by Jenni Keer
‘It’s Brenda’s eightieth tomorrow and George will be there. It’s okay, I’ve shed my tears and moved on, but I don’t want things getting awkward for either of us. It’s all a bit raw, and if he brings Jess, I don’t know how I’ll react. Maybe high-five her…in the face…with a chair.’
Emily laughed. ‘Even the New You isn’t that brave.’
‘Maybe not then. I don’t want to lose her as a friend, but I think I’m allowed to sulk for a bit. Although, avoiding her at work this week hasn’t been easy.’
‘You go to that party and you shine, my darling, regardless of who’s there. Brenda needs you and, anyway, I wouldn’t give up on George completely. Remember how long it took me to get Stuart? And as Dad always says, “It ain’t over until your mother says it is.”’
‘Happy birthday,’ Lucy said and bent down to kiss Brenda, an enormous gift-wrapped box in her arms.
‘Oh, my dear, I didn’t want you to get me anything. At my age, there is nothing left I either want or need. But thank you.’
Lucy carried the box inside and placed it on the coffee table. With some help, Brenda pulled away the pretty striped paper and opened it. Lucy lifted out the present in all its component parts and, moving the box to the chair, arranged it on the table between them.
Tears fell from Brenda’s eyes as she surveyed a miniature replica Ludwig Mod Orange drum kit and a six-inch-high knitted Jim, with his wild hair and tiny drumsticks. Sat to the side, in a knitted armchair, was a Brenda of yesteryear in a colourful tunic top and flared trousers. Although the photo upstairs was black and white, it had very much been the inspiration and Lucy had allowed herself some artistic licence with the colours.
‘It’s perfect,’ Brenda said. ‘Absolutely the most wonderful thing I have ever been given.’
Brenda sat caressing and fiddling with the figures while Lucy made them both some tea and toast. When it was time to leave, Lucy reminded Brenda she would meet her at the hall later that evening, making up a feeble excuse not to be part of the lift Brenda was getting from George.
‘It’s going to be a wonderful party,’ said Lucy.
‘Yes,’ Brenda replied, ‘it will be the party of my life.’
After four stressful wardrobe changes, Lucy stood outside the village hall that Party People had chosen as the venue for Brenda’s eightieth. The dress she finally decided on was a simple grey corsage waist dress from Emily in a chiffon fabric that swished gracefully about her legs as she walked. She felt comfortable and feminine, no longer so keen to give out the Look At Me vibe. There was music and chatter permeating the air and pulling her in. She smoothed the front of her dress and took a deep breath.
Brenda approached her as she entered. The streaks in her hair were a vibrant purple and had clearly been dyed at some point during the day. As all of her potions and lotions had disappeared from the kitchen, Lucy wondered if she’d splashed out on a hairdresser, something she wouldn’t normally have dreamed of. Looking resplendent in a Sixties pink and purple psychedelic maxi dress, Brenda put her fragile hands up to Lucy’s face and her bell sleeves hung elegantly in mid-air like colourful pennants. There was a long row of black glass beads around her neck, catching the lights circling the room, and she smelt of rose petals and vanilla.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘Please don’t apologise. The important thing is you are here. The party can start properly now. Come and mingle.’ Standing on tiptoe, Brenda kissed her beloved friend’s cheek with her soft lips. They held each other for a moment without the need for words, and then separated to face the room.
The hall was beautifully decorated, silver helium eights and zeros announcing Brenda’s milestone rising up from each table on purple ribbons and secured by shiny foil metallic weights. A giant disco ball hung from the high ceiling and scattered elegantly gliding spots of light over everyone, the beams catching faces and bouncing off reflective surfaces as they swept the hall. Swags of purple and silver organza hung from the walls, interlaced with fairy lights, and a Sixties tribute band were mid-song on the wooden stage that protruded into the rectangular hall. They were playing a Rolling Stones cover and the bouncy lead singer had a powerful, punchy voice that filled the room with happy sounds.
