The Choir on Hope Street

by Annie Lyons

  I don’t mean to sound judgemental but I despair of playground mothers sometimes. Where is their self-respect? We’re all pushed for time in the mornings – the least we can do is apply a little eyeliner and make ourselves presentable. We’re supposed to be role models for the next generation, after all.

  I realised that I needed this problem to go away and fast. I knelt down in front of the woman and took her hands. I also remembered that you should never apologise in an accident situation. It makes you culpable. I leant forwards and smiled. ‘It’s Natalie, isn’t it? How are you? Is there anything I can do?’ I felt Nula’s grip tighten around her shoulder but I pressed on. ‘Are you hurt at all?’

  Natalie stared at me. I gave her a reassuring smile, which she seemed to accept as she squeezed my hands. ‘I’m okay,’ she murmured. ‘I just want to get home.’

  ‘I can take you!’ I cried.

  Nula pursed her lips in irritation. ‘Are you sure that’s wise? Shouldn’t we get you checked over, Natalie?’

  Natalie shook her head. ‘No, really, I’m okay. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going, but if you could take me home, I’d be grateful,’ she replied, looking up at me.

  Nula dropped her arm from Natalie’s shoulder, barely able to mask her disappointment.

  ‘Of course!’ I said, helping her to her feet. ‘No problem at all. Thanks, Phil. Thanks, Nula,’ I said, flashing a particularly saintly smile at the latter.

  Phil nodded. ‘Take care, ladies,’ he said, before disappearing back through the school gate.

  Natalie walked towards my car and opened the door. ‘Let me know if you need anything, hon,’ called Nula, squeezing Natalie’s arm as she walked past. ‘Bye, Caroline.’

  I acknowledged her with a nod before jumping into the driver’s seat. Natalie climbed in alongside me and slammed the door shut. ‘Ooh, mind the paintwork!’ I cried, trying to keep my voice light.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, reaching over for her seatbelt.

  ‘So, where to?’ I asked.

  ‘Hope Street, please, number thirty.’

  ‘Oh, I live on that road,’ I said. ‘Number 232.’

  ‘Ahh.’ Natalie nodded. ‘The posh end.’

  Some people might have taken this as a criticism but I didn’t. That house was my pride and joy. It had been a shell when Oliver and I had bought it in pre-Matilda days. We had worked hard to restore and rejuvenate it and it was a labour of love, particularly for me. We’d converted the loft, restored the brickwork, opened up the kitchen and made it into the perfect family home. I made no apology for the money spent or the effort made. We worked hard and we deserved it. Jealousy was a cheap and easy emotion.

  However, I could tell that Natalie was only teasing as she made the comment with an almost-smile. I rewarded it with a breezy laugh. ‘What a start to the day!’ I remarked as we made the short journey back to her house.

  She didn’t answer so I looked over and noticed that her shoulders were shaking. At first I thought she was laughing until I noticed her tear-stained face. It was like something from a soap opera. She was nearing hysterics. Two thoughts entered my head; how am I going to stop her doing that and how can I deposit her back home as quickly as possible?

  I scanned the numbers and pulled up outside her house. It was a pleasant enough terraced Edwardian. Oliver and I had looked at a couple of these during our property search but had found them too poky, at least that was what I felt. Oliver was happy to go along with me. He’s good like that. I remember when we first viewed our house, it had been dark and shabby, the overwhelming stench of old person lingering like rotting stew.

  The estate agent, an upright impeccably dressed woman in her late fifties, who had reminded me of my wonderful headmistress, Mrs Biggs, had chosen her words carefully.

  ‘This was a treasured family home but it needs to be updated, of course.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Oliver, taking in the peeling wallpaper, damp stains and alarming orange-swirl carpet. ‘It could do with being condemned and re-built, if you ask me.’

  The estate agent had shot him a look not unlike one Mrs Biggs might have given one of the cheekier girls at our school – amused but firm. ‘It just needs a little TLC. Mrs Brown hadn’t been able to undertake any home improvements in recent times.’

  I had adopted my best Kirstie Allsop persona and walked from room to room, trying to avoid deep breaths because of the smell, opening my mind as one word emerged from the back of my brain.

