Springtime at Hope Hall

by Pam Rhodes

  Most of the would-be slimmers were ladies, though the occasional man did dare to make an appearance. Every session started with a weigh-in. The members queued up to step onto the scales with an air of trepidation. There was no hiding from the indisputable reading on those scales. Everyone could tell from the reaction of Belinda, the leader of the group, whether the read-out showed a loss, which was loudly applauded, or had crept up, which attracted an embarrassing array of concerned and sympathetic expressions from other slimmers who were secretly glad that they had hit their weekly target when others had failed miserably.

  Sally Meadows and her friend Alison usually went along together to the club wearing the lightest clothes they could find in their wardrobes. They would also make a last-minute stop at the Ladies once inside the building so that the dreaded reading on the scales was as low as they could possibly make it. The timing of the club worked perfectly for them because they both had boys who went along to Beavers, which started in the main hall at five o’clock, the same time as the Slimming Club.

  On that Tuesday evening, as the Beavers were gathering in the foyer, Sally was trying to persuade her son Jason to change from his outdoor shoes just as Alison arrived with her son Finn. After several minutes of the boys giggling together and tangling in and out of sweatshirts and shoes, the mums sighed with relief as the boys finally disappeared into the hall.

  “See those two over there?” Sally whispered so that only her friend could hear.

  Alison followed her gaze towards a man and a woman who were chatting as they waited at the coffee machine for their hot drinks.

  “They do look very comfortable together, don’t you think?”

  “That’s Josh’s mum, isn’t it?” Alison said under her breath. “What’s her name? Isn’t it Claire? She’s nice. I met her at the parents’ evening just before Christmas.”

  “And do you know him?”

  Alison peered across at the tall man standing beside Claire. “If he turns this way I might recognize his face, but I don’t think I’ve seen him anywhere other than Beavers. His boy started a couple of weeks ago, didn’t he?”

  “He’s got twins. They’re in Jason’s class at school. He must work at home, I reckon, because he usually drops them off in the morning and picks them up again in the afternoon.”

  “Oh!” replied Alison, looking at him with extra interest. “Is he a single dad?”

  “Oh no, he has a very nice wife called Karen. I’ve coloured her hair when she’s come into our salon. Works all week in London, so she told me.”

  “And here he is—”

  “Sipping cappuccinos—”

  “And cosying up with Claire—”

  “Who is happily settled with Josh’s dad, I assume?”

  “Married, I believe.”

  Alison continued to stare across the room at the couple who were chatting comfortably together.

  “I think those two are worth keeping an eye on. Don’t you?” muttered Sally.

  “Definitely!” agreed Alison, as they both picked up their bags and walked out of the side door towards the old school hall.

  Totally unaware that they had become the objects of such interest and speculation, Gary and Claire took their seats at their usual table.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I wanted to apologize for pouring out all our family history last week. You must have thought you were in the company of a mad woman.”

  “Not at all. You’ve been through a tough time.”

  “Yes, but I shouldn’t have blabbed about it to someone I hardly know.”

  “Don’t they say it’s easier to tell your troubles to a stranger?”

  “Ah, but the thing is, I’m going to be seeing you every week when the boys are here at Beavers, so I’m not sure that really means you’re a stranger.”

  Gary grinned. “Just strange then, eh?”

  She laughed then, her shoulders visibly relaxing. Gary realized that she had probably been nervously preparing her apology for a while before this evening.

  “I’ve forgotten what we talked about last week already,” he assured her. “Terrible memory, you know!”

  “Well, I do remember you telling me that you’re a graphic artist. That sounds like an interesting career.”

  “It’s funny. I never think about it as a career. Perhaps because nowadays I don’t go off to work in the morning and come home at night, the way people with careers usually do.”

  “Is it hard to work at home? I think I’d find there are so many distractions: jobs that need to be done, shopping to organize, washing to put on, television programmes you can’t resist watching, meals to prepare. And the kids come back at half past three, so that’s your day gone.”

  Gary finished his last mouthful of coffee, shaking his head in agreement as he put the mug back on the table. “How right you are. That’s quite a problem when I’m working on a big project. I really do like peace and quiet to think things through and plan the artwork I need to prepare for my clients. I can be quite single-minded when I’m busy, which annoys Karen, because she can’t understand why I don’t get more done if I’m at home most of the day. She says it doesn’t take a minute to put on the washing machine or put the plates and cups in the dishwasher, but women are so good at multitasking, aren’t they?

  “It takes me ages to gather up all the right colour clothes, search through the pockets for paper tissues and any sticky sweets that might be lurking there, and then to work out what cycle they should be on in the washing machine. Then the clothes have got to be hung out to dry – and that takes me forever too. Don’t ask me why I find it so difficult. Karen always gives me precise instructions about where to put the pegs, which way up shirts should be hung, and how to organize socks so that they end up in the right pairs. But I’m terrified about getting it wrong, mostly because I always do.”

  “Well, Nigel would be just the same. I don’t think he’s ever used the washing machine in all the time I’ve known him. Apparently that’s what wives are for.”

