The Choir on Hope Street

by Annie Lyons

  ‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ I replied.

  ‘I do actually, Mrs Taylor.’ I recognised Laurie’s voice. ‘But I’m afraid it’s urgent. Your mother has managed to get out of the home and we don’t know where she is.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NATALIE

  There are at least half a dozen facts that, despite my age and experience, I have failed to grasp since becoming an adult. These include the fact that you should never buy clothes which require you to slim down before wearing them (it would be easier to travel through time) or the fact that there is literally nothing you can do with quinoa to make it edible.

  However, one of the biggest facts is that drinking in order to banish your woes is folly. Firstly, it leads to a hangover and secondly, far from banishing your woes, you magnify them to elephantine proportions but dint of the fact that you now have a hangover. It’s a cyclical and very wearying problem.

  In my heady pre-motherhood days, hangovers were do-able. I could pull the duvet back over my head and wait for the bilious, head-hammering sensations to pass. Sometimes it would take all day but often I had all day.

  Today, however, I had to do the school run and this involved movement and clothes and words. I also had to make Woody’s packed lunch and encourage him to get ready too. It felt like hell on earth.

  He was already sitting at the dining-room table, reading the back of the cereal packet whilst spooning Shreddies into his mouth.

  ‘Mormin,’ I managed, trying to avert my gaze from his congealing breakfast.

  ‘You look terrible, Mum,’ he observed. Clever boy. ‘Are you okay?’

  No, I am on the brink of falling to bits. Please could you hurry up and become a grown-up so that you can sort it all out for me?

  ‘Am fine,’ I lied. ‘Just need tea and shower.’ By some miracle, I managed the shower but not the tea and I also managed to cobble together a packed lunch without throwing up. Be proud, Nat. You’re a shambles but you did it, I thought as we stepped out into the bright spring morning on time, my sunglasses offering the scarcest comfort to my pounding head.

  Woody and I walked side by side in the sunshine. I felt him take hold of my hand. My throat thickened. Don’t cry, you moron. It was tricky though. He didn’t often hold my hand these days and any mother will tell you that there’s nothing more reassuring than the feeling of your child’s hand in yours. The fact that Woody took my hand unprompted made it worse. It was as if he sensed that I needed some TLC. Plus, I get ridiculously emotional when I’m hung over – I think it’s the guilt and regret. As we reached the school gate, he let go.

  ‘Bye Mum,’ he said. I leant down to kiss him, watching his bobbing form disappear into the classroom. Come back! Don’t leave me! I turned away partly to stop myself from running after him and partly because I had just clocked Caroline at the far end of the playground, looking in my direction. I was still furious with her after last night and certainly didn’t have the strength for her perfect-mother routine today. As I turned out of the gate, I walked straight into Guy.

  ‘Morning,’ he smiled, taking a step back. ‘How are we feeling?’

  There was a knowing look about him as if we were sharing a joke. I took a deep breath. ‘A little fragile but I’ll be fine,’ I said, glancing over my shoulder towards Caroline. She was heading in our direction. ‘Sorry, Guy, I’ve got to dash,’ I added as casually as possible.

  ‘Me too,’ he smiled. ‘But I’ll see you at the hall later?’ I gave him a confused look. ‘For the meeting with the people from the council?’

  ‘Is that today?’ I asked with a rising sense of dread.

  He nodded. ‘Twelve-thirty. I finish here at twelve so should be in good time. By the way, I really enjoyed last night. I know you were a bit worse for wear but I had fun.’ There was that smile again, a look of something shared. I wished for the life of me I could remember what it was.

  ‘Yes, it was fun. I’ll see you later then,’ I said, heading off towards home. My brain raced as I walked back along Hope Street.

  Stupid bloody brain. Why do you always do this to me when I get drunk? I ran through last night in my mind.

  Arriving at the pub? Tick.

  Enduring Caroline’s interrogation in the loo? Tick.

  Singing at the gig? Tick.

  An eventful conversation with Caroline and her bitchy friends? Half a tick as it starts to get a bit hazy there.

