by Pam Rhodes
“There will be if she gets the right exercise. And that got me thinking. There are lots of old people out there who aren’t looking after themselves properly, so I’d like to run an exercise class for oldies.”
“They may not like being called that.”
“Oh, I’ll think of a name – that’s just a detail. But what I’m planning is a class that’s split into two. The first part would be armchair exercise, for people who can’t stand for long or who are a bit shaky on their pins, and then I’ll move on to more mobile dance moves that will just get them going. Lots of old songs they can sing along to, a bit of old-time dancing thrown in, but plenty of good, healthy moves too. It will be like zumba for the aged.”
Kath put her hand up to her mouth, hoping to hide the way her lips were twitching with amusement.
“Well, that’s certainly an interesting idea, but you will have to work on that title. I reckon both those suggestions could go down very well, though. A lot of people of fifty and above come here for a variety of activities throughout the week. I can think of quite a few who might be interested in a class of that sort.”
“That’s settled then. What else do you need to know?”
“Do you see these three classes being run in one long session, or would you want to spread them throughout the week?”
“All in one session on a weekday evening would work best for me. Supposing I start at four o’clock, then I’d run those classes for grannies until about five. After that, there would be a bit of a break while the groups change over before I start the tap class from five-fifteen until six-fifteen. Then I’d have another break of fifteen minutes before the street dancing class gets underway at six-thirty until seven-forty-five. A quarter of an hour for clearing up, and we’ll be out by eight. How does that sound?”
“It sounds as if you have certainly put a lot of thought into all this. We’ll need to talk in detail about fees, insurance and any particular facilities you need us to provide—”
“I’d like a piano for the first two classes. There’s one in the hall already, isn’t there?”
Kath nodded.
“I’ll bring along my music system for everything else.”
“Will you need changing rooms?”
Della frowned as she considered the question. “Probably not. Most people will come dressed in dance gear or loose clothes. They might like to buy drinks, if they’re on offer.”
“Opening the bar, even just for soft drinks, would be an extra expense – but there’s a very good coffee machine in the foyer, and a cold drinks dispenser too. On the other hand, it may be easiest if you just ask them to bring along with them whatever soft drinks they’d like.”
“What night then? Have you got an evening free?”
“How about Thursdays from four till eight?”
“Perfect!”
“Well, I’ll discuss your proposals with the committee and come back to you within a day or two.”
Della clapped her hands together like an excited child, before springing up with the speed of a gazelle. “It will be great. I promise you, it will!”
And practically pirouetting out of Kath’s office, she disappeared from view.
Jen snatched up the phone the moment she saw Carol’s name on the screen.
“Where have you been? It’s bedlam here. You know I can’t open up the playgroup on my own. There’s a queue of mums and kids standing on the doorstep.”
“It’s the car again!” wailed Carol at the other end of the line. “It conked out in the middle of that big roundabout near the station. Everyone was hooting at me and shouting out of their windows – and I’ve got Little Joe in the back. A lorry driver and his mate got out and helped me push it down a side street, but I don’t know what to do.”
Jen could hear the utter despair in her friend’s voice.
“Have you called Phil?”
“A fat lot of good that would do. If he won’t listen at home when I tell him what a wreck my car is, he’s not going to listen while he’s in the office, is he? He’s far too busy for that!”
“Breakdown cover?”
“If I had it, I’d be ringing them instead of you.”
Jen looked up with relief to see that the two other playgroup assistants, Fleur and Marie, had just arrived, ushering excited children and exasperated parents into the school hall along with them.
“Tell me exactly where you are, and I’ll ring Rob. He’ll be at the garage by now. He’ll sort something out.”
“Tell him I’m parked in that small layby outside the newsagents in Station Road. Can you hear Little Joe screaming in the back? He’s hungry and doesn’t know what’s going on. Honestly, Jen, I know how he feels. I could just bawl my eyes out right now.”
“I know, love. That car of yours has got to go. Look, stay put and don’t worry. Rob won’t let you down, whatever he’s doing. He’ll be there before you know it.”
True to her word, a mechanic’s truck pulled alongside Carol’s car ten minutes later. Carol heaved a sigh of relief as the familiar figure of Rob climbed out and walked towards her car. They had all been friends since they were teenagers. The boys had played in the same football team, and it was at a post-match party when they were all sixteen that Carol and her best friend Jen had met Rob and his best mate Phil. They’d hit it off immediately as friends, falling naturally into couples who had stayed together ever since. Several years later when Rob and Jen were the first to tie the knot, Phil was best man and Carol the maid of honour. The roles were reversed the next year when Phil and Carol followed them up the aisle.
Whereas Jen was blonde and petite, Rob was tall and dark, with broad shoulders and huge hands that worked with surprising dexterity and skill as he checked one part of Carol’s car engine after another.
“Try turning it over now,” he shouted from under the bonnet.
The car started first time. Carol let out a long sigh of relief as she slumped back in the seat, sitting up again abruptly when Rob’s face peered through the side window. He glanced over to where Little Joe had now thankfully fallen into exhausted slumber, having shrieked for most of the last half-hour.