  “And I used to feel exactly the same way. I’d always just thrown my socks inside out and shirts all buttoned up into the washing basket, and sometime later they’d appear back in my wardrobe washed, dried, ironed and folded. It was a wonderful service!”

  “Well, I guess that everything is more difficult if you have twin boys. Are their clothes and toys all identical? Do you have to make sure you get the right T-shirt back to the right son?”

  He laughed out loud. “You can’t imagine the trouble I get into trying to sort out what belongs to Max and what is actually Toby’s!”

  “Who minds most if you get it wrong – the boys or their mum?”

  “Mum probably. I’m still trying to remember which one of the Paw Patrol team each of the boys like best, because they’ve both got pyjamas with their favourite character. Karen thinks I’m not concentrating enough and I should try harder. But honestly, I just can’t remember. End of story. The boys think it’s hilarious when I get a ticking off. In fact, I suspect they deliberately change pyjama tops just to get me into trouble.”

  “It must be hard for Karen too, not being able to spend more time with you all.”

  “I think it was in the beginning – very hard for her, and incredibly hard for me too. She missed them a lot and I really missed her. I was so nervous about being completely in charge, especially as the boys were only toddlers then. I was worried I’d drown them in the bath, lose them at the shops, or poison them with my cooking.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t, and I came to understand that kids are really quite resilient. When they were small, we were both terrified about how tiny and needy they were. Karen found it hard to feed two hungry babies, so we ended up bottle-feeding, which meant we could share the job between us. But Karen just got to grips with everything much more easily and naturally than I did. I was all fingers and thumbs trying to put the nappies on, and when it came to preparing baby food for them as they got
on to the weaning stage, I made some terrible mistakes. Not that the boys seemed to notice at all. Bath times were what I dreaded most of all. They only need a couple of inches to drown, don’t they – just enough water to cover their mouth and nose? I lived on a knife-edge of fear once Karen went back to work, just hoping both boys would still be there and okay when she got back in the evening.”

  “But you’ve obviously got used to it. You’re great with the boys now.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I’ve finally worked out that in spite of their cack-handed, well-intentioned father, they will probably live to a ripe old age.”

  “And Karen? You said how much she missed them, but did she eventually get used to the idea of having to be away from them so much during the week?”

  “Yes. She rings up each lunchtime, just to make sure everything’s going okay, but her job is so demanding and I know that she has to close her mind off to what’s happening at home while she’s there.” “And how do you feel about that?”

  “I’ve got used to it, I suppose.”

  “And the boys?”

  His expression became more serious as he thought about the question.

  “Mostly, they’re absolutely fine. It’s normal for her not to be there, and they really don’t mind too much, because she is such a wonderful mum when she’s back home again. But if they’re ever ill or in trouble at school or uncertain about something, or they’ve fallen over and scraped their knee or elbow, then no one else but Mum will do. My cuddles aren’t a patch on hers. It’s Mum who always knows the right thing to do and say. They adore her. I sometimes think they just tolerate me because I’m the one who has to make them do their homework and tell them off when they’re naughty. I’m the parent who really can’t cook, who gets their toys and clothes mixed up, who forgets where they have to be and when, and always turns up last at the school gate. Compared to her, I’m a bit hopeless really.”

  Claire smiled. “I think you’re doing pretty well.”

  He smiled too as he asked, “Fancy another coffee?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “I’ll make them. Same as before?”

  “Yes, please. And I’ve just remembered that I brought along a couple of pieces of lemon drizzle cake that were left over in the staffroom after a retirement gathering today. Would you like some?”

  “Lemon drizzle is my all-time favourite! Let’s make sure we’ve eaten every crumb before the boys come out and catch us.”

  ***

  “Guess what!” beamed Doris, her knitting needles flying along the last sleeve of the matinee jacket she was making for her baby grandson Charlie, without her even looking down. “Ida is talking about coming along to Armchair Exercises. She says she won’t come this week, but perhaps next because she wants to see if anyone is still going by then.”

  Betty looked up from crocheting yet another square towards blankets for babies in Africa. “Well, that’s a surprise. I suppose that means her joints ache as much as all ours do, although I never thought she’d admit it.”

  “She says that she doesn’t trust a teacher as young as Della one single bit, and I suspect her aim is to prove her point by moaning about everything we do.”

  Betty chuckled. “Then again, she might find it really entertaining. You never know.”

  “Oh, I think we do.”

  “Do you reckon she’ll stay for the Dance Sing-along too? I love that.”

  “So do I. Tell you what – if Ida stays and stands at the front, we’ll find places at the back. Let’s just keep out of her way, and if she ends up moaning so everyone can hear her, we’ll pretend we don’t know her. Agreed?”

  A slow smile spread across Betty’s face. “Agreed – with brass knobs on!”

  Chapter 7

  Maggie glanced up from where she was serving a couple of customers at the Call-in Café just as their accountant Trevor walked in, with his wife Mary following several steps behind him. Uncharacteristically, the usually friendly Trevor marched through the foyer without a word, leaving Mary to sit down alone. She cut quite a forlorn figure, so as soon as Maggie was free, she walked over to pull up a chair beside her.

