Summer's Out at Hope Hall Page 8
“Well, well, well! It’s Little Miss Burton, if I’m not mistaken.”
Shirley looked at him without a trace of recognition. “I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?”
“Shirley, Shirley, with locks so curly, what a pretty little girlie!” Dan drawled the chant as he leaned back against the wall looking Shirley up and down, as if considering whether she was worth his attention.
“Dan Marshall. You haven’t changed a bit. Still as full of yourself as ever.”
“And you, Miss Burton, are looking very well indeed.”
“Sorry, Dan, I can’t stop. I’m busy.”
“One of the kitchen staff, are you?”
Shirley crossed her fingers out of sight as she replied, “I’m Senior Manager here at Hope Hall.”
“A senior manager, eh? At a local hall? What needs to be managed at a hall like this? A dustpan and brush? Refuse collection?”
Shirley looked at him with absolute disdain. “You plainly don’t know much about the very complex and comprehensive programme here at Hope Hall, do you?”
“You’re speaking to the CEO of a major import–export company. I don’t think there’s much you could tell me about complex programmes and management skills.”
“And what do you import and export?”
“High-tech electronic components. There’s probably little point in me telling you more than that.”
“Why? Do you find your products so complicated you aren’t able to explain them to other people?”
He laughed, but there was no humour in his eyes. “That’s what I always liked about you, Shirley. You were spikey then and you’re still spikey now. I like a woman with spirit.”
“And is Mrs Marshall suitably ‘spikey’? I sincerely hope you married someone honest enough to tell you when you’re being arrogant and patronizing.”
“The present Mrs Marshall seems very happy with the manner in which she is now being kept.”
“Kept?”
“She likes life’s little luxuries. I make sure she gets them and in return she is most understanding—”
“Turns a blind eye, do you mean?”
His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Exactly. She’s the perfect wife for me.”
“Is she here tonight?”
“She would have been bored to tears. And she has a point. I hardly recognize anyone here, and those I do remember are disappointing. So mundane. So small town—”
“So leave!” snapped Shirley. “You won’t be missed. I will be, though, by my wonderful husband who is ten times the man you are! Goodbye, Dan.”
Just at that moment, as Shirley turned on her heel and marched away, the DJ pumped up the volume so that the sound of Yazz singing “The Only Way is Up” filled the hall.
Having kept her eye on Shirley and Dan’s conversation from a distance, Barbara stood to greet her sister as she walked back towards their table. One look at her determined face was enough for Barbara to grab her husband Stu just as Shirley stretched out a hand to Mick, and the four of them walked out on to the dance floor. Barbara may have been the one who went on to become a dance teacher, but it was the sisters together who had always stolen the show as soon as any disco music started. Shirley had told her children she had been a bit lukewarm about Mick when they’d first started going out, until that magical night when he took her to a youth club disco. John Travolta had nothing on him! Mick had built on the Saturday Night Fever moves he’d practised when he was a young boy, adding the moonwalk and a few early hip-hop moves to his repertoire by the time he met Shirley. When he danced, the girls noticed him, and once Shirley had got over the shock of realizing that the quiet, apparently shy Mick had an animal magnetism the moment he stepped on to the dance floor, she decided he was a keeper. By the time she was twenty and he was twenty-two, they were married with their first son, Brandon, on the way.
Shirley was aware of Dan staring in amazement from the side of the disco floor as she and Mick danced with all the expertise that thirty years of practice together gave them. They twirled and dipped, bopped and boogied, until the music merged into Whitney Houston singing “I Will Always Love You”, when Mick swept his wife into his arms and kissed her as if they were teenagers.
From their now empty table at the side of the hall, Trevor and Mary sat looking at the dancers. Linda and Bruce Armitage had turned out to be delightful companions as they and Mary caught up on all the years since they’d been at school together. Trevor had found them excellent company too. Bruce was the financial director of a small distribution organization, so their common interest in figures and accounting gave the two men something to talk about straight away. And then, once they’d discovered that they shared a passion for golf, the friendship was sealed. The Armitages lived in a village not far out of town, and a date to meet up for lunch at the golf club was already in discussion.
