Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess

by Nasser Hashmi

  ‘Hope you’re not bored already?’ I say, feeling guilty that there doesn’t seem to be enough activity to entertain him. ‘Your children seemed to be enjoying themselves though. They’re out in the garden with Melissa’s daughters. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he says, glancing up at me. ‘I’m just getting over Chelsea’s result today. They lost 3-2 to City. That’s why I might look a bit frazzled.’ He takes a deep breath and blows out some air. ‘Right, I’m better now. Only takes me a few seconds to get over a bad result.’

  ‘So has the season started then? Seems a bit non-stop to me.’

  ‘Sort of. The Premier League starts next week. Today was the Community Shield.’

  ‘Used to be called the Charity Shield didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Do you know why they changed the name?’

  ‘Haven’t the foggiest…’

  ‘Hmm, charity and community: maybe they thought charity was a dirty word. Community sounds much better.’ I pause and look at the TV as competitors take part in the modern pentathlon. ‘I suppose it’s a bit like Games Makers. That sounds much better than volunteers. Sounds like we did something. Volunteers feels empty even though it’s nothing like that.’

  ‘I was telling Sheena earlier, have you noticed how these politicians are getting on the bandwagon now with all this Games Makers talk? They can’t wait to be photographed with you now. They weren’t around much at the beginning.’

  ‘They like success, don’t they?’

  He nods and agrees so I decide it’s the right time to take the plunge.

  ‘You were cynical too though, weren’t you?’ I ask, looking at him directly for the first time. ‘Sheena said you didn’t want her to be a volunteer.’

  ‘Well yeah,’ he says, sounding a bit defensive. ‘But that was because we had three kids to look after and we were stretched. Cash was also tight, so we had to weigh up a lot of things.’ He puts his mobile in his pocket and straightens a collar on his polo t-shirt. ‘But we made the right decision in the end. I’m proud of her that she saw it through but I also feel satisfied that I mucked in and looked after the kids for a couple of weeks. It was bloody hard though, there’s no denying that.’

  ‘Had you looked after them before?’

  ‘Couple of days, yeah, but not for so long.’ He smiles and looks at me. ‘In the end, I was desperate for Sheena to come back. Fact is, I don’t have the bond that Sheena has with her children – and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Every time I picked our youngest up, or changed his nappy, I found that my hands weren’t soft enough for that kind of life. I just don’t have the patience or the subtlety. I need to feel the harder things in life: a glass of ale, a tyre or an oil-stained engine. I know it sounds stupid but that’s just how it is. I just couldn’t get close enough to the kids. They wanted Mummy back.’

  ‘Well, they’ve got her back now…’

  Gary nods but then looks horrified as Theo comes into the living room, crying and bawling. The toddler runs over to Gary and his father can tell, with a sniff of his nostrils, that his nappy needs changing.

  ‘You’re going to need those soft hands, Gary,’ I say, with a smile.

  ‘Where’s Sheena anyway, can’t she do it?’

  ‘She’s preparing dinner so she’s tied up.’

  Gary pauses and looks at me, with the kind of pleading eyes I never thought he possessed. His face resembles a little child’s more than Theo’s does.

  ‘Can’t you do it, Frannie?’ he asks. ‘We’ve got all the gear in the hallway. Wipes and everything…’

  I want to say no but Theo starts screaming. I look into the little boy’s face – and realise that I must not miss this opportunity. To be a mother for a few seconds is worth it.

  I get a call from Rob – he can’t make it this evening. I am slightly disappointed, mainly because I won’t get to meet his daughters or his wife, but when he fills me in about an emergency that he has to deal with, I completely understand his predicament.

  ‘It’s that tall boy I took along with me to the Olympic Park; Jamie,’ he says, completely out of breath and unable to get his words out fast enough. ‘He got quite ill this afternoon and because I live nearby, his parents asked me to drive him to the hospital. They haven’t got transport, you see, and not too much money either so I wanted to help them out. I hope you don’t mind, Frannie, as I really wanted to come.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, that boy is more important. Do they know what might be wrong with him?’

