Summer's Out at Hope Hall Read online

  Mili loved working at The Bistro. From the age of fifteen, she had taken on various waitressing jobs in her home town, and had always enjoyed not just the challenge of helping customers choose from the menu, often encouraging them to order just a little bit more than they’d intended when they first walked in, but also making sure that the service they received was efficient and friendly. Very occasionally when she’d been serving tables in the Czech Republic a customer might have given her a small tip, but here the tips were something else altogether! Most customers left a gratuity that was at least ten per cent of the price of their meal, which to Mili’s mind was a huge sum. Better still, Martin, the owner of The Bistro, was not one of those employers who simply pocketed the tips for himself. He insisted that they were shared out at the end of every night between all the staff on duty, from Mili or Terezka waitressing out front to the chef and his assistants working in the kitchen.

  Terezka was turning out to be the most wonderful friend, knowledgeable and hard-working, with an infectious sense of humour and a very wide social circle. Having worked at The Bistro for more than a year, she had got to know many of the regular customers, greeting them with affection, remembering what dishes and drinks were their “usual”, and accepting with nothing more than an acknowledging smile the occasional five pound note that would be quietly slipped into her hand by a grateful regular customer whispering, “Here’s a little extra just for you.”

  The Bistro was open throughout the day, starting with breakfast when they served freshly baked croissants and pastries, along with the typical “full English” – bacon and all the trimmings like black pudding and old-fashioned fried bread, which some of their customers thought was really quite trendy. At lunch, there was a tempting range of baguettes and open sandwiches, herby home-made soups, hearty hot meals and creamy desserts. In the evenings, the staff worked hard until the last customers left, ensuring they were delighted with their meals, which were likely to have matched in taste and style the delicacies on offer in the most popular bistros of Paris.

  Knowing that Mili had to earn enough to pay her rent and keep herself fed throughout the week, Martin offered her as many hours as he could, avoiding the three mornings she went to her language classes at Hope Hall. Mili was finding it easier and easier to speak English. Her better grasp of vocabulary meant that she could converse more comfortably with customers. It also meant she could watch British television and get the gist of what was happening in the story. She could even walk around the town without worrying about notices, commands or greetings that previously she really couldn’t understand.

  One regular customer at The Bistro soon caught her eye. He came in every morning around eleven, and sat at the same table in the far corner, where he’d get out his laptop and a lined writing pad on which he would make notes as he drank his espresso coffee with a dash of milk. The young man looked to be in his mid-twenties, with straight brown hair that fell across his forehead as he wrote. His expression was always one of concentration and deep thought, except when Mili came towards his table. Then his face would light up with a smile as he requested the same coffee every time.

  That routine continued for several days before eventually he asked, “I’ve been trying to recognize your accent. Where are you from?”

  So Mili told him about her home town in the Czech Republic, and then also found herself telling him about her opportunity to come to England, and about this job, which had been offered just when she needed it. The conversation stretched over the several visits she made to his table bringing him coffee, then coming back later to check whether he needed anything else. By the end of the morning, Mili had discovered that his name was Andy and he was a musician, a piano and keyboard teacher, a music therapist and a songwriter.

  “You write songs here?” asked Mili, glancing at the pad on which she could now see musical chords and lines of words.

  “I’m trying to,” he replied, conscious that her English vocabulary was limited as he tried to explain. “I have many tunes in my head. I like to come here to think about words for those tunes.”

  “Does anyone sing your tunes?”

  “Sometimes. I’ve already sold some of them to a record company. Perhaps one day a big star will choose my song and it will be a hit. You’ll hear it on the radio and TV.”

  “Perhaps you will sing your song and be famous!”

  “Oh, I can sing okay, but that’s not what I want to do. I like to be at the back, playing the keyboard and making sure the music is right.”

  “You’re in a band?”

  “Two or three bands over the years, but for a long time now I’ve played in a band called Friction.”

  “So, I can hear you?”

  “You can. Sometimes we play at Hope Hall. You could come and see us.”

  “I know Hope Hall!” she exclaimed. “My English lessons are there.”

  “Well, on the third Friday of each month, they have a Dance Night and different bands are invited to play.”

  “What sort of music?”

  “A bit of everything really. We have to play the favourites that everyone likes – you know, all those popular songs that people can sing to as they dance. Sometimes we play something new, but mostly we choose songs that we know people will really enjoy.”

  “Friction? I don’t know that word.”

  Andy’s brow creased with concentration as he thought about how to explain, eventually holding his hands up, then clapping them together like cymbals.

  “Friction is when one thing hits another thing and goes bang – whoosh!”

  “Oh! And that happens in the band?” Mili held her hands up and clapped them together. “One person goes whoosh with another person?”

  Andy smiled. “Well, yes. That’s not why the band is called Friction, but there is quite often friction between our singer and all the rest of us. Actually, you may know him? Carlos? He’s Spanish and I think his girlfriend goes to your English class. Do you know Mariana?”

  “Mariana Lopez? Yes, she’s an au pair. Very nice, beautiful.”

