by Mandy Baggot
‘How many more times? I don’t have panic attacks! I just fainted a bit, it was hot that’s all. I overheat when it’s hot, ask anyone. No air conditioning in the foyer, a design flaw but it’s an old building. I’ve got to get back to work,’ Samantha spoke, looking at her watch and nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
‘Before they close the Civic Hall down?’ Jimmy responded.
He watched the colour disappear from her face and her eyes widen. Straight away she swayed on her feet and Jimmy quickly stood up, took her firmly by the arm and made her sit back down on the bench next to him.
‘What do you know about that?’ Samantha spoke in no more than a whisper.
She was scared if she talked any louder it would make her worst fear closer to becoming the truth.
‘I know that guy from the council was talking to you about their audit of the hall. While you were unconscious he told us he thought he’d upset you with the news. He didn’t say too much more because Dave had to escort him to his office when he started to have an angina attack,’ Jimmy informed her.
‘They’re just looking into the finances that’s all. It’ll be fine, we’re very profitable. I mean stock control can sometimes be a concern but we’re getting through the worst of that and action will be taken,’ Samantha responded. Three thousand five hundred and one iced Berry Fruits was better than four thousand.
‘I’m sure he’ll be OK. He had medication with him,’ Jimmy answered her, referring back to Mr Radcliffe.
‘Who did?’ Samantha answered, her mind unable to focus on anything but the plight of her beloved Civic Hall.
‘Mr Radcliffe? His angina?’ Jimmy reminded.
‘Angina is very common in a man of his age, perfectly treatable. D’you think he had a chance to look at Dave’s awful pie chart projections? Because I don’t think a pie chart is the best way to display the figures and I know Dave only does that because he has some sort of affinity with pies but…’ Samantha gabbled.
‘What will you do if the hall closes?’ Jimmy asked her bluntly.
‘The hall isn’t going to close! There’s been a hall here since 1947. It’s tradition, it’s our heritage, it…’ Samantha started enthusiastically.
‘It doesn’t have a website so people can book online. It has a larger capacity than other venues round here but it doesn’t attract big named acts. The menu in the restaurant needs updating, and so does the décor,’ Jimmy spoke.
Samantha just stared at him, her mouth almost hanging open. What was he saying? Wheat Dream had only been on the walls a year or so.
‘And it isn’t in a great area, I mean the West End is where people want to be. That’s where the real nostalgia is, that’s the place to be seen.’
‘The West End is overrated, the tickets are overpriced and people don’t always want to watch tired musicals and plays, they want variety and the Civic Hall gives them that,’ Samantha spoke passionately.
‘It needs updating, revamping and reinventing. All those things I said, the website, the menu - I’ve just thought of those off the top of my head and I know nothing about running a venue. But you do. I think you could manage the hall a whole lot better than Dave. I suspect a great deal of the finances go on his wages, when the staff around him are actually doing the hard work. Maybe it’s time for a change of leadership,’ Jimmy suggested to her.
‘I don’t know where all this is coming from, I mean Mr Radcliffe said they were just doing a preliminary look into the running of this hall and the other council run hall in the district, the Presbook Centre. Preliminary means there’s no need to panic doesn’t it? I mean preliminary means the beginning of a long drawn out, well considered investigation, with lots of meetings and public consultation,’ Samantha spoke quickly as her mind whirred with thoughts.
‘I guess it could mean that, but if I were you I’d want to start acting now. You need to ensure whatever he does find leaves him in no doubt which hall he should save,’ Jimmy told her.
‘It isn’t my place, Dave’s…’ Samantha began.
‘From what I’ve seen, the only person Dave cares about is himself. He doesn’t care about the heritage or the history and I don’t think he could save the hall even if he wanted to,’ Jimmy spoke sincerely.
‘I can’t start implementing new ideas over Dave’s head, he’s the manager and…’ Samantha responded, her mind actually aching with all the thoughts bubbling around inside it.
