A few women, none of whom Isla recognized at first glance, were standing on pews pegging sheets over the windows. A stereo system was perched on the raised wooden stage near the entrance, and an alcove to the right of the stage indicated the facilities. It hadn’t changed in the twenty years since Isla had last been inside it. She’d be willing to bet it hadn’t changed in the one hundred odd years since it had been built.
‘Evening Mary love, I see you’ve brought some newbies with you.’
‘Linda, you remember my daughter, Isla?’
‘Oh Isla of course, gosh look at you! You’re all grown up.’
Isla nodded and smiled biting back that she had, in fact, been grown up for some time now. She vaguely recalled the big woman in the resplendent lightweight black and silver active wear ensemble from somewhere in her formative years.
‘And these are her new friends. Carl, he’s a fashion photographer by the way.’ There was a collective oohing and mass sucking in of tummies. ‘And Annie, you’ve probably seen her around town, she’s hard to miss with all that gorgeous red hair, is related to Noeline somehow or other. She’s working at the Kea.’
‘Welcome, welcome all, we’ll get started in a jiffy,’ Linda said.
Carl emitted a low whistle as he looked around him. ‘They don’t build them like this anymore. All that timber is to die for.’
Isla nodded, testing the floor with her foot. It felt solid, and there were no squiggly telltale signs of Bora eating away it. ‘It’s Kauri,’ she said referring to the native wood. ‘My grandmother’s the chairperson for the hall’s committee, and apparently, they want to give it a long overdue overhaul. It all looks pretty sound inside, but I’m guessing the toilet and kitchen facilities would struggle to pass a council inspection these days.’
Annie was standing at the far end of the hall next to the stuffed stag’s head staring up at two varnished war memorial plaques. A Roll of Honour on each depicted in gold lettering the names of the young men who had lost their lives fighting for their country in both the Great War and the Second World War. Carl and Isla joined her.
‘Sad, isn’t it?’ Annie said.
‘Yeah, I don’t know what I’d have done at eighteen if I’d been made to go off and fight for my country. I’m a lover, not a fighter, but if those men hadn’t gone, then our country would be very different to the one we live in today,’ Carl ventured sagely.
‘That’s very wise of you Carl,’ Annie said touching his arm.
‘I can be sometimes, I’ll have you know. Especially now that I’m officially a middle-aged man.’
Isla guessed him to be in his early forties although his brow was suspiciously smooth. She turned her attention back to the plaque. ‘It’s hard to imagine what it would’ve done to a small community like Bibury, losing all those men.’
They were spared dwelling on it further by Linda calling out. ‘Hit the lights, Karen, here we go ladies and gentlemen!’
Chapter 9
They were plunged into darkness, almost.
‘I can still see you,’ Annie hissed.
‘I suppose it can’t be pitch black, or we could hurt ourselves,’ Isla said.
‘How? There’s nothing to trip over?’
‘I don’t know, do a hip or something.’
Annie’s snigger was drowned out by the sudden blaring out of Macklemore and Ryan’s Downtown. It was not what Isla had expected. She didn’t know what she’d expected really, she’d been open-minded, up to a point. She began to move a little awkwardly to the beat.
The floorboards began to vibrate as everybody thundered into action. They didn’t believe in a gentle warm up then, Isla thought, as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Her mouth fell open at the sight of her mother doing an impressively high leg kick. Annie seemed to have relaxed and was grooving away, sedately, but grooving nonetheless. Isla did a little side-step. Oh, this was not good, her legs felt like lead. The last time she had danced like nobody was watching was not when she was stone cold sober in a community hall on a Thursday night.
As the song wound up and another equally danceable beat boomed out, she found herself relaxing a little. Nobody was watching her, she realized. They were all just doing their own thing and letting loose. She picked up her pace a little and found herself enjoying moving to the music. By the time the opening chords of Sweet Child O’ Mine sounded, she was twirling with the best of them.
‘I love G’n’R!’ Carl yelled in her ear, and she laughed as he began playing air guitar. This was fun.
The hour whizzed by and they all blinked like possums caught in headlights when the lights were flicked back on.