It was heart-warming to see how many people had turned out for the party. Some Lucy recognised: those who’d popped into Brenda’s over the years with troubled faces but left clutching small bottles and discreet paper packages with calmer, hopeful looks. There were neighbours, like Chloe and her mum – the younger of whom was skipping around the hall, trying to stamp on the dancing lights as they slid across the floor. A couple of the Knit and Natter ladies waved from the far corner, and Lucy recognised the young Dr Hopgood sitting at a nearby table with a pretty brunette she assumed was his wife.
And then there was George, his back to the hall, talking to someone she didn’t recognise. So he hadn’t brought Jess along then, she thought, unless she was joining him later. No, neither of them would be that unkind. They were both good people, people she loved in different ways who had followed their hearts, unfortunately at the expense of her own.
‘The hall looks amazing,’ Lucy said, forcing a smile. ‘Party People have done a super job.’ She turned her body towards the band so that George was deliberately obscured from her eye line.
‘You’ve got him all wrong,’ Brenda said, noting her body language. ‘I told you to talk to him.’
Lucy bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling. ‘I’m sorry, Brenda, but I don’t think I can just yet.’
‘I love you so much, but sometimes you can be a silly thing. He brought me here tonight, you know? We had such a lovely chat in the car. You need to listen to him, sweetheart, and hear what he has to say.’
‘Chat about what?’
‘I’m not saying any more. I’ve done far too much interfering where you two are concerned. I must step back now.’ Brenda looked across at George who was bent forward listening earnestly to an older gentleman, and she let out a wistful sigh. ‘He really brings out the carnal side of me. I don’t know how I kept my hands off him in the car. What a body.’
‘I know.’ Lucy was almost whispering. The pair embraced and Lucy felt her friend hang on for dear life, only to break apart when a waitress tapped Brenda on the shoulder to inform her they were opening the champagne in ten minutes.
‘Do the rounds. Say hello to some people and then I’d like you to say a few words,’ Brenda said to Lucy.
‘Me?’ Her eyes widened in horror.
‘Yes. I can’t think of anyone better, can you? I can hardly toast myself. You only have to say a sentence. Then I can look suitably flattered and thank everyone for coming.’
‘But I don’t have the locket.’
‘And we have firmly established, Lucy, that you never needed it.’
Chapter 53
With ten minutes to kill, and George to avoid, Lucy headed over to where Dr Hopgood was sitting. He introduced his wife and pulled out a chair for Lucy to join them.
‘Brenda really is a marvellous and surprising lady,’ he said. ‘In many ways, it is a shame she showed up on my radar so late. I would have liked to get to know her sooner.’
‘She’s certainly a character, and she definitely knows how to throw a party,’ said Lucy.
‘Yes, weeks in the planning, I understand. My sister works for Party People and Brenda was in the shop sorting it out within days of my tentative diagnosis. But I often find the people with a positive mental attitude in life heal better and live longer.’ He stopped as a waitress put three glasses of champagne on the table in front of them. ‘Apparently no expense has been spared. Only the best champagne, a band from London, exceptional buffet food and an open bar. For someone who isn’t a big social mixer, she’s pushed the boat well and truly out into the middle of the ocean.’
‘I suppose she wants to mark her milestone birthday in style while she can enjoy it as much as everybody else. She may not make it to the next one.’ As Lucy
spoke the words, they jabbed at her emotions and made her heart crumple.
‘Talking of which,’ said the doctor, ‘my ongoing efforts to get her to talk about her long-term options have been constantly brushed aside. There are lots of things she can put in place to help with her day-to-day living: handrails and better lighting, and painting things like doorways to give a contrast between objects and background. She could undertake some form of regular exercise to improve the strength in her arms and legs. There is a lot of support out there for both of you, but she won’t entertain any of it at the moment. I’m hoping she’ll come back to me after the excitement of the party has died down, because at the moment she’s avoiding some important decisions.’
‘I don’t think she’s ever looked healthier or happier,’ said Lucy. ‘Look at her face; she’s on top of the world.’
