Summer's Out at Hope Hall Read online

  “Well, Miss Sutton – er, Kath,” Muriel announced, “I think this could well suit our purpose. I’d like to make certain of the health and safety arrangements and, of course, the necessary insurance cover. Most important of all, I need to run the proposal past our trustees, but I feel this could be an excellent temporary base for our work.”

  “When would you like to start?” asked Kath.

  “Perhaps we could arrange to move our equipment across to our storage facility during our usual meeting time this Wednesday evening? Then our activities can start in earnest on the same evening a week later.”

  “That’s good news,” smiled Kath. “Let me organize a coffee for you in the balcony lounge and I’ll bring over all the relevant paperwork for you to inspect and have available to show your trustees.”

  In response, Muriel clicked her heels and stiffened to attention before turning abruptly and marching off in the direction of the main building.

  The Call-in Café was in full swing at midday when Catering Manager Maggie staggered into the kitchen carrying a big cardboard box, with bulging supermarket carrier bags on each arm. Liz rushed to grab the box from her as Maggie laid out the bags on the work surface.

  “You liked the new wholesaler then?” grinned Liz. “Is there more to come in?”

  “A couple of big boxes in the back of the car,” puffed Maggie, “but just give me a moment to get my breath back.”

  Liz grinned before turning towards Kevin, who was leaning against the work surface taking large gulps from a can of coke.

  “Be a love, Kev, and bring the rest of those boxes in for us, would you?”

  Always keen to help, Kev immediately headed for the door.

  Maggie sighed. “It’s my own fault. I need to go on a diet. I keep saying I should go to a gym or Zumba, or something else that’s just as awful, as long as it gets me exercising – then I never get round to doing anything about it. But I have to. I’m a stone heavier than I was this time last year.”

  “This time last year, you had just celebrated your silver wedding anniversary surrounded by loving family and the husband you thought was yours for ever. Then that slimeball ran off with a glamour girl half his age and told you he was about to become a father again when he’s already a grandfather, totally humiliating you in the process. No wonder you’ve put on a bit of weight! Besides, you make the most wonderful cakes. We all love eating them, so is it any surprise that you do too?”

  Maggie grimaced in agreement. “Isn’t there a saying about people who work in a chocolate factory ending up being really sick of chocolate? Why doesn’t that happen to me with my cakes? Why can’t I resist a chocolate éclair or a jammy doughnut or lemon sponge with custard? Why haven’t I got any willpower?”

  “Because you’ve been very unhappy, and extremely busy now your home is having to be packed up and sold to pay for Dave’s new family. You’ve got a lot on your plate, Maggie.”

  “Yes. Mostly cakes.”

  “And the upheaval of moving! But just think, in a couple of weeks’ time you’ll be getting your completion date on that gorgeous new flat of yours. How amazing that you’ve found such a lovely place in a house you used to visit and love when you were a schoolgirl!”

  A slow grin spread across Maggie’s face. “It is rather gorgeous, isn’t it? Honestly, in the end I know I’m going to like being there—”

  “…but it’s all a bit daunting right now, packing up the memories from quarter of a century of family life.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, a quarter of a century? I feel old now as well as fat!”

  “That’s enough sympathy for one day. Come on, you! Let’s make some room for all this lot in the store cupboard. That’s where we’ll be if you need us, Jan.”

  At the hatch, Jan gave a wave of agreement before turning her attention back to the lemon meringue pie that needed an extra dollop of thick fresh cream at the request of the customer she was serving.

  “They’ve got a great fruit section at that wholesalers,” said Maggie as she and Liz made their way towards the walk-in storage cupboard and cold room at the back of the kitchen. “And a wet fish area too, which was very well stocked. Their meat is good as well – some interesting cuts that are sometimes hard to find, and a proper butcher who was happy to discuss exactly what I needed.”

  “My dad was a butcher – did I ever tell you that?”

  “Really? Where – here in the town?”

  “No, we lived up in Stockport then. His family had a butcher’s shop for years, so my dad was working there as a ‘butcher’s boy’ when he was still in short trousers. It sounds like his father had no qualms about cutting a few corners, though. I remember Dad telling me about a lady who came in just as the shop was about to close asking for a six-pound chicken. His father only had one chicken left, which weighed four pounds, and when she saw it, she said that wouldn’t be big enough. So he told her he’d see if he could find another bigger chicken out the back. He took the chicken outside, pulled it about a bit and puffed up the flesh, then brought it in with a great big smile, saying he’d managed to find a six-pounder, just what she wanted.”

  “And did she fall for that?”

  “Oh, she was delighted. So delighted, in fact, that she said she’d take them both!”

  Every Monday afternoon between two thirty and five o’clock, volunteers from Churches Together in the town set up an emergency Food Bank in the foyer, so that local people struggling to keep food on the table for their families, or who were living hand-to-mouth on very little money and few resources, could get a range of rations, basic goods and clothing to help keep them going throughout the week ahead. In the three years since it was started on a trestle table at Hope Hall with barely any groceries or supplies on offer, the Food Bank had grown into a large and complex operation which reflected the rapid and shocking growth in the number of those in need within their own community.