‘Wa-hoo! Good workout people,’ Linda called out like a nineties relic from a step aerobics class. Everyone clapped the way you would in a step aerobics class and somebody, Isla had a suspicion it was Mary, shouted, ‘Yeah! Right on!’
Isla drained her water bottle. She was hot, she was knackered and her Achilles was giving her grief from all that thumping around. She needed the loo too.
The toilets were clean on inspection, but there was no wheelchair accessible loo, and it was very ‘50s utilitarian-style. When she was done, she poked her head around the kitchen door; it was the same in there. It was a functional homage to Formica and stainless steel. She walked back to the hall.
‘We’re heading back home for moussaka if you want to join us?’ Annie asked, folding one of the sheets that had been pegged over the window with Carl. ‘You can meet Kris.’
‘I’d like that if you’re sure you’ve got enough?’
‘Kris’ moussaka is to die for, and he makes so much of it he could feed a small nation,’ Carl interjected.
‘I’ll drop you all off,’ Mary said, having overheard the conversation. She was pleased that her daughter was settling in and making friends. She’d worried about her over in London, mooning around after Tim. She’d not warmed to him, there was something off about him but she’d never quite been able to put her finger on what it was.
‘That’d be great thanks, Mary, and you’re welcome to join us too.’
‘No, but thanks. I’d best be getting home to check on Joe.’
‘Good job we stocked up Annie. I feel a red wine evening coming on,’ Carl said rubbing his hands together.
‘Our place is only small but it’s been modernized inside and being through the school, the rent’s peanuts,’ Annie said pushing the front door open, and giving Mary a wave as she reversed off. ‘We’re back!’ she called heading up the hall.
There was light at the end of the hall, and Isla could smell the wonderful aroma of garlic, onions, and tomatoes. ‘Yum,’ she said. She’d had some of her gran’s bangers and mash earlier, but after all that exercise she was hungry again. Nobody needed to know it was her second dinner. She followed Annie into the kitchen, Carl bringing up the rear, wine bottles at the ready, ‘I’ve got the vino, get the glasses, Kris!’
‘We’ve brought one more for dinner,’ Annie said walking into what Isla saw was a surprisingly modern and compact kitchen given the age of the house. ‘Kris, meet Isla. I told you we met at the Kea the other day. Isla’s an interior designer.’
Kris took his glasses off and placed them next to the stack of exercise books piled on the table in front of him. He got up from his seat and stepped forward with his hand outstretched in greeting. Isla shook it, and looking up at him, she decided she was going to like this man. He had an endearing dimple in his left cheek that made him look younger than he probably was, and the kindest of brown eyes. His nose was pretty acceptable by Grecian standards too, she thought as she finished her appraisal. He released her hand. ‘You’ve just got back from living in London, is that right?’ His accent was gentle, and his English clear and precise.
‘Yes, I was away for quite a while. It’s good to be home.’
Carl busied himself opening the wine. ‘Right we’ve earned a vino. Move those books Kris, my friend; your work’s done for today.’
Over dinner, Isla sha
red her story, leaving out the parts she wasn’t willing to tell. Then it was her turn to listen to Carl, Annie and Kris tell theirs, and all the while Carl ensured their glasses were never empty. She had a second helping of the moussaka. She couldn’t help herself, it just melted in the mouth. Everybody had a backstory, she realized, spooning it onto her plate as she listened to the reason behind Annie’s and Carl’s trip to the Greek Islands. It had been a pilgrimage of sorts for Annie’s older sister, Roz, who’d passed away when Annie was a young girl. She hadn’t gone into details but reading between the lines, Isla surmised it had been the result of a car accident.
It had been Roz’s dream to travel to the Greek Islands, Annie told her. Carl and Roz had been best friends until she drifted away doing her own thing, and he’d taken Annie under his wing after her death. It had been natural for him to want to join her on her quest to fulfill her big sister’s dream.
Annie got up while Carl was talking and unwrapped an apple pie that had been defrosting on the bench. She popped it into the oven, and when she sat back down, she informed Isla that Kris had a chronic sweet tooth. ‘He goes into shock if he doesn’t get something sugary after dinner. I think his mama well and truly spoiled him as a boy.’