‘Yes,’ Dr Hopgood replied, ‘that’s what worries me.’
‘If I could have everyone’s attention please,’ Lucy said in a voice that was never going to be heard above the music or the chatter.
She cleared her throat and tried again.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, grabbing a fork from the table nearby and tapping it on an abandoned wine glass. The hall chatter died down and Dr Hopgood signalled to the band to stop. Nearly one hundred faces turned in her direction and there was a palpable hush. Ignoring the thud of her panicking heart and the tremble in her knees, Lucy took a steadying breath, intending to say a simple toast, but the words flowed from her mouth in an unstoppable stream.
‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ She paused to compose herself, irrationally conscious of George. ‘As some of you know, I moved to Lancaster Road two years ago, and it immediately felt like home. Brenda made me feel welcome from that very first day and has continued to play a huge part in my life ever since. She is a mother figure when I feel homesick and a listening ear when things get tough. We have giggled together over romantic heroes and sat in contented silence whilst we pursued our separate hobbies. Always supportive and never critical, she is everything a friend should be. And through the books, knitting needles and jars of herbs and spices, she has become one of the most important people in the world to me. She is a giver, a listener and a rainbow in our dreary world. I hope she will continue to shine around us, tiny rays of colour touching all our lives, for many years to come.’
The audience nodded and mumbled in agreement.
‘So, would you please raise your glasses and toast one of the most special and wonderful people I know. To Brenda.’
‘To Brenda,’ the whole room chorused, getting to their feet and raising their glasses to toast a lady they were all fond of, even if they would always remain slightly wary of her.
A sense of accomplishment gushed through Lucy. Standing in front of a hall full of people and delivering a toast, albeit a short one, was not something she could have imagined herself doing a few weeks ago.
Walking towards her, champagne glass in hand and eyes that held unbidden tears, Brenda stood at Lucy’s side and reached for her hand, refusing to let her return to her seat.
‘Thank you, Lucy. I’m not sure I deserve such a glowing tribute, but it means the world to me,’ Brenda said, turning to the roomful of guests.
She spoke eloquently for a few minutes, refusing to release Lucy and keeping a firm hold of her hand. She talked briefly of her childhood, of losing her mother, of Jim and how he was her everything, and their sadness at not being able to have children. There were tales about her wild groupie days and then she finished with some words about the importance of friendship.
‘People are the thing that make this life bearable. They are the cause of our laughter and sometimes our tears, but living alone in this world would be unthinkable. I have been blessed with many wonderful friends during my eighty years and I want to raise a glass to all those who have touched my life, whether they are still with us or not.’ She raised her own glass and there was a moment when many of the people in the hall silently followed suit. ‘I think eighty is a splendid age to have reached, and I can honestly say I have enjoyed every single one of those years. So, I beg you all to do the same. Go home to the ones you love and tell them every day how they light up your life, so they can hear those heartfelt words spoken out loud. Words are powerful, more powerful than we sometimes realise, so if you take one thing away from tonight, I’d like you to all to try and live your life by my three favourite words: Be Kind Always.’
Neighbours and friends reached out for each other’s hands and threw smiles across the tables. For one perfect moment, the hall was imbued with feelings of love and happiness.
‘And now I would like to dance the night, and my cares, away. I hope you will all join me,’ she said. ‘George, shall we?’ And she looked over to an unsuspecting George, who was leaning awkwardly against the architrave of the fire escape. He put his glass down, walked over and took Brenda’s arm from Lucy. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak Lucy slipped away to the other side of the hall, content to let someone else have the limelight now she’d done her bit.
It was a touching sight: great big George trying to pull off a clumsy version of the foxtrot with a fragile Brenda barely coming up to his chest. The band were playing a cover of The Yellow Crows’ ‘London Lady’ – a haunting rock ballad that had proved to be their biggest chart success. As they took their first faltering steps, Lucy wondered who the London Lady was. Could it even have been Brenda?