  ‘Might be meningitis but we don’t know. I just hope he gets better. He’s wonderful to have around. The Olympics changed him. He made so many friends and got his confidence up. He even thinks he could drive the van instead of me!’ Rob pauses and sighs. ‘But it’s his parents I’m thinking about, I have to be there for them. I must do my bit.’

  ‘Of course, I understand Rob. You’ve done enough for me anyway.’

  ‘Maybe I can visit before the Paralympics start? I’ll be doing some heavy shifts then too so perhaps I can pop up then and have a chinwag?’

  ‘You do too much, Rob…’

  ‘Such is the volunteer’s life, Frannie. People rely on us round the clock and we have to be there for them. I do find it strange that we’re letting our hair down today and yet our work has got in the way again. It’s the curse of our trade, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it a curse…’

  ‘It is if you can’t have fun on nights like this,’ he says, with a smile. ‘Hope to see your picture on Facebook dancing the night away…’

  ‘You must be joking…’

  ‘Or doing the Mobot?’

  ‘I’ve tried, my arms ache too much…’

  Rob laughs hysterically. ‘God, I’m going to miss this. Anyway, look I’ve got to go now so give everyone my Sunday best and hope you have a rollicking time.’

  ‘Goodbye Rob…’

  ‘Blow the Olympic flame out for me…’

  ‘I will.’

  * * *

  We have all had dinner and the Closing Ceremony is about to start. Jessica has asked everyone to come into living room and I wonder why. The guests have been scattered all over the house in the past few hours – the garden, the bedrooms, the kitchen – that I fear they actually won’t all squeeze into our main room. But squash in they do and I’m starting to get nervous that Jessica is up to her tricks again. After a few minutes of waiting, she walks in carrying a strange-looking podium, shaped like a mountain. She plonks it in the centre of the room and then stretches out the palms of her hands, looking at me as if to say I should come and stand on it. What on earth for? She goes back into the kitchen and comes back moments later with a megaphone, starting to look like the Games Maker I saw striding across the Olympic Park. She turns the megaphone on as everyone packed into the living room starts to cheer.

  ‘Ladies and Gents, I’m going to keep this short as Big Ben’s already chiming and I don’t want you to miss the start of the Closing Ceremony but I want to put it on record that, without this lady to my right, I wouldn’t have got through these Olympics in one piece. She looked after me, she gave me a bed to sleep in, she listened to me and, most of all, she was a great, great friend. I pay tribute to her this evening. She is a true Olympic champion, so I’d like you to welcome her onto the Pennine Podium this evening…’

  ‘The Pennine Podium!’ I say. ‘What’s that?’

  Everyone laughs and then they all urge me to walk up to the podium.

  ‘It’s a northern version of the nice white ones you see at the Olympics,’ says Jessica, speaking away from the megaphone. ‘Times are hard, you know that.’

  ‘Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, Frannie!’ shouts Richard Krystal.

  ‘You’re our golden girl!’ says Sheena. ‘Co
me on, get up there…’

  I reluctantly get up and walk to the podium. The applause is so loud I worry that the neighbours will be around any second to complain. I step up on the podium and then Jessica pulls out what looks like a gold medal from her pocket.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ I ask, looking sheepish as everyone stares at me. ‘You’re embarrassing me now.’

  She then walks over to the TV and turns the sound down. She pulls out her mobile phone and fiddles around with it a little before a song starts to play. It’s Petula Clark’s Downtown. She puts the mobile down on the table and turns the volume right up. She walks back towards me and puts the gold medal (or is it?) round my neck.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ I ask. ‘Is it real?’

  ‘It’s from the London Games of 1948. We had to search far and wide. It’s real all right.’

  She goes back into the kitchen and returns with a bouquet of flowers. She hands them to me and then turns on the megaphone.