  Going home and drinking lots of water before falling asleep at a respectable hour? Yeah, actually I don’t think that happened.

  Then it hit me. Like a bullet through my skull.

  Leaving the pub with Guy and insisting that we go somewhere else because I needed to ‘have fun’?

  Tickety tickety tick.

  Fuckety fuckety fuck.

  Oh, brain of mine. Why do you do this? Yes, I was at a low ebb and, yes, things are rocky with Dan, but that doesn’t mean that you can let me drink too much and then go dancing with another man.

  Oh shit. There was dancing. I went dancing. With another man. While the first man was at home looking after my son. That’s bad. That’s very bad.

  I let myself in through the front door and collapsed in a sorry heap onto the sofa as the fog in my mind started to lift.

  Things go wrong when I dance. I’m actually a very good dancer. Well, I think I am. But I tend to get a bit flirty when I dance. This hasn’t been a problem during the past twenty years because I’ve only ever had Dan or Ed to dance with and it’s fine to dance flirtatiously with your husband or your gay best friend. Nothing bad ever happens. But dancing flirtatiously with the eligible choirmaster, who declares it to have been ‘fun’, is bad. That’s just a fact.

  Calm down, Natalie, this is just your overactive imagination coupled with a feverish hangover. Guy Henderson is an honourable man. It was very likely just, ‘eating ice cream’ or ‘jumping on a trampoline’ type fun, not ‘kissing the good-looking choirmaster’ type fun.

  Oh crap. Did you kiss the good-looking choirmaster in a moment of madness? Think, stupid brain, think!

  I almost leapt off the sofa in fright as my phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and winced as I saw it was Dan.

  Dan my husband. The man who was minding Woody while I went out dancing with another man last night. The man who had seen me come back from a night out dancing with another man. Way to go on saving your marriage, Nat.

  ‘Hello?’ I croaked on answering.

  ‘Nat? I just wanted to check that you were okay. You seemed pretty far gone last night.’

  I tried to read his tone. He didn’t sound angry. Mind you, Dan rarely got angry. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I think I got a bit over-excited with the Prosecco.’

  He laughed. ‘No worries. Good job your friend was there to help you home.’

  ‘Mmm. What did you think of Guy?’ I asked, as casually as I could.

  ‘He was surprised when I opened the door. I had to explain who I was, but he just wanted to make sure you got home okay. He seems like a good bloke. I’m glad you’ve got people looking out for you.’

  Why? So you don’t have to? For some reason, this annoyed me. ‘So anyway, you know this girl I saw you with?’

  I heard Dan sigh. Don’t you dare, mister. ‘You mean Robin’s daughter, Fleur?’

  Fleur? Who calls their daughter ‘Fleur’?

  ‘Her mother’s French, before you start getting judgey about her name,’ said Dan, knowing me all too well.

  ‘I didn’t say a word. I just wondered how long it had been going on?’

  ‘Nat, nothing is going on.’ Stop digging, Natalie. Digging is ill advised at the best of times and a very bad idea when you have a hangover. Your mind makes things up. Like the possibility that you kissed another man or that your husband is lying about an affair.

  ‘By going on, I meant how many times have you seen her?’

  ‘Actually, I’m seeing her tonight.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ I was outraged, my head pounding
with fury and the effects of last night’s booze.

  ‘Calm down, Nat. I’m going to see her boyfriend’s band in Camden. She asked if I would go along and give them some advice about the act.’

  ‘Calm down’ is such an odd little phrase and rather than encouraging me to relax, it invariably incites a level of Incredible Hulk fury. ‘You want me to calm down?’ I snapped. ‘You’re going to a gig with a twenty-something strumpet, casually stomping all over my feelings with your size tens, and you think I should calm down! Bloody hell, Dan. What’s happened to us?’

  I knew what had happened to me. By using words like ‘strumpet’, I was starting to sound dangerously like my mother. Dan heard it too.

  ‘Strumpet?’ he teased. ‘You’ll be calling me a flibbertigibbet next and making me watch repeats of Midsomer Murders.’

  Normally, this would have made me laugh. We’d always joked about my mum’s funny little habits or exchanged glances when she’d said something vaguely politically incorrect, but not today.