‘Well it’s up to you. I’m just shooting my mouth off, but I think the hall could have a great future. It just needs some time and effort to be invested in it by someone who has real enthusiasm,’ Jimmy said.
‘It won’t come to anything. No, there’s no need to panic. This isn’t the first time the council’s had to juggle their amenities budget. They always make it work out in the end,’ Samantha spoke, sounding less than convinced in her own words.
‘Yeah of course and what would I know anyway, all I know is ice skating. Listen, I’d better get back or Dana will eat me for breakfast - again,’ Jimmy said, standing up and giving Samantha a full length view of his torso.
‘OK,’ Samantha responded, hurriedly averting her gaze to the floor.
‘See you at the show tonight,’ Jimmy spoke.
‘Yeah, the show,’ Samantha responded, without lifting her gaze from the concrete paving.
What was she going to do? Why was this happening? All she had to worry about for the last few years was ticket sales and preview guides. OK, so the hall was dated, but it was also familiar and comfortable. It was like a well-worn baggy jumper you’d had since you were fifteen and just couldn’t bear to part with. It was her comfortable baggy jumper. And it ticked along. But Jimmy was right, ticking along wasn’t enough. She was always saying herself about the acts being tired and repetitive, perhaps if they attracted a different type of show they would bring in a whole different kind of audience. Out with the Blue Rinse Brigade singing ‘Roll out the Barrel’ when Wartime Warbles came to visit and in with the twenty first century and psychological illusionists like Derren Brown. They could get more bands, something Cleo would approve of, more original acts instead of cover groups and the conference rooms were never fully utilised, perhaps they could advertise. And they definitely needed a website. But what if the council had already made up its mind? What if, on today’s visit alone, Mr Radcliffe had decided the Civic Hall was not worthy of the lion’s share of the amenities budget? Even if he hadn’t made a decision yet, how was she going to convince the council where best to invest its funds? After her dramatic hyperventilating and collapsing, he was probably wondering what sort of lunatic was working the box office of the hall. Her word wouldn’t count for anything. She had no authority, the only thing to do would be to try to convince Dave of what needed to be done. She would do what she usually did, she would steer Dave towards her conclusions and make it seem like it was all his idea in the first place. He liked that.
Samantha raised her head from the floor and caught sight of her blood stained hands. The first thing she needed to do was have a wash.
Eight
Samantha couldn’t get the blood out from under her fingernails, no matter how hard she rubbed. She had never been convinced about the performance of the brand of hand soap in the ladies toilets and now the inadequacy was confirmed. It would usually have been something she would report immediately to Dave, but in the light of today’s events, it probably wouldn’t be on the top of the manager’s agenda.
What was she going to do? In little more than an hour, her whole world had come crashing down. She couldn’t possibly imagine her life without the Civic Hall. She barely remembered what her life was like before the Civic Hall, except that she had been a victim of the Witches of Woolston, the catty girls who’d worked alongside her at the shoe shop. They had giggled and laughed to themselves over the kitten heels and wedges, looking Samantha up and down and undermining her confidence at every turn. They’d talked loudly about who they had shagged, who th
ey would like to shag and who they were definitely going to shag at the weekend. Somehow they knew about her virgin status like it was tattooed on her forehead.
The job at the Civic Hall had saved her. She felt like she had a place there and a purpose. There was a feeling of belonging as she walked through the door each day. OK, Dave was a pain and her colleagues weren’t as dedicated to the job as she was, but they didn’t laugh at her (at least she didn’t think they did) and they kept their private lives to themselves, well apart from Felicity filling her in about her latest disastrous relationship and Jane updating her on her disabled mother’s varicose veins. If the hall closed, what were the chances of finding somewhere else that made her feel like she fitted?
Samantha took a deep breath and splashed her face with water. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was beginning to look like her mother when she frowned. In a few decades it could be her in a retirement bungalow by the sea, knitting for other people’s grandchildren, probably still virginal.
She swept her hair back behind her ears and swallowed. She needed to compose herself and get the full story on the council’s plans from Dave.