  Potential.

  ‘I think it has great potential,’ I observed, keeping my expression neutral. That’s one thing my father had always taught me. ‘Keep a poker-face, Caroline. Never give anything away.’

  Oliver was watching me now. Unlike the estate agent, he could read me like a book. ‘I saw your eyes light up like a child’s on Christmas morning,’ he observed later. ‘I knew we’d found the one – resistance was futile.’ He kissed me on the nose as he said this. ‘My girl must have exactly what she wants.’

  He was always so sweet like that back then. It was different when we were both working at the bank. We worked hard and partied even harder. They were very happy times, working all week, doing up the house at the weekends. We had builders in to start with but we finished it all ourselves. I can remember Saturdays, listening to cheesy music on the radio while we decorated. I feel as if I know every inch of that house.

  I smiled at the memory but my thoughts were interrupted by a loud, gasping sob. I stared at Natalie. I’d almost forgotten she was there. She looked truly awful, her face red and blotchy. I watched with disgust as she used a sleeve to wipe one eye. I reached into the glove compartment and retrieved a tissue as I might do for Matilda. I held it out for her and she seemed so touched by this tiny act of kindness that it brought on a fresh round of tears.

  ‘Thank you. Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘You must think I’m a nightmare.’

  Of course I did but I’m never rude. ‘Not at all,’ I lied. ‘We all have off days,’ although of course I rarely did.

  ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ she asked, dabbing at her nose with the tissue.

  ‘That would be lovely but I’m afraid I have an appointment.’ This was only a half-lie as my cleaner was coming at ten and I always liked to be home to make sure she did her allotted two hours. I’d caught her leaving ten minutes early once.

  Natalie nodded and smiled. There was an awkward pause as if she was waiting for me to say something, possibly ask her what was wrong, but I wasn’t going to do this. I barely knew her and I had a policy never to get involved with strangers’ problems. People loved to be so dramatic these days, longing for others to notice them, to affirm their existence with a ‘poor you’ or a Like on Facebook. It was all very needy. I don’t want to sound harsh but I can’t bear needy people.

  Happily, there was a tap on the car window. It was our postman and he was smiling in at Natalie. He was one of those men who insist on wearing shorts whatever the weather and he always seemed to be tanned and relentlessly cheerful. I couldn’t recall his name until Natalie opened the passenger door and greeted him.

  ‘Hey Jim. How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks Nat. You look a bit down. What’s up?’

  I took this as my signal to escape. ‘I’ll let you get on then, Natalie,’ I said.

  She turned her head towards me. ‘Okay then. Thanks for the lift, Caroline,’ she replied, climbing out of the car. She shut the door with a slam. Again. ‘Sorry,’ she winced, holding up a hand in apology.

  I smiled and shook my head, pretending it didn’t matter before driving off. I glanced at Natalie and Jim in the rear-view mirror. They were already deep in conversation as he handed over a pile of letters, his face creased with concern. Natalie was obviously unloading that day’s drama. I couldn’t believe that she would be telling her troubles to the postman. The world had gone mad.

  As I reached home and opened the front door, I exhaled with relief – another c
risis averted. I noticed a plug of fluff hanging from the bottom of the radiator. I made a mental note to ask Rosie to give them a good clean and check the skirting boards while she was at it. I always took pride in keeping a clean and tidy house. Appearances are everything, after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  NATALIE

  ‘So are you sure there isn’t someone else involved?’ asked Ed.

  ‘I’m as sure as I can be,’ I replied.

  ‘Has he actually said that though?’

  ‘Woody asked him.’ Ed looked surprised. I sighed. ‘I know. He came round so that we could tell Woody what was happening and it was only when he said it, that I realised I’d forgotten to ask.’

  ‘You forgot to ask?’

  ‘Don’t judge. I was really busy being very, very angry.’

  Ed shrugged. ‘Fair point. So what did he say?’

  ‘He did the reasonable Dan thing, denied it vehemently, told Woody how much he loves him, that it’s not his fault, that he’ll be there for him whenever he needs him and that he’ll be staying at his mum’s for now. Blah, blah, textbook reassuring estranged father stuff.’