  The organizers had soon recognized the importance of allowing each volunteer to work to their strengths. Some were good at collecting, transporting and lugging in big boxes of supplies, often direct from local supermarkets. Others were good at organizing emergency bags of goods, some for families, some for single people, some specifically with older folk in mind. And then there were the more experienced volunteers, who became known for their insight, empathy and ability to read between the lines of what they were told by those coming for help. Their embarrassment, their reticence to be drawn into conversation, so often concealed deep despair, fear and emotional turmoil, often as a result of domestic situations that were oppressive, inadequate or simply inescapable.

  Throughout her working life, Sheelagh Hallam had been a social worker, not just with the local council for many years, but also with several charitable organizations that supported the most vulnerable people in society. Always a regular churchgoer and now a grandmother, retirement made little difference to her energy and determination to support anyone who needed a helping hand. She volunteered for several sessions each week in the local Citizens’ Advice Bureau, and on Mondays she was always at Hope Hall helping out at the Food Bank. Whereas others were busy unpacking supplies and giving out bags of essentials, Sheelagh preferred to be near the kettle, always ready with a cup of tea and one of the delicious cakes or savouries left over from Hope Hall’s daily Call-in Café. Years of experience combined with a natural intuition meant Sheelagh was astute at sensing when it wasn’t only food that was needed, but a listening ear, an arm around the shoulder, and practical support to help with the desperate situations in which people often found themselves.

  As one young mum who was a regular visitor to the Food Bank came in through the main door, Sheelagh caught sight of a dishevelled-looking man standing close to one of the trees lining the pavement at the front of the hall. He was trying to peer inside without making his presence too obvious, flattening himself behind the trunk of the tree for fear of being noticed. Picking up a couple of cardboard cups, Sheelagh poured out two teas
, one with a large spoonful of sugar, then stuffed a couple of packets of biscuits in her pocket before stepping outside the door just in time to see the man pull back from the nearest tree to one that was several yards further along the pavement. Moving slowly and casually in his direction, Sheelagh walked up until she was nearly level with him, then sat down on the small wall that divided the old school playground from the road.

  “I wondered if you might like a cup of tea. I’ve got biscuits too.”

  At first there was no reply, but then, after a while, he leant out a little to take a closer look at her.

  “Shall we drink them while they’re hot? This one’s got sugar, the other hasn’t. Which would you like?”

  Placing the tea with sugar on the wall quite near to the tree that was shielding him, she busied herself with the biscuits, opening one packet, then the other.

  “Bourbons and ginger nuts. Do you fancy either of these?”

  There was no reply, and Sheelagh pretended not to notice when he moved out enough to pick up the cup.

  They drank together for several minutes before Sheelagh lifted her arm towards him to offer the pack of ginger nuts. Seconds passed before he stretched out to grab them from her, shoving them quickly into his coat pocket. Sheelagh noticed immediately that the coat was torn and filthy, and the one boot she could see that wasn’t hidden behind the tree was scuffed and gaping, with a hole at the front where the sole had become detached. Even from a few feet away she was catching the musty smell of stale body odour.

  “I’m Sheelagh,” she said at last. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Silence.

  “I’ve not seen you here before.”

  Nothing.

  “I wonder if you need anything – food perhaps, or some basic essentials. Could I make up a bag for you? Is there anything in particular that would be useful right now?”

  Still hesitating, the man was gradually revealing more of himself from behind the tree.

  “Shall I just bring you a selection?”

  He nodded.

  “You wouldn’t like to come in with me to see what we have available? You could make your own choices then.”

  He shook his head in definite refusal.

  “Will you stay here and wait for me?”

  He nodded again.

  “Right, I’ll be back in a minute then. Oh, I didn’t get your name…”

  “Michael,” came a reply that was so gruff and muffled that she could barely hear it.

  “Help yourself to those other biscuits then, Michael. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  And although she walked away at a steady pace, she knew she had to be quick to make sure he didn’t disappear before she returned. Having an urgent word with Brian, the overall organizer of the Food Bank, she picked up a ready-prepared box, which contained long-life milk, fruit drinks, tinned food, boxes of cereal, bread, crackers and cake, as well as washing-up liquid, soap, toothpaste and a brush, deodorant and toilet rolls. Another quiet word in the ear of the lady in charge of the freshly washed donated clothes meant that minutes later she was on her way back out to Michael, clutching not just the box of supplies, but also some trousers, a thick jumper, two T-shirts, pants and a couple of pairs of socks.

  His expression didn’t change as he saw what she’d brought him, but she noticed that he peered at the clothes with particular interest. Then he nodded towards the box.

  “Get that lot from the supermarket, did you?”

  “They’re very generous. We collect from them every week.”

  “Very generous, when they’re the ones that cause the problem.”

  Sheelagh said nothing, hoping that Michael would fill the silence, which eventually he did.

  “They’re good at throwing stuff out. Two hundred and fifty thousand tonnes of food that could be eaten every year.”

