The congregated crowd were generous with their applause as the mayor gratefully received the oversized scissors with which to cut the red ribbon, holding the pause just sufficiently to give the press the opportunity to capture the moment for posterity. Further poses were struck, giving Emma and members of the club in attendance the opportunity to gather together for what would surely be splendid photographic additions to the walls at each of their coffee shop club locations on the Island.
“Thank you, Mr Mayor,” announced Jack into the microphone, once the mayor had finished speaking. Jack stood there, happily soaking up his share of the limelight, and a few of those in attendance appeared rather confused seeing the two of them standing beside one another, what with them looking so much alike. At least three of the old dears in attendance wearing spectacles with glass thicker than the port window on a cruise liner removed them from their respective noses to inspect for damage, quite certain they must have been seeing double.
Now it was time for Jack to give a little speech of his own. “With this magnificent bus, and with the help of the volunteers who so freely give up their valuable time,” he began, “we hope to see a lot more people getting together in the clubs and enjoying the various activities.” He looked out at the crowd, waiting for some kind of reaction, but there was none to speak of. “And noowww…” he said, drawing the word ‘now’ out in a mediocre attempt to whip the crowd up. “That does bring me on to my next announcement!”
Jack paused again, waiting for the rapturous applause that was certain, this time, to arrive … any minute now… any minute, surely? … But, no.
“Anyway, I can see you’re dying to hear about it!” added Jack optimistically, quickly moving on, undeterred, and continuing with his announcement. He was rapidly undoing the mayor’s excellent oratory work with his own rambling — though many in attendance may have thought Jack and the mayor to be one and the same person anyway — but he didn’t let this stop him. “Right. So you know we did the world-record flower wall a while back…?” he said, cupping his hand to his ear, ever hopeful, in expectation of applause, or at very least an appreciative murmuring. But, again, nothing other than a few scattered coughs from amongst the onlookers, as well as one old dear that could be heard over the sudden relative silence prattling on about seeing double and perhaps needing a new pair of spectacles because these ones she was currently wearing didn’t seem to be working so well anymore, not as well as they used to, and could anyone recommend a good optician because, sadly, her previous optician had retired, which was a shame, as she rather liked him and didn’t know any others, etcetera.
“Is that the record those kids took back the following year?” asked one of the members of the audience, quite helpfully, in reference to Jack’s question.
“Little bastards,” muttered Jack under his breath, recalling the miserable little so-and-sos who’d eventually stolen his and Emma’s thunder. True, he and Emma had held the record for a good year or so. But, still. “Anyway, enough about that for the moment!” Jack said to the ‘helpful’ member of the audience, as well as to the others in attendance. “What I want to tell you all,” said Jack, sailing on, “is that the committee at the charity are moving forward with an initiative to get tablet computers into the homes of those that maybe don’t have them, and thus, into the hands of those who would like to have the ability to access the internet and to be able to unlock all the assorted benefits such internet access has to offer.”
“Tits!” shouted one gawking lad of about sixteen years of age, who’d just ambled over, joining the crowd, to perhaps see why there was a bus parked in the middle of the street and what all the fuss about it was.
“Quite,” replied a flustered Jack. Not giving the interruption any further notice, he returned his attention once again to the rest of the audience, continuing, “So, what we’re doing is, we’re setting up a fundraising campaign to do exactly that. We’re going to get relevant technology, as mentioned, into the homes of the vulnerable and infirm, and we’re calling our initiative Project VIP.”
“VIP?” asked the teenaged lad who just moments earlier had provided such keen insight as to the possible benefits of internet access.
“Yes! VIP!” snapped Jack, before softening his tone, and then explaining to all: “Yes. Project Vulnerable Infirm Persons. It’s part of our greater plan, directed towards the elderly in the community, to help all of those that need it. This includes, of course, our various clubs and associated activities, of which our new minibus is meant to help facilitate access to. But for those that still are not able to leave the house for whatever reason, or even for others who could benefit from it but can’t afford it, we’ll help them, via the appropriate technology, to have greater access to friends and family, and to have access to all else that the internet has to offer.”