  You’ve crossed the line, fella, and I, Natalie Hulky Garfield, am going to smash you back across it.

  ‘Don’t you dare use my mum to joke your way out of this! She’s had enough shit to deal with since Dad died, in fact she had quite a lot when he was alive, and maybe she leads a quieter life and likes her routines, but actually, Midsomer Murders is a very good drama and –’ Okay, Nat, you’re starting to lose it now. You’ll be declaring undying love for John Nettles next. ‘– And, she doesn’t deserve your contempt.’

  ‘Woah, Nat, I was only joking, like we always do. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes, well, things have changed, haven’t they? I’m not sure that joking our way through this is going to help.’ Wow, Natalie. That actually sounded rather considered and mature. Not bad for a woman with an evil hangover.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘And as for your concerns about the gig, Fleur is just a friend who has asked me for a favour, and that’s the truth. I am helping her as I would help any friend. I don’t know what else to say. You just have to believe me, Nat.’

  Do I? I’m not really sure what to believe. My burst of anger had worn me out. I didn’t want to talk about it any more. ‘Fine. Whatever,’ I said. ‘I’ll speak to you over the weekend.’

  ‘Okay,’ he replied before hanging up.

  I flopped back onto the sofa feeling weary and hollow. It was as if I was losing control of everything I’d held to be true. You could never accuse me of being a control freak but despite my chaotic appearance, there has always been a semblance of order in my life. I have always had a rough idea where my husband was, trusted him implicitly and known that my emotional plates were still spinning on their sticks. At the moment, I had no idea what Dan was doing, or whether I trusted him, whilst the plates started to slide to the floor. I also knew that I was on rocky ground being indignant with Dan as far as Fleur was concerned when I couldn’t quite recall what had happened with Guy last night. My life was, put simply, omnishambolic.

  I heard Jim making his way up the garden path, belting out ‘Chasing Cars’. He tapped on the knocker. I hauled myself up from the sofa and opened the door. He looked a little shocked by my appearance but barely missed a beat as he said,

  ‘Morning, lovely. Wasn’t last night brilliant? And it’s a beautiful day. Here you go,’ he handed me a pile of mostly bills. ‘Oh and I dug out that CD I promised you.’ He reached into his pocket and handed over a copy of Ella Fitzgerald sings the Cole Porter Songbook. ‘My mum used to play this whenever she needed a lift. Said it was like bathing in milk and honey.’

  I thought I might cry. I was so touched by the gesture. ‘Thank you, Jim,’ I said. ‘That’s really kind.’

  He gave me a broad grin. ‘My pleasure, lovely. I’m going to lend one to Caroline too. Everyone needs a bit of Ella in their life. Well, I best get on. Mind how you go.’

  I closed the door behind him and carried the CD to the stereo. The Savage Garden disc was still in there. I took it out, replaced it with Jim’s CD and pressed Play. I sank into the nearest chair, leaned back and listened. Jim’s mother was right. Ella’s voice made you feel as if someone had crawled into your ear and started to massage your brain. It was soothing, beautiful and exactly what I needed this morning. I loved the humour of ‘Miss Otis Regrets’ and wiped away a tear during ‘Every Time We Say Goodbye’. Never mind Abigail and her counselling, this was therapy for the soul. Ella Fitzgerald should be available on prescription for the heartbroken and hung over. By the time the CD had finished, I knew what I had to do.

  I arrived back at the school just before twelve. Guy appeared moments later. He smiled with surprise.

  ‘Did Caroline send you to fetch me?’ he joked.

  ‘Not exactly,’ I replied. ‘I wanted to talk about last night.’

  He grinned. ‘You’re having selective amnesia, aren’t you?’ he teased.

  ‘A little,’ I winced. ‘When you said we had fun, we didn’t kiss, did we?’