  “You okay? You look like someone who desperately needs a coffee.”

  When Mary turned her face towards her, Maggie was shocked to see that tears were leaving dark mascara tracks rolling down her cheeks.

  “Come around the back,” said Maggie kindly. “We’ll have our coffee in my office.”

  Minutes later, Maggie put down two cups on the desk and brought over a chair so that she could sit directly opposite Mary.

  “Bad day?”

  “You could say that,” sniffed Mary.

  “Would it help to talk about it?”

  “You’d be better off talking to Trevor. He’s the one who’s being unreasonable.”

  Maggie reached out to pull the lid off the biscuit tin she’d also brought in with her. “Tell me over a biscuit or two. There’s nothing in the world that a chocolate digestive can’t sort out.”

  “Well, it was an ordinary morning really. I always go to the supermarket on a Friday, and that’s exactly what happened. I did everything as usual: took the trolley round, filled it up, got to the checkout and paid – nothing out of the ordinary at all. But then, when I got back out to the car park, my car was nowhere to be seen. I walked round for ages, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. It had been stolen.”

  “Oh my dear, what a terrible shock for you!”

  “A security man there saw what a state I was in, and he put a call through to the manager, who came out and walked right round the car park with me to take another look. He was so kind. He took me through to his office while he called the police, and a lady arrived with a sweet cup of tea from the café. They couldn’t have been nicer.”

  “What did the police say?”

  “They came quite quickly. I just told them what had happened, and they asked me for all the details of the vehicle and about what might have been in it. They said they’d be on the look-out for the thieves right away, because they might still be in the area.”

  “Of course. These car thieves are so clever. How did the police think they got in?”

  “Ah, well, that’s when I realized it might just have been my fault. Trevor is always telling me off for leaving my key in the ignition. It’s so convenient at home, and because the car is way up the drive I’ve never thought there was any problem about leaving the door unlocked. I’ve always been dreadful for losing my keys, and that’s why I’ve found that leaving the key just where I need it in the car is a really sensible solution.”

  “And you think you might have left your key in the ignition at the supermarket car park?”

  Mary’s answer was no more than a nod as once again her eyes filled with tears.

  “And you knew that would be the first thing Trevor would think.”

  Beginning to understand, Maggie handed over another tissue so that Mary could blow her nose before she began speaking again.

  “I knew exactly what he’d say, so I kept putting off ringing him. I told the manager my husband had probably gone to work and I couldn’t disturb him. I really didn’t want Trevor giving me a lecture while all the supermarket staff were listening. In the end I said I needed some fresh air and went back out into the car park to call him.”

  “And you got through to him?”

  “Eventually, yes. I couldn’t get him at home, and his mobile phone rang for quite a while before he answered. But when he did, I just poured out the whole story – about coming to the supermarket, doing the shopping, and then finding the car had disappeared from the car park.”

  “And?”

  “And – well, at first I thought he’d got cut off, because he didn’t answer for ages. Then he said, really coldly, that he had driven me down to the supermarket that morning because he needed the car. I remembered then. We’d arranged that he’d come back and pick me up.”

  In horror, Maggie’s hands shot up to cover her mouth
.

  Mary let out a long, guilty sigh before she continued. “So I just asked him to come back and get me straight away.”

  “Good. Did he come?”

  “He said yes, he’d come – just as soon as he was able to persuade the two big policemen who had just arrested him for driving a stolen vehicle to let him go.”

  When Betty, Doris and Flora told Ida that numbers were creeping up for the Armchair Exercise class and the Dance Sing-along session that followed it, Ida simply dabbed her nose sniffily with her embroidered hankie and made no comment. She showed such a lack of interest that the ladies didn’t think she had any intention of following up on her suggestion that she might come along to see the classes for herself. In fact, they’d completely forgotten about the possibility of Ida coming at all, and had already bagged their seats in the second row when Ida lowered herself onto the chair beside them.

  “You came!” gasped Betty.

  “I may not stay.”

  Suddenly, Ronnie struck up a fanfare on the piano encouraging applause from the class as Della, this time wearing a pale pink tracksuit, strode into the centre of the stage to accept their adoration. Her eagle eyes quickly took in how much the class had grown since she’d started it.

  “I see we have newcomers in our midst,” she purred, locking her gaze for just a second with Ida’s stony glare. “So come on, the home team, let’s show them what they’ve been missing!”

  Again, she led them through a series of deceptively simple exercises that could be practised on, under, round and by their chairs. Their legs swung, their arms circled, their heels pumped up and down, their shoulders heaved, and their necks rolled first this way and then that. Nothing was too difficult, and the jaunty beat of Ronnie’s music certainly helped them all to keep going. Some of the frailer members relaxed and watched at various stages throughout the class, and others were panting heavily by the end of the half-hour. But generally there were broad smiles and a huge sense of achievement all round.