Springtime at Hope Hall Page 2

  Kath sighed at the challenge presented by this invitation. She hated the thought of travelling home from London too late at night. Looking again, she saw that they were asked to gather in the hospital library for drinks from five o’clock onwards. Perhaps that could work, providing she could get back to Waterloo Station before ten. The nine-fifty train would be just perfect.

  It was odd how vulnerable she felt nowadays at the very thought of having to make her way across the capital city. After all, she’d spent twenty-five years in London, always fearless and confident in the frantic bustle of life there. Now that she was back in her home town near the south coast, her days were calmer and her surroundings quietly reassuring in their nearness and familiarity. Travelling alone on the underground, with strange faces around her, was something she’d now prefer to avoid.

  Am I getting old? she thought, then immediately dismissed that notion as she bashed out a reply saying she’d love to join everyone at the reunion. Her finger hovered over the Send key, but in the end didn’t actually press it. Later, she thought. After all, it’s not happening for a while. I’ll think it over for a week or two, then reply later.

  It was hard to believe that it was four years now since she’d left the hospital. She’d loved her work there, knowing that her quick mind and logical thinking brought organization and progress into her section of hospital life, which could so easily descend into chaos. On her watch, timetables worked, the staff’s concerns were heard, their personal needs acknowledged and the importance of excellent patient care remained supreme. If she’d stayed on, in time she might well have been in line for a place on the Board. How different and challenging her life would be now!

  But her mother’s illness had stopped her career prospects in their tracks. With her sister Jane happily settled with her family in Australia, there was no one else who could step in when her mum’s diagnosis was confirmed as Parkinson’s disease.

  And so, just days after her forty-fifth birthday, with a sense of resignation that matched the heaviness of her heart, Kath handed in her notice from the job she loved, and moved back to the house she’d grown up in to take on the role of full-time carer for her mother. For the following two years, she watched as the woman she loved, and to whom she owed so much, struggled with the cruel condition that robbed her not just of dexterity and movement but, most tragically, the dignity that had always been her hallmark.

  This was particularly unbearable for her mother, who had always been such a smart, active woman, involved in local politics in her later years because she believed the concerns and views of her neighbours needed to be represented with energy and logic. She’d always had deep reservoirs of both, juggling the demands of being a headteacher with bringing up her two daughters and supporting her husband in his career as a respected solicitor in the town. There was no one Kath had ever admired more than her mother, and pity overwhelmed her as she saw her mum crushed at the thought of what lay ahead after such a devastating diagnosis.

  The loss of her dad a few years earlier had been bad enough, but the gradual deterioration she saw in both the body and mind of her mother as the condition progressed was, at times, more than Kath could bear. She found herself drawing on the professional manner she had acquired during her years of hospital management, remaining positive, loving and reassuringly practical as her mum’s health slipped away.

  And so it was that, when her mother died two years later, Kath found herself at the age of forty-seven, living alone in the family home, uncertain for the first time in her life as she pondered what her future might be. Should she consider moving back to London to take up the kind of executive management role she’d previously enjoyed so much? It didn’t take her long to realize how alien that world would now feel to her. During those two years of being a fulltime carer, as Kath’s world had become smaller and more isolated, she sensed her confidence slipping away too, as surely as the days and weeks on the calendar.

  For a while, she spent her time sorting out her parents’ affairs, cushioned by the substantial inheritance that had come her way, which ensured that her lifestyle could remain very comfortable indeed. With her sister’s agreement, she sold the family home and bought a spacious second floor apartment in the small, exclusive development with its parkland views and, on a good day, just a glimmer of the sea down on the coast sparkling far off on the horizon.

  The opportunity to take over the role of administrator at Hope Hall came up just at the point when she knew she needed a new project to occupy both her time and her brain, which had stagnated into uncharacteristic lethargy during her mother’s illness. It was the new vicar’s wife, Ellie, who’d mentioned the opening to her when their paths crossed during their early morning runs around the park next to which St Mark’s Church stood opposite her own apartment block.

  Kath remembered Hope Hall from long ago, when she was growing up in the town. She’d gone to Brownies there, and youth club some years later. She’d had her first kiss around the back of that hall when she was fifteen years old. She’d fancied Graham Sutton for ages before he’d finally noticed her, and that kiss was a rite of passage she would never forget. She soon forgot Graham Sutton though. It turned out that his interests were limited to football and drinking, usually both at the same time. His kisses were nice, but his company bored her. When she dumped him three months later, he hardly noticed and she didn’t care.

  That the post was hers was a foregone conclusion five minutes after the interview started. Kath’s obvious management skills and marketing experience, combined with her friendly but firm attitude – which was necessary given the various groups using the hall – made her the perfect choice. Kath’s parents had been well known and liked in the town, with their commitment and expertise in so many areas of community life. Just the fact that she was their daughter was probably enough to tip the scales. This combined with the fact that, because she’d been left so comfortably well off after her mother’s death, she was able to astonish the committee by agreeing to accept a very modest salary, far below her experience and qualifications. They practically bit her hand off in their enthusiasm to see her sign the contract.

