The Bluebell Bunting Society

by The Bluebell Bunting Society (retail) (epub)

  Luce studies the toes of her blue flowery boots on the gravel outside. ‘You need to close up, call the estate. Connie, no one can go in there.’

  ‘I know.’ My voice is scratchy and wobbly all at once.

  ‘Not even you, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I really mean it. If the roof went after moderate rain, even if it has been persistent, then there’s something very wrong here. And it’s not fit for visitors.’

  I can hardly swallow. ‘Yes.’

  She pulls me into the biggest bear hug her small frame can muster. ‘Oh, love. What unbelievably shitty timing.’

  ‘Language, Mum.’

  ‘There’s no Abel here, and this situation really calls for it. Will you be able to get hold of someone from the estate on a Sunday? I just think, for public safety, we should get it properly shut up. Signs posted and that kind of stuff.’

  I roll my eyes, and that’s all she needs to see to work it out.

  ‘The Suit. Shitty shit.’

  I blow out a big, slow breath and dig my nails into my palms to stop myself crying. It’s an old trick from when I was little and Mum wasn’t well. ‘Hope his favourite Ted Baker also comes in a waterproof number. Ugh, this is all his Christmasses come at once.’

  Luce wipes under her eyes. ‘Let’s not think about him now. First things first, we switch off the power, water and gas. Anything you need to save from inside? It might be your last chance for a good while.’

  But before she’s finished her sentence I’m already bolting for the door, barging it open and lunging for two things that mean the world to me right now: the log book, curling at the edges from the damp, and the framed picture of Gran that sits beside it. I press the picture against my chest. ‘Don’t look, Gran. Just don’t look.’

  I can’t bear the thought of having to see Alex right now, so I dig his number out of one of the letters he’s sent that I tucked into the log book, and send a message to his mobile. I leave the key in a pot by the front door, and seeing that Alex has received the text and is writing a reply, I quickly switch off my phone and start the walk home. Luce offers me a lift, but I really need some thinking time.

  I pass the park, where volunteer litter pickers have turned up unbearably early to spruce the place up after yesterday’s fete.

  I sprint over the damp grass to where I can see Brian. I ignore the protests of my wet and cold feet. They can suck it up. ‘Need any more help?’

  ‘Connie! How wonderful! Yes, we do. Doris over there has the sticks. Thank you so much. You know, I’m sending my letter to the Hibbert estate first thing on Tuesday, telling them how I see the Hall as an integral part of this village. And you, too, young lady. You have done something of real worth.’

  I sling a black bag over my shoulder and dig my nails into my palms again. ‘Yes… Well.’ I’m too weary to talk. He’ll hear soon enough. They all will.

  After about an hour of stabbing empty Fanta cans and chip papers, letting my frustrations go into every movement of my litter stick, I have just about enough energy left to call in at the corner shop, pick up a massive bar of Cadbury’s and some Wotsits and wearily plod home.

  Mum’s on the sofa, in her pjs, when I get in. Her skin is grey and tears have left shining tracks on her cheeks. ‘Oh, darling,’ she murmurs as I fall into her arms. ‘What a thing to happen. I’m so sorry.’

  I don’t know if there’s an acceptable time limit to sobbing into your mum’s hair when you are almost 30, but I certainly pass it. I just can’t seem to stop, even though I know it won’t change anything. She squeezes me tightly around my middle.

  ‘At least Gran wasn’t here to see it. That’s the only bright side I can think of.’

  But it’s stupid of me to bring Gran into it, because Mum’s eyes get watery again. I unload my snack haul onto the coffee table as if that’s going to magically turn back time. But we both just stare at the calories and saturated fats and bright orange flavourings like a pair of Slimming World zealots. It’s one of the rare moments of my life when I can’t blink at a bar of Dairy Milk and have it disappear. All the restless energy of first thing this morning has deserted me and I am instead full of inertia. Like my limbs and my head and my stomach are all full of rocks and I can’t move, can’t think, can’t even start to put together a plan to improve things. It just makes me tired, the magnitude of it all.