‘She makes me smile, holds me for a while, and everything’s okay – my London lady,’ the lead guitarist crooned into the microphone.
George held Brenda gently in his arms, her tiny frame supported by his sturdy body. He wasn’t a natural dancer, thought Lucy, mainly due to his size, but he wasn’t bad. She watched his lips move as he counted the steps; slow, slow, quick, quick. The pair moved slowly but with purpose. Brenda closed her eyes and allowed herself to be led. Lucy knew her friend would be thinking of Jim, perhaps even imagining herself to be dancing with him at that moment.
A quiet ripple of applause echoed around the hall as the song came to an end. Brenda put her hands up to George’s chest and ran them across to his arms. Incorrigible flirt, thought Lucy. A slow dance with George was a dream come true for Brenda, who was motioning for him to come closer as she whispered something in his ear. He smiled and whispered something back, took Brenda’s left hand and softly kissed it. She tugged at his collar, pulled him towards her and got away with some crafty lip-to-lip contact. Blushing, George led her to the side and pulled out a chair for her. Then he scanned the faces of the guests and finally met and held Lucy’s eyes.
No, she thought. No. I don’t want to hear his stupid explanations or pathetic pleas to remain friends. Not tonight. And she turned away, making for the open doors at the rear of the hall. An inner voice told her she was being cowardly, but she knew, now that she understood the locket was not the source of her courage, that she was being brave. Brave enough to draw a line under the whole affair and walk away with her head held high.
Outside, she made for the comforting shadows of a nearby cluster of elderflower trees, and let the welcome fresh air dance around her hot, cross body as a lively cover of a Beatles song drifted from the hall. There was a bench beneath the trees and she walked towards it, heading for a place she could be alone for a while. She would gather herself together, paste on a fake smile and then return to enjoy the party.
‘Lucy?’ George’s voice came from behind. She carried on walking. ‘Don’t walk away. Please.’
She stopped but didn’t turn and heard his footsteps pound on the concrete path as he sped up to close the distance between them. He was now directly behind her and she felt an electric pulse jump the gap between their bodies like the blue sparks she’d watched her dad test on his cars over the years. Still she didn’t turn.
His voice was soft and low, washing over the top of her head like a gentle wave. ‘Why won’t you let me explain?’
‘You don’t have t
o explain anything to me. I’m your neighbour, not your mother.’ It wasn’t said unkindly.
‘And my friend?’
‘Of course.’
‘You saw me with Jess.’ It wasn’t a question, but she answered it nonetheless.
‘Yes. Not that I think Jess is your type, but it’s not my concern.’
‘Ah, well, there I’d have to disagree.’
‘She is your type?’ Her tone was disbelieving as she turned to face him. Why were they even having this pointless conversation? She didn’t want to hear about his future with Jess, their planned two point four children and their cottage in the country.
‘Not that bit, you daft woman. The bit about it being your concern.’
‘Well I—’
‘Oh, do be quiet and listen to me before I get even more nervous than I already am. Jessica Ridley is not my type because Lucy Baker, of Flat Twenty, Lancaster Road, is. So much bloody so that I’ve been unable to focus on work since she persuaded me to camp out beneath the stars for no apparent reason other than it suited her and she wanted me to live a little. Quite frustrating, because I was doing okay at the living thing until she crashed into my work-orientated life. But I’ve only gone and bloody fallen in love with her.’
It took a moment for her brain to process the words she’d heard, and George talking about her in the third person wasn’t helping. When her brain finally staggered into the moment, she looked up into the eyes of the six-foot-four bear of a man, who had taken her hand and was bowing his head in earnest, trying to make eye contact. She could smell his distinctive aftershave, almost taste the champagne that had touched his lips.
‘Not that I would have said a few weeks ago that my type might include a crazy, pyromaniac knitter who has a tendency to poison perfectly respectable individuals and randomly roams the neighbourhood, indulging in her drunken kleptomaniac tendencies. As for the rabbit – let’s not even go there.’ His eyes twinkled, despite his attempt to stay deadpan.