“Such as tits!” interjected the helpful youth again, putting an exceptionally fine point on what the precise benefits of internet access were, lest no doubt remain, and receiving a jovial punch of approval from his spotty-faced chum stood beside, who was also apparently very wise in the ways of the internet.
“Oh, piss off you two!” said Jack, becoming a little cross. He was upset that the youth had gotten a round of laughs each time, and that the boy was stealing away his limelight.
The two boys shrugged nonchalantly, and then pissed off, as instructed, though they took their sweet time of it. Unlike Jack, they were not upset. They’d said what they felt needed saying, were happy their message was received, and felt there was little more to be said on the matter that hadn’t been effectively made clear already.
“Ahem,” said Jack, after the two teens had finally gone. “Right. So. As I was saying. In order to raise funds and raise awareness regarding our endeavour, we’re setting out on a brand-new world record attempt! And, in fact, it’s a record that involves one of the club’s newest activities, as it should happen, and with that new activity being… ballroom dancing!”
At last there was a reaction from the crowd, with an audible intake of breath. Jack nodded his head in appreciation, for he feared he’d been losing them, and was now happy to revel in the sort of response he felt was due him. “That’s right, folks,” he continued, flashing his teeth for the benefit of the cameras trained on him from the local news crews. “We’re going to hopefully break another world record on the Isle of Man! This one is going to be for the world’s largest waltz, with a little over sixteen-hundred couples required. We’re going to do this in six weeks’ time, on Douglas Promenade, and we need your help!” he said, removing the microphone from its cradle and pointing it at the crowd. “It’ll be a brilliant day out, and all the while, raising money for a wonderful cause!”
Jack then glanced over to Kelvin, who was surrounded by a bevy of adoring elderly women who were looking lovingly at their green-fingered hero. While Kelvin had managed to finally escape the clutches of the women from earlier, eventually, this was only to find himself falling into the hands of the next group of awaiting ladies, and the next, and the next. “Kelvin, can I… you know?”
Kelvin offered a thumbs-up in positive affirmation, as he was currently too busy getting ravaged by elderly female audience members to go up on stage and speak himself.
“Great,” said Jack. “We’ve got Kelvin Reed with us today, folks, and—”
But Jack was cut off, mid-flow, by a thunderous round of applause at the mere mention of Kelvin.
“Oh, you are all awake?” asked Jack, once they’d settled down. “Well, our very good friend Kelvin Reed has succeeded in convincing one of his cohorts from the BBC to come along on the day and support our ballroom-dancing world-record attempt,” he informed them. The crowd were all stood to attention (or were stood up at least as straight as osteoporosis permitted, in some cases), in anticipation at this revelation, awaiting the additional details which were surely to follow. They were now all ears — all perked-up ears, in fact — and Jack didn’t disappoint. He went on:
“I
’m delighted to confirm... that we’re going to have… in attendance at the waltz event… none other than… wait for it… from the dancing show on TV…”
Jack was stretching the reveal out as long as he possibly could, loving this now that the crowd were putty in his hands, but had to move it on for fear of having a coffee cup thrown at him if he should build the tension to an unbearable degree.
“We’ll have the Latin lothario that’ll get all of you ladies hot under the collar!” Jack continued. “That’s right, folks. It’s my pleasure to announce—”
“And me!” shouted Pete, interrupting from the sidelines, not wishing to be left out where such considerations of Latin lotharios were concerned. “And my collar also!”
“And the collars of some of the fellows as well!” Jack conceded. “Point well taken!” granted Jack with a laugh. “But that’s right, folks, I’m delighted to announce that the one-and-only Ramon ‘Hip-Action’ Hernandez will be arriving on our very shores, and, with his help, hopefully we’ll be securing another world record for the Isle of Man!”