‘You are right,’ Kris dimpled. ‘It is my mama’s fault she fed me too much baklava as a baby.’
Isla laughed, and while they waited for the pie to heat through, he told the story of how on a school trip he’d seen this beautiful girl with flaming hair and a sad face sitting on a rock at the Acropolis. It was Annie, and he’d just had to talk to her. She’d told him why she was in Greece while his students took notes on their historical surrounds nearby.
‘After meeting her that day I couldn’t get her out of my mind, and so when my teaching year finished, I sailed to Crete, where I knew she’d gone. I had to see her again.’
‘How romantic! That’s like something from a film,’ Isla said, but Annie and Kris were gazing at each other over the table in their own wee world.
‘Just like Shirley Valentine, I found much more than I ever dreamed I would,’ Annie said.
Isla was about to ask who Shirley Valentine was but Carl cleared his throat and filled her in, ‘It’s a late eighties film about a Liverpool housewife who heads off to Greece on a package holiday and rediscovers her lust for life. Get a room, you two. Make you sick, don’t they?’
Isla smiled. If she didn’t like them both so much, she’d be envious.
Annie poked her tongue out. ‘It’s a brilliant film, a classic.’ She got up to dish the pie out.
‘Not too much cream on mine, thanks, Annie.’
‘I apologize for it being store bought, but by the time I knocked off today, I was over baking. So, voila, the humble Four Square apple pie is as far as I got.’
‘Tastes good to me,’ Isla mumbled through a mouthful. ‘Sara Lee knows her pies.’
‘Saralee is the name of the new secretary at the school,’ Kris said digging in. ‘It’s an unusual name, yes? She’s going out with Ben, from the garage. He’s a nice guy.’ He popped his spoon in his mouth, missing the look Annie shot Isla. Isla’s stomach had done an involuntary twist at the mention of Ben’s name, and it wasn’t down to all the moussaka currently jostling for room inside it.
Carl held his hand out to collect the empty bowls a short while later, and Isla saw Kris stifle a yawn. She remembered he’d be dealing with a classroom full of teenagers in the morning. It was time to make tracks. ‘I can honestly say that’s the best moussaka I’ve ever had and a pretty darn delish apple pie too. Thanks so much for inviting me tonight, it’s been lovely to meet you, Kris and Carl.’
‘I like this new friend of ours,’ Kris said with a grin.
For the first time in a long while, Isla felt a sense of belonging. It had been a lovely evening.
The next morning, Isla woke with a dry mouth and a niggling headache that told her she had over indulged the night before. She lay in bed for a few more minutes, with a vague plan forming that today would be a good day to go and look at cars. She stretched, hearing Gran moving about in the kitchen. Time to get up and face the world, Isla Brookes! Or a certain someone would be in ripping the curtains open, and demanding to know why her granddaughter was sleeping her life away.
Twenty minutes later she’d showered, dressed and was sitting down to a breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast. Bridget had plopped it down on the table as soon as Isla stuck her foot in through the kitchen door.
‘You don’t have to make me breakfast, you know. Although, it does look good, thanks.’ Isla began to dig in. She loved a cooked brekkie and a brekkie cooked by someone else was even better!
‘I don’t trust you to eat properly left to your own devices,’ Bridget replied bluntly, picking up her teacup and placing it on the bench. She was dressed in black pants and a pretty short-short sleeved blue top, a matching cardi slung over her arm in case the weather chose to misbehave.
‘You look lovely in that shade of blue, Gran. Where are you off to today?’ She was hardly ever home – Isla was sure that it was all her committees and clubs that kept her fit as a fiddle for the most part. It had been a comfort for her to see for herself that Gran was alright after her fall, apart from her hip which obviously gave her a bit of grief here and there.
Bridget wasn’t one for compliments, but still, she was pleased. |The top was organic bamboo cotton and had cost a fortune. The cotton was breathable with long wearing properties, the enthusiastic sales girl in Greymouth had promised, before appealing to her conscience by telling her it wasn’t made in a sweat shop either.
‘Margaret’s picking me up shortly. We’re off to your stomping ground last night, Barker’s Creek Hall, for a committee meeting to discuss fundraising ideas.’ She sighed and rested her hands on the back of the chair opposite Isla.
