On your bike, now, there’s a good chap.’ Jonty scrabbled around on the floor, struggled to his feet and scuttled out. Edward gathered his stuff and followed briskly. ‘And you can take that baton with you.’
Emma hurried after them. Pat got up and then, trying not to draw any more attention to herself, discreetly sat down again.
‘Excuse me. Can we help you?’ Lynn asked her.
She looked around a room of cold stares, got up again and left.
‘OK then.’ Annie beckoned. ‘Tracey–come forward.’ And to much noisy enthusiasm Tracey took up her place in front of them all. She looked different tonight. Her hair–worn in such a severe crop when she first joined them–fell softly, almost to her shoulders. The trademark skinny jeans were still on, but now teamed with a cobalt-blue shirt, short-sleeved and hanging loose. As she raised her voice, they could all see that her tongue stud was no longer there.
‘Thanks, everybody. Thank you for voting for me. I just hope it wasn’t under false pretences. You see, I’ve been thinking about you all, and who likes what song and who hates which style–Lynn with her hymns and Maria with her musicals and Lewis with his folk and the girls with their new stuff… And I think there’s only one way to keep all of you happy; one way to make sure that all those different traditions get a look-in, with all of you enjoying yourselves at the same time. We should just become a pop choir—’ Lynn started to protest but Tracey wasn’t having any of it. ‘That’s what pop music is, Lynn–popular, something for everyone. What do you think?’
There was cautious approval among the older members, raucous appreciation among the young. ‘Look. Let’s just give it a go. If you don’t like it, you can throw me out of office. Lewis can personally defenestrate me.’
‘Oh, no I wouldn’t…’ Even Lewis had had enough political excitement for one evening.
‘I know you won’t. Because you’re all going to LOVE it. Jazzy, pass these around, will you? We need a set of three songs for the Championships. This will be our first. You should all know it and you can’t not like it: it’s called “Lean on Me”.’
Lynn was first in the queue for the tea.
‘Well, that was dramatic, wasn’t it?’ Annie asked her. ‘How do you feel about it all? You’ve been friends with Pat since I can remember.’
‘Fifty-five years.’ She shook her head and took a cupcake.
‘Aw,’ Annie sympathised. ‘That’s going to be hard. I’m sure you can be still.’
‘Bloody hope not. Relief to see the back of her. I’ve been trying to dump that miserable old cow since the early nineties. You know those friends who are well past their sell-by date but you never get round to chucking them out?’ She turned round, leaned her bottom against the table and sipped her tea.
Annie looked up. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I think I do.’
‘She was mine. I remember on my mum’s larder shelf there was a jar of pickle left over from the war. It sat there looking at us till the day she died, and very nasty it was too. Could’ve killed someone.’ Lynn sank into her cake and carried on through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘At least once a week for the past ten years I have been reminded of that pickle. Quite past it, very nasty and extremely dangerous–you know what I mean?’
A queue was building up and Annie didn’t have a chance to answer. But she looked very thoughtful as she reached for the milk.
Tracey sat alone against the wall, marking up her music. When Bennett handed her
a cup of tea she looked up, smiled and put down her pencil. ‘Thank you for that. You stuck your neck out there. I appreciate it.’
‘Enjoyed myself.’
She hugged her mug with both hands and blew across the top. ‘Told you they’d call you a weirdo.’
‘And I told you I wasn’t bothered.’ He sat down, leaned right back in his chair, stretched his long grey-flannelled legs out and balanced his mug on his thigh. ‘What are we going to do about a pianist–any ideas?’
‘I was just mulling that over. I could do it myself, of course. Not from the piano but if I brought my keyboard and set it up here.’
‘I didn’t know you played.’
‘Hmm, well, not all of us bob up like a performing seal at the first sign of an audience. Some of us are a little more shy and retiring.’
Bennett looked at her sideways. ‘Was that a joke?’
‘Yes, Bennett. It was. Sorry, forgot who I was dealing with. The other option I was considering was: your lovely Min.’
‘Araminta?’ His face softened. ‘She would be brilliant. I’ll ask her tonight. Anything else I can do?’