However, when the disco started in earnest, Linda and Bruce were out of their seats and on to the dance floor in a flash, keen to make the most of another of their passions – disco dancing, honed to perfection through a decade of ballroom lessons.
How Mary wished Trevor could dance! He always said he had two left feet, and he was probably right, but oh, how she wished he would give it a try. Just swaying from foot to foot and having a bit of a cuddle on the dance floor would have been enough for her.
As they sat together staring across the floor, their attention was caught by Shirley and Mick, who were ending one dance number with a surprisingly passionate kiss.
Mary leaned her shoulder against Trevor’s, raising her voice so that he could hear her. “Do you think the romance has gone out of our marriage?”
He looked at her, considering his answer. “I think,” he said at last, taking her hand in his, “that you and I are like a pair of comfy old slippers: warm, cuddly and nicely worn-in.”
She gave his hand a squeeze before stretching across to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re right. We make the perfect pair!”
An hour or so passed before Shirley realized that Dan had left the hall. Obviously the evening had been a disappointment to him, not interesting or successful enough. Well, good riddance! And thank goodness she had seen how shallow he was in time to save her budding relationship with Mick all those years ago. Her husband had turned out to be so much more than Dan Marshall could ever be!
As the evening finally drew to an end, Shirley went into action, organizing the clearing of tables, stacking chairs and making sure everything was locked up and secure before she left.
She was back at seven the next morning so that by nine, when the organizers of the jumble sale in aid of a local animal rescue centre arrived to set up their stalls, Hope Hall was spotless, without a trace of the wonderful event that had taken place there the evening before.
Shirley stayed on hand at the hall all morning, delighted to hear when the animal rescue volunteers eventually totted up their takings that the jumble sale had raised nearly nine hundred pounds for the cause. As soon as they’d all left, she set about clearing up the hall yet again, leaving for home at about half past one.
Once there, she made Mick a pile of his favourite ham and tomato sandwiches, then went out into the garden for an hour of much-needed weeding. Standing back to admire her handiwork, she then pulled a reclining chair into a sheltered corner of the garden, where she could stretch out in the June sunshine. She was dimly aware of the commentary from the sports channel Mick was watching in the living room beyond the open patio doors, and smiled at the thought that he was there. Then her mouth fell open, she started to snore noisily and she didn’t surface again until teatime.
Sheelagh Hallam knocked and then popped her head around Sam’s door as soon as she heard him invite her in.
“Sheelagh, grab a seat. I hope you’re ready for a cup of tea.”
“Salvation Army tea is the best,” she smiled. “I’d love one. I can nip down to the kitchen and make it.”
“No need. Josie saw you coming and went straight d
own to put the kettle on. How nice to see you! What brings you our way?”
Sheelagh reached into her handbag and drew out her mobile. Scanning through the photos for a few seconds, she finally handed the phone over to Sam so he could see the snapshot she’d taken of Michael. She had managed to get a long-distance but relatively clear picture of him the previous week when he’d come again to the Food Bank.
“I was wondering if you knew this man. All he’s told me is that his name is Michael, but he keeps his distance and is very difficult to engage in conversation.”
Sam peered at the photo. “What do you know about him?”
“Not much. He took me by surprise the other day when he told me he used to be the manager of one of those huge supermarket stores, and certainly the only time he’s ever been at all animated was when we were talking about food and how wasteful he feels the big food chains are. Apart from that, I know nothing about him. My guess is that he’s got some sort of roof over his head, but it must be very basic because he’s dirty, poorly dressed and obviously hungry. I just wondered if you could throw any light on who he is and what difficulties he’s facing at the moment.”