  The roof is gone. We don’t have the money to fix it, and we certainly don’t have the skills to attempt a bodge job ourselves. I don’t think Luce would let me, anyway, out of professional honour. The floors will be ruined from the flooding. The new paint work, too. It will probably need rewiring, plastering too, and in all of that all the other health and safety violations will probably come to light. Even if I had time, I’m not sure I could ever raise that kind of money. People are generous here but persuading them to give up much needed cash for a disused pile of soggy timbers might even be beyond the powers of the Bunting Society.

  The Hall has given up on me, just as we were really kicking butt. Just as it was about to be the new second home to so many people, it’s left us homeless. It’s left me jobless. What will I do now? Join Mum down at Budgens? Sell hundreds of meters of nearly new bunting at a car boot sale? And without my mission to save the Hall keeping me busy and focused, I can hardly ignore that I have no life plan. I hardly have what you’d call a life. I can’t imagine my life without the Hall – the choir, the families, the Bluebells.

  Oh, the Bluebells. They really will have to get along with the Scouts now, if we want to keep the group going. Veronica is going to come out in hives. I might too, having to be at close quarters with Alex week in, week out. And hear him describe the Hall’s transition into a brand soaking new mega Costa, I bet. He might make out he’s not the fat cat bad guy, but now the Hall is his to do with as he pleases. So we’ll soon see what he’s really made of.

  The palms of my hands are starting to look like I’ve been at them with a cheese grater now, but I can’t cry any more in front of Mum. Just when I thought she was starting to have a really long good spell, this is exactly the kind of thing that can turn a rocky patch into a major low. Losing the Hall and all our family history that’s linked to it is like losing a small piece of Gran all over again. When we were there, we were close to her, in a weird way. And now the next time we’re there we’ll probably be ordering grande mocha chai tea coolers, and that would have really got Gran’s goat, in more ways than one.

  The last four years of my life have collapsed into a puddle on a ruined kitchen floor, without even anyone to see it, or wave it goodbye. Bar a fat, flapping pigeon. Just a damp disappointment. A really bad end to a great weekend. I feel like I’ve just come home from Glastonbury to be told the world is going to end a week on Tuesday.

  Mum and I sit motionless on the sofa for a few hours, not quite awake and not quite asleep, ignoring the junk food and the phone when it rings and later a soft knock at the door.

  Because, really, what’s the point now?

  Chapter 15

  Hunger woke me up in the end. And a stiff neck from being slumped against Mum’s shoulder all afternoon.

  Neither of us really know what we want to eat, so we’re going through the motions with a takeaway from the chippy. If in doubt, fall back on fried potato.

  My phone’s still off, and I unplugged the landline on my way out the door – its shrill ring was biting on my last nerve. There’s hardly anything urgent to worry about now. The Hall is Alex’s problem. Just the way he wanted it.

  But I like being without a phone, which is not something I would have predicted after a whole day off Facebook and email and the Daily Mail sidebar of shame. I don’t need to be on top of it all. The world is turning without me. It’s going to do its own thing. I’m going to do mine. With a side of mushy peas.

  I’m in a slow daydream about living in a wood cabin and eating foraged mushrooms for the rest of my adult life, when the jangle of the shop door brings me back to reality.
No, I couldn’t live like that. I’d miss the chippy too much.

  ‘Connie!’ Dom’s strong grip spins me around. ‘At last! We’ve been ringing and ringing. Susannah went round to see you. We’ve all been so worried.’

  I shrug. ‘The Hall is done with, sorry Dom. Worrying won’t bring it back. It’s… It’s a gonner. Sorry.’

  His bushy eyebrows bunch together. ‘We’ve been worried about you. Luce told us all and we wanted to see how you were, but no one could track you down. You do a better job of vanishing off the grid than my Polly.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Sorry. How is Polly? I didn’t see her yesterday.’ There’s a twist in my stomach as I picture our tent at the fete, full of smiles and crossed fingers and bright hopes. Suddenly I don’t think I will be able to do much with my medium haddock and chips.

  Dom shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘She was meant to help out. But she didn’t. Said she was with friends, but wouldn’t tell me who. Came back late smelling of some strange perfume. Not that she has money to buy some so where that’s come from… But I’m not boring you with that today. We’re having an emergency meeting, at Flip’s house.’

  ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got to make a plan. About our next steps. For the Hall.’

  Now the twisting feeling is sitting behind my eyes, aching and itching in my brain. ‘There’s no plan, Dom. It’s done. The Hall is a wreck, we can’t invite people to a health hazard. There’s no time left and so we’re done.’ I rub the arm of his bomber jacket. ‘But we tried. We gave it our best.’

  The tired-looking lady behind the counter pushes a big, warm paper parcel in my direction.

  ‘I’ve got to go, get back to Mum.’

  ‘So that’s it? You’re walking away?’

  I feel stung by the edge to his voice. ‘Look, I don’t have a million quid or DIY SOS up my sleeve. We did all that was realistically possible and it was great, while it lasted. But this is out of my hands. It’s out of all of our hands. I appreciate that you guys want to give it another shot but… I think this is it.’

  Dom’s open mouth snaps into a firm line as I take my food and let the door bell jangle behind me.

  Stevie is filling our little sofa with his stocky frame when I get home.

  ‘Thank god you’re here, you can help us with this order. I went nuts and got two battered sausages that we’re just never going to eat. Oh, where’s Mum?’

  Steve sits up a little against the limp sofa cushions. ‘She wanted a lie-down. I told her I’d hang around for you. I think she’s worried about you, Cons.’

  I press a can of Pepsi against my forehead. The cold switches off the twisty feeling for a moment. ‘Well that makes for a neat circle of worry. Because I think she’s having a… wobble again.’

  I unwrap the fish and chips, and get some plates. Stevie picks up a battered sausage and nibbles at it. ‘I don’t even know why I’m eating this. I’ve had a full-on lamb roast at home.’

  ‘You’ve eaten greasy food on that sofa since you wore skater shoes and beaded chokers, and don’t you forget it. Anyway, you’re doing me a favour because I’ve pretty much lost my appetite. I doubt Mum will come back down again tonight, a reheated fish and chips is the devil’s food.’

  He points the sausage at me. ‘Eat. If I go home and tell Luce you didn’t look after yourself under my watch, I’ll be in for it. She’ll confiscate my favourite highlighters.’

  I wave the sausage away. ‘Shut up, I’m fine. Just had a long day.’

  Steve rolls his eyes. ‘You did a runner and switched your phone off. You and your mum went full-on hermit. Sounds like Susannah nearly pounded the door down, to no reply. So she was on the blower to Luce; Dom and Flip were deployed for a street by street search. And I had Alex on my doorstep.’ He says the last bit like a casual aside but there’s nothing casual about my reaction.

  ‘WHAT!?’

  ‘He said he wanted to follow up with you, but you’d gone dark. I mean, he actually said ‘gone dark’. Think the poor guys stays in alone too much with his Bourne DVDs.’

  ‘Why did he go to you? How did he even know where you lived!? That’s bloody creepy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought at first.’ Steve chews on a fat chip. ‘But apparently I’m your emergency contact on your employment documents, so that’s where he got it from.’ He clutches his heart in mock-drama. ‘I’m so touched that you want me there when you break an ankle mopping the floor, or stab yourself with a needle on a bunting mission.’

  I whip his plate off his lap and he pouts. ‘Hardly counts anymore, now I’m unemployed. Nob. Thanks for rubbing it in.’ I chew on the end of the drawstring of my hoodie. ‘I can’t believe he came to your house.’

  ‘I think Luce enjoyed the chance to study him at close quarters. But, you know, after a chat, I kind of,’ Stevie fiddles with the curls at the nape of his neck, ‘ah, I kind of think maybe he’s not as evil as we previously thought.’

  The crispy batter really scratches my throat as I almost choke to death.

  ‘Wait, wait, wait. Before you go for me and Abel is denied a sibling, just listen. He’s a decent bloke. He’s been round to the Hall, done all the health and safety malarkey at breakneck speed, even sat down with Luce for her professional opinion and took all sort of notes. He’s roused all the board members on a Sunday to keep them up to speed. And amongst all that, he went to his office, found an address for you and tracked me down. He wanted to check you were OK.’ Stevie can see I’m hurrying to wash my mouthful down with a drink so he rushes on. ‘I know you want different things for the Hall, but he’s not really a big bad wolf. Not when you listen to him about his job, beyond wearing a fancy suit and pissing you off.’