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind some help with choosing the song list. I’ve got various ideas but I could do with a sounding-board. Could you possibly come back to my place tonight when we’re done here?’
‘Oh. Hmm.’ Bennett sucked his teeth and thought about it for a bit. ‘I should think I can manage that.’
Lewis came over. He took Bennett’s elbow and led him away, keeping his back to the hall. ‘Here, Bennett. A quick word.’ He was talking out of the side of his mouth like a police informant. ‘Well done on all that, by the way. I didn’t know you had it in you. Electoral malpractice strikes at the very heart of democracy and we must all be vigilant.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Now then. On another little matter. I’m not telling everybody until I’ve heard a bit more, but the rumour machine down at the council was in overdrive this afternoon. Apparently the whole superstore project is on the verge of collapse.’
Bennett jumped and shouted, ‘Wha—’
Lewis shushed him. ‘Keep it down,’ he whispered. ‘The thing is, apparently there’s been a change at the top. Bit of a rethink. And there’s going to be a dramatic U-turn in company strategy. They won’t be building any more of those vast places until further notice.’
‘But that’s great!’ Bennett was loud again.
‘Well, yes and no, Ben; yes and no.’ He was so quiet, Bennett was straining to hear him. ‘But I don’t think that’s how we want to spin it, do you? I think it might be a bit–well, more useful, somehow, if everybody thought they had won an important victory, rather than just, you know, being the spineless creatures of wilful corporate self-interest… Do you get my drift?’
‘That it was all down to the protesters, you mean? And the rally and the sit-in and the, well, the lying down in the puddle?’ Bennett looked thoughtful.
‘That’s right.’ Lewis slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’re getting me, aren’t you? I knew we’d be of the same mind. That superstore brought Bridgeford to life. We don’t want it dying on its feet again.’
… need somebody to lea-ean on.
‘Thank you very much, everybody,’ Tracey shouted over the warm applause. ‘That was a great start. Need I remind you that we haven’t got long to get this all together now, so full attendance from now on, please.’
‘Thanks, Tracey.’
‘Great evening.’
‘Promise to learn the lyrics by next week.’
‘Night, all.’
‘Well, that was a night and a half.’ Annie had one last look round the kitchen and hung up the tea-towel. ‘Can I give either of you a lift?’
‘We’re fine thanks, Annie,’ replied Tracey. ‘Bennett’s coming back to my place to talk through the programme. We can walk.’
And Annie watched them as they left together.
They were already talking through the various possible song ideas as they went through the front door and up the clean and vacuumed stairs.
‘Can I get you something?’ Tracey turned the light on, had flung her coat on the nearest chair and was just going towards the fridge when there was a loud clatter from above, in her bedroom. She and Bennett froze and stared at each other.
‘Is there supposed to be someone else in here?’ he whispered.
She shook her head, slapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself screaming. Her throat was tight with panic.
Bennett grabbed the post at the bottom of the banisters, swung on to the stairs and sprang up them. Tracey heard scuffling, thumping, crashing; an ‘Ow’ of protest, an ‘All right, keep your hair on’, the split of a kick.
‘Oh my God.’ She couldn’t swallow the scream a second longer. ‘Bennett!’ Then suddenly he was back before her, a bit ruffled but still in one piece, the bearer of two trophies: in one hand Curly and in the other Squat.
‘You two? What the hell…? You little shits. Why were you…? You were in my safe. Weren’t you? You’re the little buggers that have been nicking stuff. It was you all along.’
‘You actually know these characters?’ Bennett, incredulous, twisted the unclean head of one and stared at it like it was a ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘Bennett St John Parker,’ said Tracey, all polite, ‘meet Curly and Squat.’
‘Curly?’ Bennett lifted a strand of Curly’s long lank locks with a mouth-wrinkle of distaste.
‘Yes,’ sighed Tracey. ‘Curly. Because he isn’t.’
‘I see.’ Bennett turned to the short, stout, pug-faced character in his other hand. ‘And I’m guessing Squat because he is?’
‘No.’ She sat down at the table with a thump, suddenly very tired. ‘Squat because he does.’ Bennett looked baffled. ‘He’s called Squat because he squats. Pretty much anywhere. Has done for years.’