  On her first day in her new role, an image of Graham Sutton flashed unexpectedly into her mind as she put the key in the brightly painted, original wooden doors at the front of the building, which faced out over a small walled garden towards the road. She remembered coming through that entrance with Graham during her youth club days. She recalled how, at that time, the door led straight into the hall, with its high ceilings drawing the eye towards the carved arches that stretched in a series of dark brown arcs across the room right down to the stage at the other end. She smiled as she remembered the old red velvet curtains that had hung across the stage for years, faded and full of dust. They had been replaced by heavy, golden drapes to match the walls, which were painted in a fresh, sandy colour. This toned perfectly with the arched beams, which had been stripped back to the original pine before being coated with a honey-coloured varnish.

  The entrance had changed too. Now, instead of stepping straight into the hall from that main front entrance, you found yourself in a wide, welcoming foyer, with a staircase immediately on the left, opposite a row of cloakrooms with toilets, including a disabled facility, lining the other side. The door beyond the staircase led into a well-equipped kitchen, with one hatch facing the foyer and another, including a bar area, opening directly into the hall. Scattered across the foyer were several round tables covered in pretty, red and white gingham cloths made of a material that was easy to wipe with a damp cloth. The foyer was set up to welcome locals to the Call-in Café from eleven till two on any weekday, for hot drinks, freshly made snacks and Maggie’s legendary cakes. The whole area, including the new wooden partition with its elegantly etched clear glass in large double doors that opened on to the main body of the hall, had all been added after a period of enthusiastic and very successful fund-raising less than five years earlier.

  That rebuilding prog
ramme had also created one of the most popular areas in the hall: the balcony lounge. The huge, airy space had been created at first-floor level across the whole of the front wall of the hall, which brought it directly in line with the beautiful semi-circular windows that had been peering down on either side of the main front door ever since Hope Hall had been built a hundred years earlier. Kath had always thought those windows looked like wide-open eyes above the pursed-lip shape of the entrance door. Others must have thought that too, because for as long as she could remember, those front doors had always been painted bright red, so the whole effect was that the front of Hope Hall looked like a warm, smiling face.

  The stairs just inside the front door wound their way up to the balcony, with its huge windows shedding bright sunlight across the dusky pink walls and homely furnishings. This was where visitors often enjoyed their coffee and cakes. It was also where, throughout every day, secrets were hesitantly revealed, comfort was given and worries were unburdened – about emotions and fears, family and work, friendship and loneliness, money and loss. This was a place where it was okay to cry and prayer felt natural – where there was warmth, welcome and huge soft cushions to sink into.

  The refurbishment programme had also added a whole new building to the growing Hope Hall complex. The old primary school that had been established for local children during Victoria’s reign had been standing on that site for forty years before Hope Hall was built alongside it in 1920 as a memorial to all who’d lost their lives in the First World War. Now, with the construction of a new connecting corridor, it was possible to walk straight out of a side door of Hope Hall into the old school building, where new washroom facilities had been installed, and former classrooms had been converted into meeting rooms of various sizes. Kath’s office was on the ground floor just inside the school building, and the hall, which must have seen hundreds of school assemblies down the years, had become the colourful and well-equipped home of the playgroup that met there every weekday morning.

  Kath snapped her laptop shut, and thought about the meeting of the Hope Hall committee she’d just left. They’d needed to get together to prepare themselves for the start of another year of activities, and although she would later write up a formal record of what they’d covered, these occasions always became a relaxed gathering of old friends who were used to working well together. It was 2nd January and the hall wasn’t due to reopen until after the weekend, on 5th January. Normal service would soon be resumed – thank goodness!

  That meant Christmas was over and done with for yet another year. Ever since her mum died, Kath had found Christmas poignantly painful. She remembered so many happy family Christmas Days in their old home. Now, Jane lived on the other side of the world, their parents were gone and their home belonged to a completely different family. The only relatives Kath now had in the country were cousins in Yorkshire, whom she barely knew. She’d received several invitations from kind local friends wanting her to spend Christmas Day with them, but she was too embarrassed to accept, feeling she’d be like a spinster aunt who had to be endured because it was the polite thing to invite her along. She delicately refused all invitations, saying she already had plans for Christmas, then booked Pru into the cattery and herself into a large impersonal hotel an hour’s drive away. She didn’t leave her room for two days, ordering Christmas dinner on room service, which she followed with the goodies she’d brought herself: several bags of salted cashew nuts, a large tube of Smarties, and a big box of Turkish Delight that she poured over a huge fruit salad so that she could fool herself she was still eating healthily. She cried over carols from Kings, chuckled at the reruns of classic old comedy shows, and watched back-to-back movies, usually nodding off to sleep before ever finding out “who-dunnit”.

  And now it was back to business. With a sigh of relief, Kath leaned down to stroke Pru, who was luxuriously stretched out on the settee, then headed towards the ensuite attached to her bedroom to take a shower.

  “Nanny!”

  Bobbie stretched out his arms towards Maggie as he pelted towards her, a two-year-old bundle of love and excitement. Hastily grabbing a tea towel to wipe the flour off her hands, Maggie scooped him up into her arms, covering his face with kisses, which made him squirm and giggle.