  ‘Ergh.’

  ‘And, in your duty as a pillar of the community, you should really be nicer to new people in the village. He’s doing his job, volunteering with the Scouts; I think he really wants to fit in here. I mean, I don’t exactly want to hang out at the pub with most of the parents from my class, but it is my duty to be nice to them.’

  I slowly bite a chip dipped in peas.

  ‘Though, if you did want to have a drink with him…’

  ‘Steve! Seriously?’

  He holds his arms up. ‘It’s been a while since you had a gentleman caller. No one, in fact, since that pillock in Manchester. You’re seeing his posh suit as a bad thing – maybe it’s a sign he has a good, reliable income. He could be a catch! Or maybe someone to just polish up your skills on.’ He says this last bit almost under his breath. I’d love to come zinging back with a reply that my dating skills are laser sharp, thanks very much, but my confidence wibbles out on me.

  ‘Look, I’d better get back. I’ve left Luce to do bedtime and, much as I love her, she’s frankly rubbish at the Gruffalo’s voice.’ Steve pulls his arms through his jacket and heads for the door. ‘Don’t enjoy the misery for too long, eh? I know you might be done with the Hall now, but the other guys are finding it hard to let go. They need to see you. Even if it’s not to whip up a thousand more metres of protest bunting, they’re still your mates. Don’t forget that. And give my love to your mum.’ He closes the front door gently behind him.

  * * *

  I haven’t found the energy to switch my phone back on after a rubbish night’s sleep but I have found the guts to go and visit my little choir with some thank you gifts for their sterling performance at the fete. They don’t have to know our plans have all been washed down the drain together with a rotten roof joist; I’m not sure how it would help anyone to fill them in. So I’m loaded down with Werther’s, daffodils and some custard creams to perk them up. Steve’s comment yesterday about enjoying my misery hit exactly the mark he meant it to. I might have lost my job, lost my moral crusade, but I still have people I’m responsible for.

  After I’ve poured a lot of tea and reassured Delilah that, yes, I really will hurry up and get married before I end up a right old maid, I knock on Susannah’s door.
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br />   When she sees me on her welcome mat, she folds her arms and cocks her hip. A sassy but risky move when you’re no spring chicken. ‘And so here you are. At last.’

  My smile is so sheepish I can feel fleece growing out of my ears. ‘Sorry. I needed a bit of time… To process.’

  With a huff she lets me in. ‘That Oprah speak is all well and good but you could have at least told us yourself, before you did your big vanishing act. It was all such a shock and then we had no Connie, to boot. It not what—’

  ‘Not what Gran would have done. I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Actually, I was going to say it’s not what leaders do. Believe it or not, your gran isn’t the benchmark for all situations, my dear. She wouldn’t have got this far, in my humble opinion.’

  I sit down with an ‘oof’ on one of Susannah’s neat armchairs. ‘What do you mean?’

  She waves her hands. ‘Talking to the media, setting up the stall at the fete to really make a noise. I don’t doubt she would have been bending some ears about the closure, oh yes. But I don’t think she would have been able to think so big, not like you did.’ She spots my frown. ‘That’s not a criticism, that’s just putting things in context. She was raised in a very different era. That woman had backbone and gumption, but her world was smaller than yours. Her world was this village, and she wouldn’t have been able to see beyond the status quo. But you did. You saw big things for the Hall.’ She sits down across from me. ‘Even if you don’t see them for yourself.’

  ‘You’re not going to join Delilah’s gang and badger me up the aisle, are you?’

  Susannah rolls her eyes. ‘Men are never a priority. But your career should be. Your Gran devoted herself to this place because there were no boardroom doors open for her, no masters degrees, no departure lounges waiting. In your shoes, who knows where she would have ended up. Probably giving Alan Sugar a run for his money, no doubt.’ She leans forward and pats my knees gently. ‘I’m so happy you came back to be with your mum but I didn’t think four years later you’d still be here, love. And the way you reacted to the leak—’