When she opened the door to his office without knocking, he almost fell out of his chair. He had a half consumed Ginsters pasty in one hand and his other hand was concealed inside a family sized packet of ready salted crisps.
‘Ah Samantha! I was just going to come and look for you,’ Dave spoke, hurriedly opening a drawer to hide the pasty.
Samantha sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
‘Don’t worry, the front desk is manned. I passed Felicity on the way here and she’s happy to have a late lunch. I’ll relieve her as soon as we’ve spoken,’ Samantha said.
‘No matter Duck, I was concerned about you. Are you feeling OK? You took a nasty tumble,’ Dave said, spraying crisps across the desk as he tried to remove the packet from the workspace.
‘Dave, did you know Mr Radcliffe was coming today? Did you know about the council’s plan?’ Samantha asked bluntly, looking at her boss with wide, frightened eyes.
‘Well, I knew he was coming but I wasn’t fully aware of the reasons. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry your little head about. We’re very prosperous at the moment, very prosperous indeed. The ice show is really getting bums on seats,’ Dave responded, shifting about in his chair like a man feeling uncomfortable at being questioned.
‘What’s going on? I mean I see the figures, things didn’t seem that bad. I’m sure we’ve had worse years. The hall can’t close. What’s your plan? I’ll do anything I can to help,’ Samantha told him, leaning on the desk and looking straight at him almost pleadingly.
‘Calm down mon petit souris. There’s no use getting in a two and eight. Sometimes you just have to let things run their course. I’m sure all this will blow over,’ Dave spoke and he began leafing aimlessly through a pile of papers on his desk.
‘But Mr Radcliffe said only one hall can survive, there’s us and the Presbook Centre, oh and the playhouse. Do you think he’s counting the playhouse? We need to shake things up a bit, have a real drive at selling more tickets, some special offers perhaps. And we need a web page, perhaps online booking, everyone has that and…’ Samantha began, the words coming out at a hundred miles an hour.
‘Well actually Duck, that will be something to discuss with the new manager,’ Dave responded.
‘We could do meal deals in the restaurant and perhaps spruce up the menu - what did you say?’ Samantha asked, stopping abruptly and just staring blankly at her superior.
‘I have had a calling,’ Dave continued, a smile spreading across his podgy face.
‘What? I don’t understand,’ Samantha replied, her voice weakening, her conviction drifting away.
‘I am joining the auspicious Herald Cruises as the Director of Entertainments. Me! A director! I start next week and the first cruise is round the Aegean,’ Dave boasted, puffing out his chest as he always did when he thought he had said something earth shattering.
‘No,’ Samantha said, her bottom lip beginning to tremble as tears welled up in her eyes.
She could feel everything slipping away, the hall, her life. Where would she go? What would she do? Who would feed Gobby?
‘Yes, isn’t it a wonderful opportunity for me? I’ll get to show my true potential at last. There will be no restrictions, no council budgets, no boundaries. I can be a maker or breaker of careers,’ Dave carried on, the inane smile not leaving his face.
‘But you can’t leave - we’re in crisis,’ Samantha managed to speak as the tears began to roll down her face.
‘There’s no such thing as a crisis in entertainment Samantha, you should know that. The show will always go on,’ Dave spoke, still smiling.
Samantha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her life was turning into something that resembled a Twin Peaks episode. All it needed was a procession of dwarves. The world had gone mad, that was the only explanation. She needed to restore some sanity, somehow, reality needed to be gripped.
And then she was weeping. Her eyes had glazed over and all she could see was Dave’s fat, doughy face, still smiling. He didn’t care about the hall, perhaps he never had.
She stood up, using his desk for support and without saying another word she turned towards the door of his office.
‘Cheer up eh Duck? Still time for one more BOB before I leave,’ Dave told her.
And then he let out a hearty guffaw that turned her stomach.