  ‘Ladies and gents, our Gold medal Games Maker, give her a round of applause…’

  The applause is even louder than last time, with whistles, whooping and screams from the kids adding to the raucous, rowdy atmosphere. Jessica puts the megaphone down and kisses me on both cheeks. She stops after the second peck and looks me straight in the eyes for a few seconds. The chorus of Downtown is about to erupt. I think of what could have been for a few seconds but Jessica’s gentle face melts it all away. She moves away from me and starts singing and dancing to the song right in the centre of the room. A few others join her as the song’s chorus digs deep into my soul. A tear escapes from my eye – but I did it, I went down town and had the time of my life.

  The Closing Ceremony is in full swing when Gillian and William arrive. The Pet Shop Boys are cycling into the Olympic stadium in their colourful pointy hats and Deborah thinks this means we’re in for a much more eccentric show than Danny Boyle’s first night. There’s a lot more music: Emeli Sandè, Ray Davies, Madness, Elbow but what strikes me is the mood and atmosphere in the Olympic stadium. Do I detect a hint of sadness that it’s call coming to an end? A tinge of melancholia? There are still cheers and shouts, of course, but perhaps British people sense the post-Olympic gloom of a Monday morning and don’t like it; work has always felt something of a burden. I drink wine and chat to Deborah while all this is going on. Jessica has gone upstairs, with her journalist friend from the magazine (who finally arrives after missing his train) to do a short interview about her time as a Games Maker. She wants to do it now as she feels the London media won’t care about her once she’s back home. I’m not sure about that but at least she’s representing us – the Games Makers – in the best light. Deborah, though, wants to know where she is. I tell her she’s in Donald’s study talking to a man from a lifestyle magazine. Deborah is surprised but happy that her daughter is learning more about the ‘dark arts’ of the media as she puts it.

  ‘She’s probably getting tips from the journalist about the blog her and William are setting up,’ she says, stroking her earring.

  ‘I thought that was just William,’ I say. ‘Are they doing something together then?’

  ‘Yes, they’re trying to set up a business relating to sports memorabilia. William’s got the business and IT expertise and Jessica’s got the sports background so they’re hopeful it can do something. Sport is such a big business these days: the Olympics, World Cups, the Ashes…’

  ‘The Ashes? I bet William came up with that one. He used to go with Donald when he was a boy.’

  ‘Well, at least he’s put it to good use then…’

  I pause and take the gold medal (from earlier in the evening) off my neck. I’d forgotten it was even there.

  ‘Do you think they’ll make a good couple then?’ I ask. ‘Maybe get married, have kids?’

  ‘Yes, but only if William can settle down in the north. I think he’s a bit naive about how easy it will be.’

  The door opens and Gillian walks into the room. She politely smiles at both of us and sits next to Deborah.

  ‘Where’s William?’ asks Deborah.

  ‘Oh, he’s in with Jessica and that ghastly journalist in Donald’s study,’ says Gillian. ‘He asks so many questions I want to cuff him one.’

  Deborah and I laugh. Gillian picks up a glass of wine and takes a sip.

  ‘You shouldn’t have let him in there, Frannie, I thought that place was sacred.’

  ‘It’s the only place free, really. We’ve got kids roaming about all over the place so most of the rooms are taken.’

  ‘Hmm, so when are you leaving then Deborah?’ asks Gillian, finishing off her drink alarmingly quickly.

  ‘Probably about eleven, but definitely before the ceremony ends. We’ve both got work in the morning so, even though we’d like to stay, it’s not possible.’ Deborah leans back on the sofa and folds her arms. ‘So where’s Lawrence then? Why isn’t he here?’