  ‘How did Woody take it?’

  ‘He asked for a biscuit.’

  Ed surveyed the almost-empty tub of brownies. ‘Takes after his mother. Has Woody talked to you about it since?’

  I shrugged. ‘Not really. I don’t think eight-year-old boys do heart-to-hearts and, to be honest, he probably doesn’t know what to think. I know I don’t. I keep wondering what I did wrong, searching my brain for the moment when it all went belly-up.’ I reached for another brownie.

  ‘You won’t find the answer in the bottom of a carton of cakes.’

  ‘Hmm, what about a tub of salted caramel ice cream?’

  ‘Na-ah.’

  ‘Jar of peanut butter?’

  ‘Food of the devil – definitely not!’

  ‘Shame, because that has basically been my diet since Dan left.’

  ‘Well, I have to say, you’re more together than I thought you would be.’

  ‘I did cry in between dropping Woody at school and you arriving.’

  ‘But you’re not crying now.’

  ‘I could start at any minute.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll slap you if you do.’

  I laughed. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘Don’t start – you’ll set me off.’

  ‘No, seriously, Ed. I needed a dose of your straight-talking no-nonsense today. Thank you.’

  He grinned. ‘Any time, sweet-cheeks. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m sort of waiting for Dan to tell me what he wants.’ Ed grimaced. ‘What?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just that I’m a bit surprised, that’s all. I thought you’d be firing up the sass machine, fighting for yo man, getting a little fierce, sister!’ He clicked his fingers and fixed me with a head-swivelling look.

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Once more in English, please?’

  ‘You know what I’m saying, Nat. You’ve got to stand up and fight for your man!’

  ‘Who am I fighting? According to Dan, there’s no-one else involved.’

  ‘Which makes it so much easier! Think about it. You’ve been married for like a hundred years, haven’t had sex for six months.’

  ‘More like nine,’ I muttered.

  ‘Jeepers, it’s worse than I thought. You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’, darlin’.’

  ‘If you’re about to break into song, I’m leaving.’

  ‘I’m serious, Nat. You’ve just become incredibly boring.’

  ‘Wow. I’m so glad we had this chat.’

  He grabbed my arm. ‘I think you just need some proper time together, sweet-pea. Get dressed up, go out on a date, reacquaint yourselves a little.’

  ‘Do you think that’s all it is?’

  ‘Of course! You know I’ll have Woody any time – he is my godson, after all.’

  ‘Thank you. I just don’t know if a couple of dates is going to solve it though.’ I remembered the look on Dan’s face when he told me he didn’t love me any more. He didn’t look like a man whose problems would be solved by sharing a Wing Roulette with his wife at Nando’s. He looked like a man who wanted to get away. Fast.

  Ed seemed to read my mind. ‘I know what Dan said but everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes. He may have thought it at the time but I’m sure it won’t last. I mean, there was a time when he didn’t love you at all and then he fell in love with you, so there’s no reason why he can’t just do that all again, is there?’

  ‘I guess,’ I frowned, doubting his reasoning but grateful for his attempts to reassure me.

  ‘It’s got to be worth a try, hasn’t it? I know how much you still love him.’ I could feel tears mist my eyes. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. He’s not going to fall back in love with a puffy-eyed snot monster.’ I laughed. ‘And you do look hot when you get dolled up on our nights out, so you should make the effort for Dan, don’t you think?’

  I gave him a weak smile. He put an arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. ‘Can’t I just marry you?’ I asked.

  He laughed. ‘That would be fine in terms of the no-sex thing but trust me, I’m a bitch in the morning. You deserve better, my gorgeous girl.’

  I smiled. Maybe Ed was right about Dan and me. Maybe I’d been neglecting my own husband, forgetting that we needed to go out and have some fun. Plenty of couples hit these kinds of bumps in the road, so maybe I just needed to up my game a little. I started to think about where we could go – somewhere special with history. Perhaps we could go to the pub where we’d first met.