This was big news. Ramon Hernandez was proper A-list. Women adored him, and men wanted to be him. Ramon could snap knicker elastic from one-hundred metres away. And neither was Jack immune to Ramon’s considerable charms, having found even himself mesmerized as Emma played for him a video clip of Ramon performing a rather erotic Paso Doble dance. By virtue of Ramon’s attendance, then, they were certain to get a good turnout on the day of the event, along with a fair bit of media coverage.
Jack let the crowd settle again before tapping his microphone in preparation for another announcement. The tapping of the mic was of course completely unnecessary, but Jack found it an overriding impulse and a difficult habit to break. This entirely needless tapping resulted in an ear-piercing screech, which, fortunately, many of the old people in the crowd couldn’t even register anyway, thank goodness. “Now, before we finish up…” said Jack, once the tapping had been completed… “and, don’t forget to pop into our shop for another coffee before you go, and a lovely pastry or two… I just wanted to introduce you to the latest member of the Lonely Heart Attack Club, if you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her already, who’s been with us for a couple of weeks now. She’s a very lovely lady indeed, and was introduced to us by our rather lovely postman, Sam, who’s, em… just lovely.” Jack was suddenly aware he was using the word ‘lovely’ quite a lot. But, with that, he scanned the crowd, and then waved towards Sam, with Sam raising his tree-trunk-like arm in appreciation.
Sam hadn’t been difficult to spot in the crowd. He was large, well-built, and handsome in a way that mere mortals seldom were. This, and the size of Sam’s arms, did not go unnoticed by Pete, who let out a deep sigh as Sam was identified. It may have been a sigh of despair that Sam was at least as well-loved, if not more so, as a postman as Pete had been. Or it may have been a sigh of wonderment, of sorts, and reverence. Or, it may have been a mixture of both.
Jack jumped down from his temporary raised stage, which was nothing more than a couple of used wooden pallets with a white tablecloth draped over them. He held his hand out in the direction of a woman a few rows back, separating the crowd in the process. “Florence, do you want to come up and say a few words, as we’d planned?” he said, offering an encouraging smile.
Florence blushed, taking a step forward, as all eyes fell on her and with a polite round of applause directed her way. She looked smart, dressed in navy trousers, a white blouse, and a grey jacket, like she’d just stepped out of the ‘Classic’ section at Marks & Spencer. “Thank you,” she said, taking hold of Jack’s hand. She stepped up onto the stage, accepting help from the mayor, as well, as she did so. The mayor, at this point, wasn’t really saying anything. He’d just been standing there, smiling and nodding, the whole time Jack had been giving his spiel. And, as Florence situated herself on the stage, he was doing the same now. It was enough to be mayorly, and he felt his very presence, whether he was speaking or not, elevated the affair to a more esteemed level merely by virtue of his being there.
“Hello,” whispered Florence, timid as a field mouse. “I’d just…”
“You need the microphone,” Jack called up to her, putting his hand to his mouth like he was eating an ice cream to illustrate.
“Oh,” she said, followed by a booming, “HELLO,” as she moved her mouth a little too closely towards the microphone. “I won’t keep you long,” she said, at normal volume now as she sorted out the proper distance, and lifting her head to take in the faces looking back at her. “I’m honoured to be asked to speak at the unveiling of such a wonderful initiative,” she went on, tentatively. She paused, glancing back over to Jack for encouragement, which was duly obliged by way of a broad smile. “I’ve been coming to the club for two weeks now,” she continued, glancing in the direction of the Java the Hutt coffee shop. “I’ve been dancing, I’ve done clay modelling, and only yesterday I joined a still-life drawing class, which Jack himself was kind enough to direct. And last week I was up at the garden centre with the lovely Pete, who’s stood over there, learning how to arrange flowers.”
Florence had given a nod in Pete’s direction. Where he was stood, in point of fact, was near to Kelvin, not too close to immediately interfere with the situation between Kelvin and his pack of overexcited groupies, but close enough to carefully monitor the situation in case boundaries should be crossed. That is, close enough to step in if necessary.