  He nodded. “She is. She’s far too good for Carlos, I think.”

  “He’s not nice?”

  Andy chose his words carefully. “Carlos can be difficult. When he first started singing with us, his English wasn’t good. But he knew the really popular songs well enough to sing them so no one noticed that often he was getting the words wrong. And he has a really good voice. Audiences like him, but—”

  “But you don’t?”

  “He’s a bit of a prima donna, if you know what that means.”

  Mili shook her head a little.

  “He wants to be the only star of the show. He doesn’t care about the other players in the band. He’s not good at being part of a team.”

  “A prima donna,” Mili repeated slowly. She had plainly got the picture.

  “The band has a lot of equipment to get ready before we play – amplifiers, control panels, the drum kit, the electrics and lights. But Carlos thinks he’s too important to help us set everything up. We have many big boxes and electric cables, so we all help to load up our van, and travel together to wherever we’re playing. Then we each know which jobs have to be done to make sure we have everything ready on stage. It’s a lot of work and it can take us a long time to set up our equipment so that the sound is just right. But Carlos expects to walk in and find we’ve done it all. Later, he’ll go off to have a drink at the bar immediately at the end of the gig, leaving us to clear everything up!”

  “Whoosh! Friction!” repeated Mili, clapping her hands together dramatically.

  “Friction,” agreed Andy. “Anyway, why don’t you come along when we next have a dance? It’s in two weeks’ time on Friday evening. Bring your other friend who works here, if you can both get the night off.”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  “Mili!” Martin caught her attention from where he was standing behind the bar, making it clear that he thought she was paying too much attention
to this one customer who never bought more than a couple of cups of coffee.

  She smiled as she turned back to Andy. “I see Mariana at class tomorrow. If she goes that Friday, then maybe I come with her.”

  And with a wave of her hand, she pulled out her sales pad and moved across to a new group of customers who were ready to order.

  The sun was low in the sky on Saturday evening as Kath drove away from Southampton. The glare was so bright that it almost made her squint. At least, she thought that was what must be causing the moistness in her eyes. She was tired, she knew that. It had been a long day.

  She’d arrived at Jack’s hospital by nine o’clock sharp that morning, where the setting up for the hospital Family Fun Day was already in full swing. About a dozen men were struggling to erect a large marquee alongside a display arena, which another team were marking out with pegs and ropes. A pile of trestle tables had been delivered, and various stallholders were taking theirs away to transform it into an eye-catching display – different stalls selling crafts, sweets, home bakes or greetings cards, as well as others that were covered in bric-a-brac, tombola prizes or running competitions of various kinds. There was a barbecue area around which a chattering group of helpers were setting out an array of chairs and tables – and nearby a tea and coffee stand was being put together not far from a children’s play area, which also seemed to have a petting compound that later in the day would house some cuddly rabbits, guinea pigs and a litter of puppies.

  So much to see, Kath had thought, but no sign of Jack, who had said he would be waiting at the gate to greet her. Two phone calls and ten minutes later, he came hurrying over, a familiar companion at his side. Kath had been introduced to Monica Freeman on her previous visit. The two doctors worked in the same team, and Kath had been struck by the comfortable companionship between them straight away.

  Jack had greeted Kath with a hug, but hadn’t wasted time on chit-chat because he wanted to introduce her to Joan Cusack, who was the chief organizer of the whole event. Wearing sensible jeans and a smart denim jacket, Joan was a nursing sister who allowed no nonsense on her ward and certainly wasn’t putting up with any nonsense in the arrangements for this Family Fun Day. She shook hands with Kath saying how delighted she was to have her help, and led her off to see the list of competitions taking place and what she had in mind for the Awards Ceremony at the end of the afternoon.

  “Thanks, Kath,” Jack called out as she followed in Joan’s wake. “Monica and I have to go and sort out the sound tent and a platform for the microphone. See you later.”

  But, in fact, Kath saw practically nothing of Jack later – or for most of the day, for that matter. To be fair, she was kept busy making herself known to the Grand Raffle team, and all the stallholders who were organizing individual competitions of various kinds. In the marquee there would be a Cookery Fayre, with prizes on offer for the best cakes, tray bakes, jams and pickles. It didn’t take her long to realize there was cut-throat competition for these coveted prizes, and there were even whispers that some entrants wouldn’t be above sabotage in a bid to take the Star Baker cup!

  Then there were the family races that were being held in the middle of the afternoon, for which she’d set up an easy system of recording the entrants for each race, many of whom might not choose to commit themselves until the last minute. She managed to find a stopwatch for the hospital porter who allowed himself to be roped in as timekeeper on the finish line – and made sure there was an easy way for his girlfriend from the Accounts Department to keep a record of the winners of the first, second and third prize in each race. Back in her office at Hope Hall, she’d already designed and printed out some winners’ certificates, which she’d brought with her. As soon as she’d got her bearings at the site, she’d arranged for a desk to be placed next to the sound tent where she could base herself so that all the results could be delivered to her there, and certificates filled in immediately.