  He stared at me for a moment, his clear-blue eyes amused by the question. ‘We did not,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness. That’s such a relief,’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘Wow, don’t feel you need to let me down gently, Nat. Give it to me straight.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I implored. ‘It’s just that I’m married – well, separated – well, not quite separated – my husband – you met him last night – we’re going through a tricky patch and—’

  Guy waved away my concerns. ‘Nat, it’s fine, honestly. You don’t need to explain. I just told you that I had a good time because it was the truth. If you were single, I’d ask you out, but you’re not, so I won’t. It’s no biggie.’

  ‘Right, yes, that’s great. Good. Thank you,’ I gabbled.

  He smiled at me. ‘I’m happy to be friends if you are?’

  I gazed up at him, deciding that it would actually be good to have a friend like Guy. ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Now, shall we go? I don’t think Caroline likes late-comers.’

  Pamela and Caroline were already there when we arrived along with two men, who had their backs to us. Caroline was doing all the talking and I could hear phrases like, ‘vision for the future’ and ‘multi-functional community space’ being bandied about. I looked around the hall with fresh eyes. It certainly needed some work. There were patches of damp in various corners and it looked as if the ceiling needed to be replaced. It had that wooden floor and musty old school-hall smell too, which I rather liked. The entrance hall was lined with little coat pegs labelled with the names of the children who came to the toddler group and the walls of the hall were decorated with colourful artwork: boggle-eyed smiling faces of the children with wool for hair, silver cardboard stars and a month-by-month chart listing each child’s birthday. It had such a friendly, lived-in air, I felt quite nostalgic for the days when I would bring Woody here, chatting to the other mothers whilst he hurtled round on a little trike or made clumsy but beautiful hand paintings, which had always taken pride of place on our fridge.

  This was a happy place and it deserved to stay, so that more children and their parents could make memories, older people could get wildly competitive over a game of bingo and our choir could grow into something special. Suddenly, this seemed really important and I realised that I needed to make it happen. I needed to park my annoyance with Caroline and save this place. It may sound ridiculous but I almost felt that if I could save the hall, then I could save my marriage too, as if one might drive the other. Maybe it was a long shot but it had to be worth a try.

  We strode over to where they were standing. Pamela grinned up at us both. Caroline was still deep in conversation. I cleared my throat. The men turned. One of them was John Hawley, our biggest supporter for the campaign. My heart sank when I recognised the other man as the MP who had been my sparring partner on Radio Croydon. Excellent. My throat went dry.

  The man seemed amused as he held out his hand. ‘I don’t think we’ve
been properly introduced. I’m Tim Chambers. Also known as the supercilious twit,’ he grinned.

  I took his hand and gave a nervous laugh. ‘Natalie Garfield. It’s, er good to meet you properly.’

  His handshake was firm and confident. ‘I’ve taken a personal interest in your campaign since we last met, Ms Garfield. Despite what the press say, my party isn’t about taking vital services away from communities. We will listen when the plea is as passionate as yours.’ He delivered these words with a look of intensity, which surprised me. He was sharp-suited with an easy charm about him that I could imagine had won him many women voters. He must have been roughly the same age as me with prematurely greying hair which suited him, although he obviously knew it. I think I’d been too angry to notice anything other than his patronising demeanour when we met before.

  ‘Yes, we’re very lucky that our local parliamentary member has climbed down from his ivory tower to be with us today,’ observed John Hawley with a wry smile. He cut a very different figure to Tim Chambers. His hair was a mess, his suit ill-fitting and rather lumpy.

  Tim smiled. ‘Despite coming from different hues of the political spectrum, Mr Hawley and I both care about our communities. Unfortunately, as his political party spent all the money last time round, our party has had to make some very difficult decisions during our term in government. Obviously we’d love to support every initiative but there simply isn’t the money.’

  ‘Well thank you both for coming,’ said Caroline, obviously keen to move the conversation on. ‘We appreciate you taking the time.’

  ‘So, tell us about this wonderful hall,’ said Tim, looking round at the peeling paint and cracked plaster. ‘Why is it so important?’

  ‘Let me show you round,’ gushed Pamela, clearly taken in by Tim’s charms.

  ‘Lead on, dear lady,’ smiled Tim with a reverent bow. Pamela giggled and I noticed John roll his eyes as he followed with the rest of us in tow.