“I’ve not personally noticed him here, but the street teams may well have come across him. Could you forward this picture to me and I’ll have a word with them? They have a good relationship with most of the homeless folk in this area, so hopefully they might be able to come up with something.”
“Thanks, Sam. He worries me. He’s obviously articulate and educated, but he’s hit rock bottom. I don’t think he’s a drinker. I might be wrong, but he didn’t seem like that to me. I guess he may have had a mental breakdown of some sort, or perhaps an upheaval at home or work that’s resulted in him just walking away into oblivion.”
“It happens,” nodded Sam. “How long have you been aware of him?”
“Six or seven weeks, I reckon. He doesn’t come every Monday, but he’s been three times in a row lately, so I’m hoping I can build a proper rapport with him. Knowing a bit more about him might guide my conversation, because if I get it wrong, I have a feeling he’ll disappear into the ether. I really don’t want that to happen. He obviously needs help.”
“Right, leave it to me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve had a chance to ask around.”
“Thanks, Sam. Now, how are things here at the hostel? Anything I can help with?”
“We’re in need of a new tuba player for the band,” grinned Sam.
Sheelagh chuckled. “Well, I can give you a bit of helpful advice in return. Don’t ask me to play. You’ll be needing earplugs if you do.”
Chapter 5
Maggie’s feet hurt. So did her knee, from a tumble she’d taken on the tarmac. And she had a huge bruise on her right hip where she’d collided with the corner of the sideboard. Her hair hung in damp tendrils around her face, a face that shocked her when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. It was the colour of dust, with black circles of exhaustion under her eyes. Her head ached. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold. Or maybe she was just absolutely worn out and feeling her age. But none of this mattered one bit, because she couldn’t have felt any happier than she did at this moment!
She was standing at the window of the back bedroom of her new apartment. Correction – she was standing at the window in her new home, because home this most certainly was. From the moment her daughter Steph had first arranged a viewing for her, Maggie knew this place was destined to be hers. This was a house that had always been in her life, ever since her best friend at school had lived here. She’d had scores of sleepovers here when she was growing up. She had run around the garden, eaten in the kitchen with the family, pored over homework on the old dining room table, and whispered best-friend secrets on the stairs. That had been when the house was home to a whole family. However, in the past five years, it had been split into two apartments, and the one on the top floor, the one with its familiar view of the garden and the houses beyond, had had her name on the door from the second she’d first stepped inside.
Today had been brutal, physically and emotionally. Her son and daughter, Darren and Steph, had organized it all. Years of Maggie providing gorgeous cakes and buns to her children’s friends every day after school had paid off too, because at eight o’clock that morning half a dozen of them turned up – huge young fellas who immediately rolled up their sleeves to dismantle beds and wardrobes, while their wives and girlfriends got cracking on the last-minute packing, cleaning and vacuuming, as well as manning the kettle and a non-stop supply of biscuit and snacks. Mattresses were manoeuvred down the narrow stairs. The settee was turned on its head to get it round two sharp corners and out to the van. They’d only got the fridge freezer out by squeezing it through the French doors and then the gate at the back of the garden; and they had very nearly forgotten altogether about the tumble dryer in the garage. All those boxes she’d packed and carefully labelled for each room were carried out one by one. Delicate items like glassware, ornaments, photographs and Maggie’s beloved house plants were put in a variety of cars for safe passage. Electrics were disconnected, lampshades removed, carpets shampooed and dark corners that hadn’t seen the light of day for years were scrubbed until they shone.
And then came the moment when everyone else had gone on, and only Maggie was left having a last check around before she locked up and dropped the key off to the estate agent. Tears pricked in her eyes as she saw the square patches on the walls where family photos had always hung. As she closed the doors to the conservatory, she had a sudden vision of the time their children’s two hamsters had got out of their cage and set up home among all the clutter in that garden room. Their hamster menagerie that had started out with two soon multiplied until there were about twenty of them living in so many corners that it was impossible to find them all. Then there was the toilet door upstairs that had stuck for years – until the day four-year-old Steph had locked herself in and Dave had been forced to get out a ladder, prise open the window and squeeze himself through to rescue her. He soon sorted out the toilet door after that!