  It had been just down the road from my college in town, a dark cavernous place with a huge bar on one side and uncomfortable tables and chairs on the other. I’d gone for a drink after lectures with a boy I fancied but who spent most of the time looking either at my breasts or over my shoulder for someone more interesting to talk to. In a desperate attempt to get his attention, I’d put ‘Truly Madly Deeply’ by Savage Garden on the jukebox with the intention of singing it to him. Yeah, I know. I’m one classy chick but desperate times and all that.

  Just as the intro began, he’d downed his lager and declared, ‘Need a slash,’ before disappearing to the toilets. I took a large gulp of the cider I was drinking, even though I hated it and tried desperately not to look like Norma No-Mates.

  Suddenly I was aware of a guy next to me at the bar. He was singing along to the track and much to my surprise, was looking straight at me as he did. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention from men so I looked away, pretending that it wasn’t happening, at which point, he grabbed my hand and continued with his full-on serenade. His singing was terrible but I was impressed that he knew all the words. Plus, he looked a bit like the guy from Savage Garden and he grinned at me with such dark-eyed intensity that I felt an unexpected urge to snog his face off. It was one of those moments when you find yourself thinking, I’m starring in the movie of my life here. When he finished singing, he kissed my hand and offered to buy me another drink. I accepted, ordering a glass of dry white wine because I detected that my life was about to change and I needed to assume a more grown-up persona. Fortunately, the other boy had found someone more interesting to talk to at the back of the pub and never returned. I woke up the following morning with Dan next to me and a hangover of epic proportions. I never usually slept with boys after a first date, much less a first meeting, but it just seemed to happen as if it was meant to. We’d barely had a night apart since. Until now.

  So maybe that was the answer. We had to re-engage with our past, to remind ourselves of the feelings that had brought us together, to recapture some of our wasted youth.

  ‘Thank you, Ed. I appreciate your advice and support. You’re a good bestie,’ I told him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  ‘Always here for you, angel.’ He smiled.

  I sighed. ‘What a loss you are to the heterosexual female population.’

 
Ed grinned. ‘If I had a pound for every time someone has told me that.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘You’d have a pound?’

  ‘Har-de-fuckity-har. Now are we going to do any work today or what?’

  I popped another brownie into my mouth. ‘Ab-fer-lutely,’ I said through a mouthful of chocolate deliciousness. ‘Fo me wha yoo got.’

  Ed shook his head. ‘If only the fans of Natalie Garfield could see her at this moment.’

  ‘I fink you’ll find vey’d be very understanding – ’specially ver muvvas,’ I sputtered.

  Ed shot me a disapproving look. ‘Are your fingers clean?’ he asked, picking up his large black art case.

  ‘Courth,’ I answered, wiping them hastily on my trousers.

  ‘Go and wash them,’ he ordered, unzipping the case.

  ‘’Kay, Dad.’ I carried our mugs into the kitchen. ‘Want another cuppa while I’m out here?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m all caffeined out.’

  ‘I’m just going to have one more,’ I said, flicking the kettle into life. I stared out of the window. It was early May and the garden was just beginning to bloom its way into colour. The apple tree looked particularly beautiful as it emerged into blossom.

  I could remember the day we’d bought that tree. Woody had been three years old and Dan had decided that supermarket fruit and veg were poisoning his son. One Saturday morning, he had suggested a trip to the garden centre so that we could start to plant our own. It had been a beautiful spring day and I could remember Woody toddling happily between the rows of plants, pausing to point or shout, ‘Dat!’ at anything that interested him. It was one of those rare family outings where everything had gone to plan. Woody had napped in the car so that he was smiling and laughing throughout the visit, we had enjoyed carrot cake and coffee in the café (always a necessary pit stop for me) and Dan had been excited about the possibility of becoming the next Monty Don. He had filled our trolley with all manner of plants – courgettes, peas, sweetcorn, peppers, tomatoes and aubergines – before heaving three large bags of compost onto the space underneath. He had put his arm around me and kissed me and I remember feeling the sun on my face, hearing the gentle hiss of a sprinkler and the sound of Woody giggling with delight at a porcelain garden frog. It was a tiny moment and then Dan had disappeared with a wink.