“I was supposed to join the Silver Sprinters for a jog along the promenade, but I think I’ll get around to that a little later on,” said Florence, carrying on. But then she stopped for a moment to compose herself before continuing, although not entirely successfully. “This club has saved my life,” she said, her voice breaking. “Truly, this club has saved my life. My husband Tom, who was my best friend, my partner, my everything… died. And when he died, most of me died with him. I couldn’t leave the house because I was so overcome with depression and grief, and my friends and family had either passed on themselves or long since moved away from the area. So I had no one,” she told them. “I had no one, and nothing to look forward to. And, looking back, I suppose I was just waiting to join my husband. The one, sole bright spot in my life was my postman Sam,” she said, blowing Sam a kiss.
Sam returned the gesture, at which point Pete could be heard sighing another long sigh.
“Sam was the only person who called around to my house, and it was as a result of his encouragement that I first began coming ’round to these club get-togethers and involving myself in activities,” Florence told the crowd. “As long as I live, I could never tell you how much this club has meant to me. How much it means to all the people that come along to it. I’ve met new friends, learned new skills, and it’s given me a reason to wake up in the morning. Sadly, there’s lots of people like me who’ve given up and are stuck in their house and thinking they have no friends, hope, or future. With this in mind, I ask that you please support the fundraising work that these great people do, and if people cannot leave their houses, then this new Project VIP will open up the world for them and relieve their isolation. I don’t know where I’d be without Sam introducing me to the club. I’m not sure I’d have been around much longer, if I’m being honest.”
Florence paused, taking a few breaths. She wiped a solitary tear from her cheek, and her voice was raised several octaves when she resumed speaking. “Now, I absolutely cannot wait to leave the house each day to see my new friends,” she told them. “Hopefully, with this new bus and the other projects, we’ll be able to give other people hope, just as it was given to me. We’ll be able to give other people a reason to get up in the morning,” she said. “Thank you,” she concluded. “You’re all wonderful.”
Even the two spotty lads — who hadn’t buggered off entirely, as it should happen, and could be found presently skulking about the perimeter — were filling up at this point, such was the emotion conveyed in Florence’s voice. Florence had an infectious
twinkle in her eye, and she truly was a new woman.
“Florence, ladies and gentlemen,” said Jack, once he’d retaken the platform and reclaimed the microphone, clapping Florence off the stage. “What a lovely, inspiring lady.”
Jack and Emma were sitting around a table in the window of the coffee shop, joined by Ray, and accompanied by the mayor, who was eager to continue the conversation regarding Jack and Emma’s philanthropic initiatives. Kelvin remained outside, still otherwise engaged, signing everything that was placed in front of him. At one point, it could very easily have gotten somewhat awkward for him when a feisty lady, likely full of gin judging by her glazed eyes and slurred speech, tried to unbutton her shirt to have something signed that Kelvin had never signed before. It’d been a good while since he’d seen any, either, and Pete was eager to keep it that way by acting as his bodyguard. Fortunately, however, the woman’s equally giddy but slightly-more-sober accomplice ushered her on her way before bra straps were loosened and breasts liberated, thankfully avoiding an unnecessary spectacle.
“I’d read what work the charity did,” said Brian, the mayor, who’d now done away with formalities. “But I didn’t know the extent of what you did. I mean, what you do is amazing, and to think, especially, that any of us could easily find ourselves in the same situation as these older folks come our own later years. And helping with the technology aspect is an inspired notion, so top marks for that,” he said, raising his coffee cup to toast the superb idea.
“Well, I’ve seen what it did to our friend Ray here, and how the use of technology has opened up his life to things he never imagined,” replied Jack, tipping his own coffee cup in Ray’s direction across the table. “And to my grandad, as well. It really has made a difference to their lives,” he told Brian. “Hasn’t it, Ray?” he asked, nodding to Ray for confirmation, which Ray was more than happy to provide.
The Lonely Heart Attack Club - Project VIP Page 10