With one last look around the hall and stairs, Maggie had walked out through the front door and pulled it shut behind her. There! She’d done it. Every step she took from now on would be a step further into her new life, and she was ready for it.
She’d almost lost her resolve when her neighbour Doreen came out with glassy eyes, a big hug and an even bigger pot plant as a housewarming gift for Maggie’s new home. Doreen and Maggie had walked their children to school together for years. They’d put the world to rights over the garden fence, shared Sunday lunches, babysat for each other’s youngsters and been there with casseroles and sympathy when times were difficult or painful.
“I’m only moving just round the corner,” Maggie had choked, suddenly struggling to speak. “I’ll always have the kettle on. Come as soon as you like. Come any time. Just come. Promise you will!”
And with Doreen’s reassuring promises ringing in her ears, Maggie had climbed into her car, switched on the engine and driven away. She couldn’t bear to look in the rear view mirror. She just stared ahead, knowing that whatever the coming days might bring, her future lay in that direction.
That had been at one o’clock this afternoon. Now, five hours later, she looked out over the treetops at the bottom of the garden to see the sun setting, painting the sky vivid orange and gold. It looked beautiful. She would enjoy watching that sunset whenever she could from now on.
“Mum! The fish and chips are here.” Steph’s voice rang out from the kitchen along the hall. “You do want ketchup, don’t you? And would you prefer a cup of tea or something stronger?”
“Ooh, tea, I think,” Maggie replied as she made her way to join the others sitting round the breakfast bar in the kitchen.
“Tea and a glass of champagne? Or just tea?”
Maggie grinned. “Tea for every aching muscle in my body, and champagne because this place is wonderful. I love it already! And I love all of
you for everything you’ve done for me today. I could never have done this without you.”
As Steph stepped forward to hand her mum a glass, Maggie heard someone on the other side of the room shout, “Three cheers for Maggie! Hip hip hooray!”
“Cheers!” she cried, holding her glass high in the air. “Here’s to all of you, and here’s to me! I’ve done it! Hooray!”
Kath took a last look at the seating she had set out in the far corner of the balcony lounge and checked everything was absolutely ready. The members of the organizing committee for the Hope Hall Centenary Celebration Day would be arriving any minute now, and she wanted to be sure all the papers were prepared, refreshments organized, and that she had an answer in mind for every question they could possibly ask. Glancing at her clipboard, she ran her finger down the list of committee members:
KATH SUTTON – chairman, administrator of Hope Hall
TREVOR BARRATT – Hope Hall accountant
MICHAEL SAYWARD – local historian
THE REVEREND JAMES BARNARD – vicar of St Mark’s, leading the Centenary church service
MRS ELLIE BARNARD – representing Broad Street Upper School
PETER RADCLIFFE – Public Relations Officer for the local council
BRIAN MACK – building contractor
ROGER BECK – Rotary Chairman
BRENDA LONGSTONE – Women’s Institute Chair
MAGGIE STAPLETON – catering manager at Hope Hall
RAY BROWN – caretaker at Hope Hall
Satisfied that all was in order, Kath smoothed down both her hair and her skirt, and set off for the foyer to await their guests. As she walked from the old school building towards the hall, she saw Ray striding across the playground towards the main entrance, where Trevor was already waiting, a file of papers tucked under his arm. Predictably, Brenda Longstone, renowned for being dauntingly efficient in her role as Chair of the Women’s Institute, arrived right on time, closely followed by James and Ellie, who had walked across from St Mark’s vicarage, meeting up with Roger Beck on the way. Brian Mack’s van, covered in eye-catching advertising for his building services, drew up outside Hope Hall just a few minutes later.