She no longer wore her wedding ring, Isla noticed in surprise, although the indentation from all the years was plain to see beneath her knuckle, which looked swollen and knobbly.
‘The Hall’s getting in a bit of a sorry state as you’d have seen for yourself. We’re very much teetering on the fence with the Council’s list of requirements for a public space these days. It’s bloody ridiculous the number of things they expect us to comply with.’ She made a tutting sound. ‘I won’t see the hall shut down, not in my lifetime. And what about you? What’re you going to do with yourself today then, miss?’
‘Well, I’m going to borrow Mum’s car, if she’ll let me that is, and drive into Greymouth. I thought I’d nab Dad while he’s on his lunch break and see if he can help me find a car.’
‘Oh Isla, don’t be silly, you know you’ll come home with a petrol guzzling monster if you enlist your father’s services. Joe’s motto is the bigger and noisier the better.’
‘Too true, and I want something economical that preferably doesn’t require a heavy vehicle operator’s license for me to get behind the wheel,’ Isla said, sighing. ‘The problem is I don’t know anything about cars other than whether I like the colour or not.’
‘Well, I’m not much help to you.’
‘I haven’t owned a car in years, not since the wee, Honda I got when I moved to Christchurch. There was no need for a car in London, not with the Underground, and there’d have been nowhere to park it anyway.’
Bridget’s eyes gleamed. ‘Listen, why don’t you pop over to the garage and ask Ben’s advice? He’d see you on the right track.’
Isla slopped her tea into the saucer. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that!’
‘Why not?’ Bridget was warming to her theme, and from the look on her face, Isla knew she wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. She couldn’t think of an answer either. She was sure his girlfriend wouldn’t like it, but Gran would pooh-pooh that as a silly excuse. They were grown-ups, weren’t they?
Chapter 10
So it was, half an hour later Isla found herself walking self-consciously across the forecourt of the Shell garage to stand in the workshop. ‘Er, morni
ng Ben.’ She wished those butterflies currently going berserk in her stomach would flipping well migrate. This was ridiculous, she thought. She had not been that teenage girl who’d fallen head over heels in love with Ben Robson in a decade and then some.
He looked up at her from where he was standing in the pit, fiddling around with the underneath of a hatchback parked over the top of it.
‘Isla … hi, how’s it going?’
‘Good, thanks, yeah um what it is, well what it is—’ Spit it out Isla for God’s sake. ‘It was Gran’s idea actually. She suggested I come and see you for a bit of advice with regards to buying a car. I want something economical that doesn’t cost the earth. I was thinking of heading into Greymouth and asking Dad to come to a couple of yards with me today but Gran put me off the idea, she reckoned I’d come home with a monster truck.’
Ben laughed. ‘She wouldn’t be far wrong! Look I’ll be finished working on this in around five minutes and Vanessa’s running the shop today. I don’t have anything urgent booked in for the rest of the day, so why don’t I take you over to Greymouth?’
Isla felt her face flush at the idea and hoped she didn’t resemble a tomato as she said, ‘I wouldn’t want to put you out.’
‘Hey, it’s no bother, it’ll be good to escape for a couple of hours, to be honest.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, that’d be fantastic, thank you.’
‘I’ll swing by and pick you up in say …’ he glanced at his watch. ‘Twenty minutes? That’ll give me time to get washed up.’ He turned away and got back to whatever it was he doing under the car. Isla headed off, feeling inexplicably pleased with how things had panned out.
It was amazing the state she’d worked herself into in such a short space of time. She applied and then reapplied her lipstick before blotting it off. She didn’t want to look like she’d gone to any special bother. Shrugging into her favourite top, she froze upon appraising her reflection. It was pale pink; Ben had always loved her in pink, said she was pretty in pink. He’d think she’d dressed to impress! She hastily yanked the top back over her head opting for a green shirt instead. It was as far removed from pink as she could find. By the time Ben pulled into the driveway, she’d decided she’d have to do. She pulled the front door shut behind her and clambered into the passenger seat of his mud-splattered Toyota truck, kicking at an empty McDonald’s bag with her foot.
Sweet Home Summer Page 8