  Jack and Monica had passed by with a wave on several occasions as they busied themselves with their own part in the preparations, and Kath saw them standing together alongside the microphone platform when the local MP arrived to open the whole event. Noting in the programme the time Jack was due to be pelted by water balloons, Kath made a point of going over to wish him luck, but by the time she arrived he was already installed in the stocks, and Monica was first in the queue with an armful of balloons that she was lobbing at him with peels of laughter. Watching Monica as she laughingly stared at Jack to make sure her aim was accurate, a thought crossed Kath’s mind. Unless she was very much mistaken, there was love in that look! Did Jack realize? And if so, did he welcome such depth of affection from his work colleague? Was the feeling reciprocated?

  Kath reeled as if she had been thumped in the stomach. Jack and Monica shared so much – their medical training, their experience as doctors, the care of their patients, life in the hospital in which they spent such long hours and, it seemed as Kath watched the two of them now, the same sense of humour. But if Jack was falling for this vivacious, extremely attractive and capable woman, why on earth had he invited Kath along today?

  Feeling awkward and superfluous, Kath slipped away knowing that Jack hadn’t noticed her coming over to the stocks, and that he was definitely too preoccupied to see her making her way back over to her own table beside the sound tent. She had plenty to keep her busy as a steady queue of race organizers and stallholders came to report results to her throughout the afternoon, but the enthusiasm with which she greeted them, and the big smile pinned on her face, was at odds with her leaden heart, which was aching with a sense of something she couldn’t quite identify.

  At one point, Jack and Monica came across to see how she was doing, asking if they could bring her back a hot dog or some spare ribs from the barbecue. She felt rather proud of herself as she casually laughed and replied that writing beautiful italic script on award certificates might be a bit tricky if her fingers were mucky with barbecue sauce.

  “Thanks, Kath,” smiled Jack, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Just look at all these results and certificates. You’ve got everything in apple pie order, just as I knew you would. You’re a star helping us out like this today, you really are!” And with that he bent down to kiss her affectionately on the top of her head. “We’ll see you later, then, at the Awards Ceremony!”

  “I wonder if you’ll win the prize for being the wettest person in the stocks today?” grinned Monica, giving Jack a friendly dig in the ribs.

  “Do you know,” Jack laughed, “she brought her own enormous water gun to make sure I was well and truly drenched. Just you wait, Monica Freeman! I’ll get my own back for that.”

  And as the two of them darted off, chasing after each other like teenagers, Kath bit her lip and lowered her head to stare blindly at the certificate she was trying to fill in.

  Yes, she thought. Monica loves him. And even though Jack may not know it yet, my guess is that he’s falling in love with her too.

  As the afternoon wore on, more results were coming in and the pace at which certificates were needed was really hotting up. Kath worked flat out until the moment the chief executive of the hospital was invited on to the platform to do the presentations. Kath handed over a clear list of all the prize winners to Joan Cusack as she stepped up to the mike to make the announcements. Then, as each winner came to collect their award and shake hands with the chief executive, Kath was standing to one side, making sure that the correct certificates, medals and cups were given to the right people. Finally, around five o’clock, Joan thanked as many people as she had time to mention, before reminding everyone that there were still a few tickets left for the Country and Western hoedown in the marquee that evening.

  As the crowd dispersed, Jack came over and wrapped his arms around Kath in a great big hug.

  “Do you fancy staying for the hoedown?” he asked.

  “I forgot my cowboy hat and boots, I’m afraid.”

  “And I don’t think I remembere
d to tell you about the dance, did I? I’m sorry, Kath. Perhaps you’d have liked to go?”

  “I’m not sure my feet are up to dancing after being on this grass all day.” She hesitated before going on, looking straight into his eyes before she continued. “And I think you already have a partner.”

  To his credit, he didn’t try to bluster his way out of her challenge. It was clear that he completely understood her meaning.

  “You make a nice couple,” said Kath slowly.

  He shrugged slightly. “We’re not a couple.”

  “Not yet, but you’re heading that way.”

  “We get on well, but that’s not surprising, is it, when we work together and have such a lot in common?”

  “You laugh with each other and, my darling Jack, I know from long experience that sometimes the responsibility of your work lays so heavily on your shoulders that you don’t find much time to laugh. You smile in Monica’s company and she comes to life in yours. She loves you. I don’t know her at all, but even I can see that.”

  He looked at Kath with a growing wonder in his eyes. “Do you think so?”

  “Don’t you? And my guess is that you feel much the same way.”

  He said nothing, apparently digesting that thought.

  “Is she free to have a relationship with you? She’s not married or with a partner already?”

  “She did have. Her divorce came through two months ago.”

  “Children?”

  “Two: a boy and a girl, both in their teens. Her son, Jonathan, is already at uni, and providing Patti sails through her A-levels as she’s expected to, she’ll be off to study medicine at Cambridge in September.”

  “So Monica will have an empty nest.”

  He nodded. Kath found she had nothing else to say.

  “I’m sorry, Kath,” he said at last. “I’ve been utterly unfair to you. I didn’t mean to be, because honestly I wasn’t really sure how I felt about you or Monica—”