“Tell that stupid husband of yours that this old rust bucket has got to go. You’re not safe driving it, especially not with Little Joe in the back.”
“Oh Rob, you know what he’s like. We’ve got a lot of bills at the moment. Phil won’t see this as a priority.”
“You mean he’s an old skinflint! You need a new car, Carol. Tell him!”
“Honestly, we haven’t got the money to spare right now.”
Rob went silent for a while as he considered the options.
“Well, you know I’m always keeping an eye out for good used cars that I can sell on. I can sort you out a run-around that’s safe and reliable and doesn’t cost a fortune. You know I’d see you right.”
“Oh, that would be great, but the money’s just not there…”
He thumped the roof of the car with the palm of his hand. “Well, Phil’s got his shiny new company car, hasn’t he, so he’s okay. He’s being selfish, Carol, and it’s not right. This old banger is dangerous.”
His expression suddenly softened as he realized she was near to tears.
“Look, use the car now, but if you can possibly manage without it for a day, drop it into the garage later this week, and I’ll do whatever I can to check the basics and keep it running for you.”
“Thank you so much, Rob. You’re a life-saver. And I will tell Phil what you said.”
“I’ll tell him myself. I’ll give him a piece of my mind, the old miser!” And with a quick peck on Carol’s cheek, Rob waved over his shoulder as he headed back to the truck.
Minutes later, Carol turned into the car park at the back of the old school building. She lifted out her son and her huge bag that seemed to contain everything in the world she ever needed, then hurried into the hall, where the playgroup was in full swing, just as it was on any weekday morning. Hanging their coats up, sh
e changed Little Joe into his soft play shoes before leading him in to join another two-year-old boy who was in the sand pit. The toddlers eyed each other with suspicion before Little Joe launched himself into the pit with a screech of delight.
Jen looked up and mouthed the word “okay?” from the table at which she was sitting with three older girls, all of them engrossed in sorting out paints, crayons and glitter glue for the art masterpieces they were about to start. Carol nodded and with a thumbs-up hurried towards the snack corner, knowing she was already way behind in preparing for the early morning break, which should have started ten minutes earlier. Nimbly she sliced up fresh fruit and vegetable sticks, then buttered and filled fingershaped brown bread sandwiches, which she placed alongside the small, square oatmeal biscuits that she’d made at home the evening before.
Carol felt as if she didn’t stop for breath for the rest of the morning, but then playgroup was always like that. With twenty children under the age of four in their care, there was never a dull moment. Time sped by, with toilet visits, tantrums and tears, along with the spills, stories, falls and giggles that claimed every second of her time until the final mum arrived, several minutes later than she should, to collect her darling offspring. Clearing up at the end of each morning was a work of art that the playgroup team had mastered to perfection. Fleur and Marie were both out of the door within ten minutes of the finish time, leaving Jen to flop down in a chair as Carol placed a cup of coffee in her hand.
Several sips and two chocolate biscuits later, Jen glanced over at Carol, who had Little Joe on her lap as she tried to drink her coffee.
“What’s up with the car then? Did Rob say it needed to be put out of its misery?”
In spite of her exhaustion, Carol grinned. “Yes, but he was great. He got it working again in no time. It is on its last legs, though.”
“What did Phil say?”
“Nothing. I couldn’t get through to him. He was in a meeting.”
“But he’s rung back?”
Carol fumbled around in the bottom of her voluminous bag to pull out her mobile. Pushing a few buttons in quick succession, she stared at the screen. “Nope. No call from him.”
Jen shook her head in disbelief. “You had Little Joe in the car – his son! There could have been an accident with you in that old banger, stuck there like a sitting target on that great big roundabout. And it was rush hour, for heaven’s sake. It’s always a nightmare then. He should have got back to you.”
Carol plainly agreed, but took another sip of coffee rather than reply.
“How are you two?” Jen asked, in a casual tone of voice. “Getting on okay?”
“Sort of,” shrugged Carol.
Jen looked sharply at her. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, you know Phil. He’s always been the same. He’s not a man to show much emotion.”
Jen grunted. “Except for that precious old bike of his.”
Carol grinned. “That precious vintage bike of his, you mean.”
“It’s a pile of old scrap metal—”
“It’s a rare specimen that needs a bit of TLC.”
“It’s you that needs the TLC,” huffed Jen. “How many hours each week does he spend on that bloomin’ bike? How about his wife and son? They need a bit of attention too.”
Carol shrugged. “We’re okay. Marriage is like that, isn’t it? Ups and downs.”
Jen took a gulp of coffee and said nothing. The silence between them spoke volumes. Suddenly, Jen reached across and squeezed her friend’s arm.
“Come on then. My feet hurt and I need to get home. See you tomorrow – even if you and Little Joe arrive perched on your pedal bike.”
Shirley started work at Hope Hall two weeks into January. Ray came in that morning to introduce her to the cleaning cupboard, the equipment and the key people she needed to know.
By the end of her second day, there were fresh flowers in pretty jugs in each of the cloakroom areas, and in every cubicle the last sheet of toilet paper was folded into a neat triangle as if in a hotel suite. Taps shone, floors gleamed with polish and there was a new notice alongside the basins, which read:
Please leave this room as you would wish to find it.