‘Tell you what, though, Trace,’ chipped in Squat, in the manner of a chap trying to change the agenda, ‘if you were after a lodger for Billy’s room, I might be interested.’
Tracey rose out of her seat. ‘If I decided to get a lodger, SQUAT,’ she put her face right into his, ‘I would select a decent working person who actually paid me some money instead of a LAZY SCROUNGER LIKE YOU WHO FUCKING NICKS IT OFF ME.’
‘All right.’ Squat, flinching, sounded a little hurt. ‘Just a suggestion.’
‘So,’ said Bennett, ‘shall I call the police or will you?’
Tracey reached for her phone and a chorus of protest started up–a load of rubbish about cautions and probation and promises and new starts. ‘Oh yes,’ she cut in. ‘Of course. I believe every word. Lucky for you lot I was born five minutes ago, eh? Sure I’ll let you off.’
They smiled and relaxed, winked at each other. ‘Thanks, Trace, you’re cool. We always said you were the coolest.’
‘Yeah?’ Then a memory seized her, about the hiding-place of her vibrator, and a realisation floored her–of the now wider knowledge of its existence. And suddenly she was roaring at them with an uncontainable fury. ‘That’s interesting because that’s not how I see it. You see, I think I was a bloody idiot, and now I’m not.’ She reached for her phone again. ‘In fact, I might even frame you, while I’m at it. Bennett, I think there’s about a grand missing from that safe, isn’t there? Round about… Oh, and my grandmother’s jewellery. I think I’m missing all my grandmother’s jewellery. Bennett, was there any really, really expensive jewellery in there? Sort of like the Crown Jewels, but massive?’
Bennett, with the nervous look of a person trapped with a madwoman, shook his head.
‘Well, that means these two bits of scum must have nicked it, then.’ She gave a low whistle. ‘Valuable stuff, that.’
There were more protests, and wriggling and pleading. It was not a pretty sight. She dialled a 9.
‘No, Trace, PLEASE.’
‘I can’t think of any other option.’
She dialled another 9.
‘TRACEY. DON’
T.’
‘Unless…’ She looked thoughtful.
‘What?’
‘No, you’d never do it.’
‘Anything!’
‘You sure?’
‘Tracey, just put the phone down, and we can talk.’
She put the phone down and talked. ‘You join the Bridgeford Community Choir. At least until the County Championships.’
‘Oh no. No way.’
‘Oh. Sorry. I made the mistake of thinking you were completely and utterly desperate.’ She picked up her phone again.
‘All right. Bloody hell. What is it anyway? A load of sad old people?’
‘Yes. Basically. That’s exactly what it is. But the good news is that it won’t be just a load of sad old people when you’ve joined, will it? It will be young.’ She pinched Curly’s cheek. ‘It will be vibrant.’ She patted Squat on the head, wiped her hand on her denim. ‘And you know what? I’ve just had another FANTASTIC idea.’
‘Fuck me. She’s really off on one.’
‘All those little gits that hang out on the war memorial taking the piss–your brother’s in that lot, isn’t he? And your sister, Curly. I think they’re going to join in too, don’t you? I’ve had this sudden premonition. I think they are all going to join in and if they don’t I am telling the police such stories about you that you will find—’
‘All right.’ They shrugged Bennett off and straightened their clothes. ‘Calm down. We get it. Our lives are over. You can shut up now.’
‘As a matter of interest,’ said Bennett tentatively, pouring wine into two glasses, ‘why exactly do you choose to keep cash in a safe instead of a bank? I know our financial institutions are at a particularly inglorious moment in their history, but still…’
Tracey sighed, slumped on to the table and rested her head flat on her forearms. ‘It’s Billy’s allowance from his dad. I keep it in there for a bit before I put it into his account.’
‘Billy’s dad pays you in cash?’ Bennett pulled a chair out and sat down at the table opposite Tracey, with a view to being useful. The pros and cons of various financial transactions were one of the few areas of life to which Bennett could make a sensible contribution. ‘It would be more economical for you if he—’