  ‘Do we have to talk about him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good…’

  Gillian doesn’t say anything else and refills her glass with some more wine. I think of saying something but the touch of friction I feel in the air seems to stop me from making a contribution. Instead, we watch more of the ceremony with George Michael singing White Light on stage. Finally, Deborah says something about George Michael having pneumonia and this song was about him saying thank you to the doctors for saving his life. I listen closer to the lyrics. What it about these songs tonight? They seem to be speaking directly to me. Yes, I’m alive – and this mini-house party was the best thing I ever did.

  By 11pm, people start to leave and I’m annoyed I haven’t been able to speak to some of them in depth. Richard Krystal stops me on the landing after taking Melissa’s four-year-old daughter to the toilet. He says he’s enjoyed the night so much even though he spent most of time chasing after the kids to ensure they didn’t break anything or have quarrels with Sheena’s children.

  ‘I’ve just seen the Spice Girls in the Closing Ceremony pulling out of black cabs so that’s more than enough for me,’ he says, bending down to do up a loose button on Sarah’s trousers. ‘I start at ten tomorrow morning so we’ve got to get on. Pity I won’t see the fireworks.’

  ‘I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to talk, Richard. I’ve been so busy with everyone else. It’s been a bit overwhelming really.’

  ‘Policemen shouldn’t get too close anyway,’ he says, offering his hand. ‘A bit of distance is good for us. It keeps us sharp and on our toes.’

  I shake his hand but it all feels too formal and awkward.

  ‘Maybe next time, eh?’ he says. ‘Who knows I could be back at the end of the Paralympics. One of my colleagues is competing – so I’m going to watch him.’

  ‘Was he injured on duty?’

  ‘Yes, a speedy car pursuit. He was chasing a hit and run driver. They both smashed into a bus coming the other way. Lost both his legs.’

  ‘Oh, that’s quite sad…’

  ‘At least he’ll have a chance to compete in the Olympic Stadium though. I’m proud of him.’

  There is a moment of silence and then Richard smiles and grabs hold of Sarah’s hand. He starts walking down the stairs but then the front door bell rings which startles Sarah – and she begins to cry. He tries to soothe her but she gets quite irritated. I follow them down the stairs and peer down at the front door as Jessica goes to open it. Who could it be at this time? Lawrence walks into the house a few seconds later. He looks up at me on the stairs.

  ‘Hello Frannie, I know it’s late,’ he says, crossing his hands in front of his waist. ‘But I want you to know that I’m here for you just like everyone else. I’m sorry about yesterday but that’s history now. I will see my son off as it’s a father’s duty to do so. I have to be there for him.’ He walks forward towards the li
ving room door. ‘Now, where are we at with this Olympic jamboree? Is the darned thing not over yet?’

  Jessica rolls her eyes and looks at me. I nod in acknowledgement – but am determined that he won’t spoil this night for anyone in this house. If he does, Richard is just a few paces away and can be relied on to take some notes.

  Within the next hour most of the guests leave and, just after midnight as the fireworks from the Closing Ceremony pop and crackle, Simon and Deborah are also packed and ready to go home. William and Jessica are in and out of the house like yo-yo’s, glancing at the TV, picking up bags and, generally, forgetting there might be neighbours sleeping at this time of night. Jessica is still singing Take That’s Rule the World under her breath (even though she isn’t a fan) while she carries out these menial tasks. She puts her head on William’s shoulder as the Olympic flame goes out. She does not make eye contact with me until all the packing is done – and the car boot has been closed for the last time. Once they are all outside – and there is only Gillian and Lawrence left in the house with me – they all hug me one by one and get in the car. William and Gillian embrace too. William is annoyed that his father hasn’t come to the door (he is inside watching the last rites of the ceremony). He gets in the back of the car as Simon and Deborah get in the front. Jessica walks up to me and stops a few inches away. She looks down on the ground.

  ‘Didn’t we just share something incredible?’ she says, finally looking up at me.

  ‘I think we did. But we have to make sure it goes on…’

  ‘When are you going to visit?’

  ‘Come on, we’ve just had two weeks together. You’ll get sick of the sight of me!’