By order of THE MANAGEMENT
The following week, she spring-cleaned the kitchen, turning out the huge old store cupboard that had depths to it that no one had dared to plunder for as long as anyone could remember. Fearlessly, Shirley waded in, pulling out old cardboard boxes and plastic containers, and then scrubbing the walls to within an inch of the brickwork before putting only half of the original contents neatly back inside again. Maggie said that Shirley had unearthed tins, packets and bits of cooking equipment that hadn’t seen the light of day for years, some of them dating back to an era long before Maggie had come in with her own modern set of utensils and preferences.
The two women hit it off straight away. Everyone knew when Shirley was in the building – sometimes for all the wrong reasons, as her distinctive cackle of laughter could be heard corridors away, wherever she was. She bellowed across the yard at one of the playgroup mums as both she, and her two young children, casually threw sweet papers onto the ground. She directed an outburst of colourful language at a delivery man who tried to leave the wrong parcel with them when she could see the right one still sitting in the van. She brushed every tiny crumb off the tables at the Call-in Café, told raucous stories to giggling groups of elderly lady members of the Grown-ups’ Lunch Club, and over the weekend had washed and ironed all the curtains in the building (except the huge stage drapes, which she told Ray she was planning to steam clean in situ) so that they were back on the rails, radiantly fresh and smelling of lemons, by first thing on Monday morning.
For the first two weeks Ray popped in often, watching her work, giving a piece of advice here or a slight criticism there – but it wasn’t long before he realized that Shirley had not only got everything he’d asked for in hand, but a good deal more besides. In one of their quieter moments, when the two of them had sat down to enjoy a cup of tea, Shirley asked Ray about his family. Before he knew it, he had told her about Sara, and the awful illness that was eating away at her health and her naturally sunny personality. With surprising sensitivity, Shirley understood. Kindly and firmly, she ushered Ray out of the building, saying that she’d be happy to drop in to do a bit of housework to help him out any time at all – “free of charge, I’m your friend”.
Her kindness touched Ray. He had always kept his worries to himself, but he was discovering that there were several people at Hope Hall who quietly and thoughtfully let him know that their help was there if he and Sara needed it. Kath, in particular, was certainly proving to be a wonderful friend. As good as her word, she’d arrived at the house a few days after their conversation about the Hospice at Home nurses with a member of the team standing beside her. Sara and Ray began by listening politely, knowing for sure that their service wouldn’t interest them at all. Half an hour and a cup of tea later, it was all arranged. A nurse would be calling in every day to monitor Sara and discuss her immediate needs. If Ray needed someone to sit with Sara when he had to be out during the day, or perhaps overnight if her pain was particularly troublesome, they could cover that time. This would mean that Ray could get his own much-needed rest. The kindly, practical, experienced approach of the whole hospice team took the couple by surprise. This was right. They both knew it as they held hands to tell Kath and the nurse that they would welcome any help available to them.
Ray’s spirits were cheered even more as he saw how Sara flourished under the new arrangement. It was as if a burden of worry had been lifted from her shoulders, and he realized that he had probably been that burden. She loved him, and worried about the extra work her illness was creating for him. Knowing that the hospice team were as concerned about his welfare as hers, she relaxed into their care, sleeping more peacefully, eating with more enthusiasm and looking better than he’d seen her for a while.
; It was an illusion though. He knew that she was fading. He could see the same knowledge in her eyes when she looked at him. He would simply put his arm around her thin shoulders and bury a kiss in her curls, sparse and thin now from the effects of age and illness.
“Love you to the moon and back,” he’d murmur, and she’d smile up at him.
“Love you more.”
And their lips would meet with all the sweet tenderness of a long lifetime of love and understanding.
Chapter 3
As soon as she got the go-ahead from the Hope Hall committee, Della went into overdrive promoting her new dance classes.
When Kath said she was planning to get a mention of the classes in the What’s On section of the local free paper, and that a few basic posters around the foyer would probably help too, Della’s expression was a picture.
“Thanks, but that’s really not enough. We’ve got to get it out there. Social media’s the way. Leave it all to me. I’ll design the posters and give you the wording for the paper too. Right?”
“Right,” agreed Kath, half relieved to have the job taken off her hands, half concerned about just how Della would describe her new ventures.
Two days later, with a flourish of excited achievement, Della laid the poster designs across Kath’s desk. Kath glanced at the first one. The large lettering in the middle was surrounded by comical little cartoons of elderly people looking miserable, with mobile scooters and zimmer frames, or nursing sore backs, shoulders and feet.
Are you feeling your age? Stiff as a board?
Can’t reach your toes? Come and get moving!
ARMCHAIR EXERCISE followed by DANCE SING-ALONG
for the OLD but BOLD!
THURSDAYS 4 p.m.
MAIN HALL
Kath chose her words carefully. “It’s certainly eye-catching. You don’t think people will be offended by being described as old?”
“They are old. That’s the point. No, this poster is exactly right. It’s what I want. Now, what do you think of this one?”
The next poster had pictures of shoes and musical notes dotted across it.