  “Really? That’s shocking.”

  “Around two million tonnes of food wasted by the food industry in this country. That’s a lot of meals no one ever had.”

  “Well, you certainly know your statistics. Is this something that’s always interested you?”

  “It does now,” he retorted, looking down at the box of supplies. “I didn’t care much when I had enough to eat.”

  Sheelagh took a moment before she spoke again.

  “What happened to you, Michael?”

  In an instant, he picked up the clothes and grabbed the box awkwardly, nearly tipping out the contents as he turned to scuttle across the road.

  “See you next Monday!” she called after him. “I’ll be ready with your cup of tea.”

  But he was gone.

  Chapter 2

  Kath was fumbling to get her key in the apartment door when her phone rang. By the time she’d pushed the door open, grabbed her bags, pulled her phone out of her pocket and got it to her ear, it was just about to go to voicemail. Seeing that it was Jack who was ringing, it was a relief when she managed to answer the call before he rang off.

  “Hi, Kath, you all right?”

  “I’m just back from work. It was quite an interesting day really, because you remember I mentioned—”

  “Sorry, love, I’ll have to stop you, because I’m due down in theatre in five minutes.”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sorry.”

  “So, very quickly, I just wondered if you’d like to come up to Southampton on Saturday week? The hospital is organizing a Family Fun Day with lots of stalls and displays. Do you fancy coming along?”

  “That would be nice. Haven’t you been roped in to help on some stall or other?”

  “Apparently they’ve put me down to go in the stocks so people can throw water balloons at me.”

  “Nice!” chuckled Kath. “You’re really popular there then!”

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “I think if I were a tyrant they’d never dare put me in the stocks. I’m not looking forward to it, but I don’t think the team would rate me very highly if I didn’t enter into the spirit of the occasion.”

  “So you need me to come and mop your dripping brow, do you?”

  “That would be nice, but we also need someone to oversee all the prizes and awards that need to be given out at the end of the afternoon – you know, whoever’s guessed the Name the Doll competition, or the right number of sweets in a jar, or won the tug-of-war or the pie-eating competition.”

  “Pie eating? Does that comply with NHS dietary advice guidelines?”

  “Definitely not,” he laughed, “and you’ve guessed straight away that I have absolutely no idea what competitions and awards there are. I just know that it needs someone who can gather all the relevant information, sort out the prizes and arrange the award ceremony at the end of the afternoon. And suddenly, you popped into my mind.”

  “Oh, I did, did I?”

  She could hear the affection in his voice as he replied, “Well, who else do I know who’s been a senior administrator at a major London hospital, and kept even the most difficult doctors toeing the line? My darling Kath, this will be a piece of cake for you!”

  “What’s wrong with your own hospital administrator stepping up for that job? Or is she lined up for a dunking in the stocks along with you?”

  “He has wangled a day off for himself. Says he’s got a family event to go to.”

  “Now, he sounds to me like an excellent organizer. I could learn a thing or two from him!”

  “So, will you come? You organize events like this all the time at that place where you work. This is right up your street.”

  “Do you remember that story about the army officer who lined up all the squaddies to ask them to volunteer for something or other – and all of them in the know took a step backwards, so just one chap was left at the front who seemed to be volunteering? Well, I am that soldier—”

  “Thanks, Kath. I knew you’d help. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll ring you before Saturday, okay? Loads of love.”

  “Love you too,” replied Kath – but Jack never
heard her because he had already rung off.

  Looking at the blank screen, she sighed, then kicked off her shoes and threw the phone down on the sofa before collapsing into the cushions herself. She knew she shouldn’t feel so deflated that all their phone calls seemed to be like that these days, with Jack usually in a rush, or exhausted, or called away suddenly, so that their conversations never lasted more than a minute or two. A man who apparently couldn’t even remember the name of the place where she worked. But then he had said “loads of love” before he ended the call. That was something, wasn’t it?

  On the other hand, had she ever really understood what Jack meant when he said he loved her? They had been colleagues in that London hospital for several years, while he worked his way up the ranks as a consultant paediatric surgeon and she had a senior role in the running and administration of the whole hospital facility. His timetable had always been unpredictable, so she’d learned to expect him to let her down at the last minute whenever she’d booked tickets for the theatre or dinner with friends. After all, he was a doctor, devoted to the care of his patients, always ready to go the extra mile or allow a bit more precious time knowing the difference it could make to the outcome of his patients’ treatment.

  Being part of the same circle of friends, they had drifted into a romantic relationship that was undemanding and comfortable – at least, that’s how he probably would have described it. For Kath, there had been a growing realization that she was losing her heart to this compassionate, talented, dedicated man whose skill saved lives every day. There was no doubting the way they complemented one another, supporting, encouraging and totally understanding the demands of each other’s work. Everyone thought they were a great couple – and they were, but did Jack actually realize that? She wondered if he had ever realized how good they were together. Had he ever thought about putting a ring on her finger? At that time they had both been in their mid-forties, too late in life to be thinking about a family, but they had so many interests in common. Wouldn’t marriage have been the obvious next step?