With his laughter echoing in her ears Samantha ran. She ran out of his office, through the foyer and out of the hall. She felt upset, scared and betrayed. She needed familiarity. She usually found that at the hall but not today, perhaps never again. She had to get home.
She ran down the main street, past commuters, past joggers, past women pushing buggies, past tramps and over friendly dogs, not noticing any of them. A million thoughts were spinning around in her brain. What was happening? What was she going to do?
She didn’t stop running until she was outside her front door. She quickly let herself in with shaking hands, her heart racing and her forehead clammy. She needed to sit down, her head was aching. She walked through the hallway towards the kitchen and was just contemplating how her life couldn’t get any worse when she looked up. The sight before her stopped her in her tracks.
Cleo shrieked at the top of her voice, Samantha gasped and hurriedly turned away. Jeremy practically vaulted from the kitchen table picking up his trousers from the chair.
‘What are you doing home?! It’s only two!’ Cleo exclaimed as she hurriedly put her blouse over her head and tried to cover up her nakedness.
‘Since when did I have set times to come in and out of our house?’ Samantha questioned, still not daring to look back at the scene.
‘Since always. What’s happened? Has the Civic Hall burnt down or something? No, if it had you’d be there, in the thick of things, coordinating the recovery operation,’ Cleo spoke, trying to cover up her embarrassment.
‘Is that supposed to be a joke? What do you know? Who have you spoken to? Goodness, how long does it take you to put a pair of trousers on? I bet it didn’t take that long to get them off,’ Samantha said to Jeremy as she briefly turned back and caught sight of him in just his underwear.
‘Come on Jeremy, let’s go up to my bedroom,’ Cleo said, doing up the zip on her skirt and looking defiantly at Samantha.
‘Actually Cleo, I’d better get back to the office,’ Jeremy responded, his cheeks reddening as he caught Samantha’s eye.
‘What? I thought we were being rebellious and not going back this afternoon. You aren’t going to let my usually routine driven little sister ruin our plans are you?’ Cleo demanded to know.
‘No, don’t mind me. You carry on - hope I haven’t spoiled the mood,’ Samantha spoke sarcastically.
‘I’ll call you later – sorry,’ Jeremy said as he moved past Samantha and headed for the front door as fast as he could.
The
front door closed and Cleo glared at Samantha. Samantha ignored the look and walked into the kitchen. Cleo had a death stare akin to Darth Vader and Samantha knew better than to join in the game. She began to fill the kettle with water.
‘Well thank you very much! Do you know how much persuading it took to get him to skive for an afternoon?’ Cleo told her.
‘No, but I can imagine you had a lot of fun getting him to agree,’ Samantha responded, putting the kettle on to boil.
‘If you were coming home early you could have rung or something,’ Cleo continued, watching Samantha get two cups ready for tea.
‘It wasn’t anticipated, nor was it anticipated that you would be shagging on the kitchen table at two o’ clock in the afternoon. I mean Cleo, we have to eat off this. And anyway - you should be - you should be - at work too!’ Samantha replied.
And then she burst into tears. All the emotions of the day overwhelming her and making her break down again. She felt like a wreck. She had spent practically the whole day crying. Her face was beginning to feel damp, crumpled and prune like, like a grieving Casualty extra. She bawled, sobbed and shook and Cleo rushed over to her, enveloping her in a perfumey hug.
‘What’s the matter? It isn’t Darren is it? If he gave you his number with no intention of taking you out on a date then I will kill him,’ Cleo spoke sternly as she hugged her sister.
Samantha just continued to cry, unable to stop herself.
‘Sam, tell me what’s wrong. I’m imagining the worst here. Has something happened to Mum or Dad? Are you OK? Are you ill? God, look at your nose, is it something to do with that? It doesn’t look right at all,’ Cleo said, making a face as she stared at the swelling.
‘It’s the worst, the very worst,’ Samantha managed to mumble into Cleo’s shoulder as she held her.
‘Oh God, Sam just tell me. I’m freaking out here,’ Cleo exclaimed in fright.