  Her daughter Steph followed behind, carrying a couple of carrier bags bulging with supermarket shopping.

  “Hi, Mum. I think I got everything. They didn’t have any blueberries, so I’ve brought red grapes instead.”

  Maggie grinned at the thought of grapes being substituted for blueberries in her muffins, but knew that at home both Steph and Bobbie ate red grapes as if they were sweets. They’d work their way through this bunch long before the two of them left.

  “These can be sultana and apple muffins instead then.” She smiled at Bobbie. “Would you like one later?”

  Nodding enthusiastically, Bobbie wriggled until he was back down on the floor, where Steph helped him off with his coat before he dashed off towards the overflowing toy box in Maggie’s front room.

  “Smells nice in here. Is that a ginger cake?”

  “Six of them. I thought I’d get ahead while I’ve got time this week. I can freeze a lot of cakes and puddings so I’m not caught short when there’s a rush on.”

  “Fancy a cuppa?”

  “Oh, yes please.”

  Steph filled the kettle before reaching up to take down two brightly coloured mugs from the cupboard. Mum liked her tea strong and dark. Steph preferred hers milky with two sugars. Just in time, she remembered her New Year resolution to start using sweeteners. Grimacing, she dropped two tiny pellets into her mug from the pack Maggie always kept next to the sugar jar. It wouldn’t taste the same. Steph was already wondering how long her good intentions would last.

  “Dad called last night.” Steph’s voice was hesitant as she spoke.

  Without reply, Maggie picked up the dishcloth and rubbed purposefully across the work surface.

  “He wants to meet up.”

  “And? Are you going to?”

  “Well, you know I don’t want to. I’ve told him that, but he just keeps asking.”

  Peering closely at a tiny speck of stain on the surface, Maggie seemed too preoccupied with furious scrubbing to answer.

  “He says he wants to explain.”

  Still no comment from Maggie.

  “And he’d like me to meet her.”

  The dishcloth thudded into the washing-up bowl as Maggie threw it across the room with perfect aim. Just as suddenly, the anger seemed to drain out of her and she slumped back against the work surface.

  “Come on,” said Steph, drawing Maggie close. “You go and get comfy, and I’ll bring the tea through.”

  Hand in hand on the sofa, they sat in silence for several minutes, their tea untouched as they watched Bobbie pushing a fire engine around the carpet.

  “He’s just an idiot, Mum. I’m so angry with him.”

  “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

  “I bet he’ll want to come back once he’s got tired of babysitting a girl who’s half his age.”

  “Half my age too.”

  “This isn’t about you, Mum. It’s all about him.”

  “Look, when the man you’ve been married to for more than twenty-five years takes off with a twenty-eight-year-old bimbo who wears dangly earrings, tight leggings, false nails an inch long and huge, long eyelashes that are so thick they cause a draught whenever she blinks, of course he’s comparing her to his dowdy, cuddly, mother-of-two, built-for-comfort wife. I mean, just look at her: size twelve and five foot seven in her bare feet. Then look at me: three inches shorter and three dress sizes bigger! Her hair is long, thick and shiny. Mine is mousy brown, so fine that when the wind blows it looks as if I’ve put my finger in a socket, and goes lank whenever I get near steaming cooking pots, which isn’t a good look for someone who’s in charge of a kitchen. She’s everything I’m not!”

  “But just look at him!” retorted Steph. �
��Fifty-one last birthday, works for British Gas! He’s hardly heart-throb material for someone her age, is he? Just wait until she’s fed up with his smelly socks dropped all over the bedroom floor, when she’s had enough of that bellowing snoring of his, and his constant moaning about all his bosses at work being idiots. She’ll be kicking him out in no time.”

  Maggie’s face clouded as she considered this.

  “Would you take him back?” Steph asked at last.

  “He hasn’t asked.”

  “He will.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. At least, I hope not.”

  “Well, you can only feel what you feel at the time, Mum – but as much as I hate the whole idea that you and Dad have broken up, I know how badly this has hurt you.”

  “He’s not the man I married. The Dave I remember was kind and loyal.”

  “And the man he’s become is selfish and vain. I mean, if it were just a mid-life crisis, we’d understand that whole fitness thing he got into, but going to a jiving class where everyone else is half his age? When did he last jive? When he was a spotty teenager! He’s behaving like a big spoilt kid!”

  In spite of herself, Maggie smiled. “When did you get to be so sensible and grown up?”

  Steph squeezed her mum’s hand. “I’ve had a good teacher – the best wife and mother any family could ever have.”

  Bobbie abandoned the fire engine and went back to the box to pull out a bright yellow digger truck.

  “The thing that really gets me,” continued Steph, “is that her little boy is only a year older than Bobbie. And that girl of hers can’t be much more than five, because I know she started school back in September. He’s swapped his own grandson and a family who loved him for a single mother bringing up two children who are nothing to do with him.”

  The lights and noises from the digger truck weren’t working. Boiling with frustration, Bobbie brought it over to his mummy to switch them on. As Steph handed it back to him, Maggie asked, “So, are you going to see him?”