Searching for a Silver Lining

by Miranda Dickinson

  Mattie grimaced. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

  ‘Relax. It’s just a few old biddies who’ll share a nice cup of tea with you when it’s all over.’ She straightened back and looked at Mattie. ‘How many people did Gaynor say she was expecting?’

  ‘About thirty. Quite a few residents go to their families’ homes for Sunday lunch so she said it wouldn’t be the full contingent.’ She shot a quick smile at her assistant. ‘It’s all going to be great, I’m sure.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ Laurie hopped out of the camper van and joined Mattie at its side door, helping her to pull out a large box of vintage objects and an enormous wheeled suitcase. ‘Blimey, have you packed Percy in this case? It weighs a ton!’

  ‘Think of the money you’ll save on gym fees,’ Mattie laughed as they headed into the main building, hearing Laurie’s puffs and groans as she wheeled the enormous suitcase behind her.

  When they entered the room, both women stopped dead.

  Beauvale’s bright but overheated communal barn was packed with residents, its exposed oak beams reverberating with loud conversation from the gathered crowd.

  ‘There are hundreds of them!’ Laurie hissed. ‘How do they fit them all in the buildings? Ten to a room?’

  ‘Maybe they all have multiple bunk-beds,’ Mattie grinned back. Laurie had a point. There seemed far too many people here for the number of converted outbuildings and cottages in the retirement village’s plot. Her stomach somersaulted again at the prospect of addressing such a crowd. She should have coaxed Jack into helping. He would relish an audience like this.

  ‘Where do we put the stuff?’ Laurie asked, still whispering, casting her eyes warily around the room at the already seated, loudly impatient crowd.

  ‘Gaynor will tell us. There she is – follow me.’

  Mattie headed quickly to the far side of the oak-gabled room where Gaynor – resplendent in a yellow daisy-covered maxi-dress and sparkly orange scarf – was fussing over the refreshment table. ‘Gaynor, hi.’

  ‘Mattie! You’re here! Excellent! And you must be Laura?’

  Laurie’s smile was more gritted teeth than grin. ‘Laurie.’

  ‘Excellent! What about the turnout, eh? Unbelievable! My colleague Nancy from Springhill Retirement in Stone Yardley has bussed over a bunch of her residents because she loved the idea of the Memory Day so much. So, we have something of a full house. Now, I’ve put out two trestles at the front with white tablecloths – see them? Pop all the things on there and we’ll get cracking in about ten minutes, yes?’

  Mattie realised her hands were shaking as she and Laurie filled the display tables with books, items of clothing, magazines, records, old telephones, coffee pots, cups and saucers, radios and vintage scent bottles. Loud oohs went up from some of the elderly ladies nearest the front as they began to spot familiar objects and the noise level of chatter rose several notches in the room.

  ‘I’m so nervous,’ Mattie confessed to her colleague.

  ‘Me too. But if I was you right now I’d be petrified.’ Laurie handed her a CD player disguised as a Fifties-style record player, and hurried off to find an extension lead to plug it into the wall.

  The tables laid, Mattie hid the boxes behind the long white tablecloths reaching almost to the floor and stood up to smooth the front of her Dior-inspired black and white circle-skirt. The coolness of the satin fabric calmed her as she took in a deep breath.

  ‘I had one of them.’

  Mattie started and looked round to see a small, bright-eyed old lady leaning on an opulent-looking carved mahogany cane. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘One of them skirts like you’ve got on. Dior New Look – back when clothes made women look like proper women. Bought for me from Paris itself. Only mine had a daft poodle on it.’ The lady’s broad Liverpudlian accent stood out a mile in a roomful of Staffordshire locals. But then, so did its owner. She was dressed not in the greys, beiges and muted pastels of her fellow residents, but in scarlet – a matching sweater and skirt with red kitten heels, a startling choice for a woman of her years. Her hair was immaculate, the only concession to her age the silver grey of her curls, tinted with a faint lilac wash. Two strings of large pearls lay around her neck, huge gold hoop earrings competed with the necklace for attention, and on her wrist an expensive-looking gold watch glinted in the light from the halogen spotlights high in the barn roof.

  Mattie liked her immediately.

  ‘This is a replica, I’m afraid,’ she admitted, lowering her voice a little. ‘I couldn’t afford an original Dior.’

  ‘Secret’s safe with me, kid,’ the lady grinned, tapping the side of her nose with a scarlet-painted fingernail. ‘We’re not all millionaires, are we?’

  ‘Thanks, I owe you.’ Remembering her manners, Mattie offered her hand. ‘Mattie Bell – pleased to meet you.’

  The old woman’s eyes twinkled like a naughty two-year-old’s. ‘Reenie Silver. And the pleasure’s all mine.’

  ‘Cooo-eeee! If we can all just have a bit of hush, please?’

  Gaynor’s voice chirped loudly across the room, calling the nattering residents to order as she headed towards Mattie. Reenie Silver rolled her eyes and positively sashayed over to claim her seat in the front row. Mattie noticed with amusement that several of the male residents sitting near her were casting winks in the old lady’s direction.

  ‘Lovely. Smashing. Well, everybody, have we got a treat for you today? Yes indeed! It is my very great pleasure to welcome Matilda Bell from Bell Be-Bop vintage shop in the village. She’s come today to talk a little about what she does. And I know that many of you have already spotted the things Miss Bell has kindly brought with her from her shop. So after she’s chatted to us, there will be lots of time to come up and see the items while we serve tea and coffee. And, as an extra treat, our very own Winnie has been busy in the kitchen making her famous butterfly buns.’

  This announcement was met with louder rumbles of approval than the rest of Gaynor’s speech, but it helped Mattie to relax a little. In a popularity contest between her and cake, she was more than happy to come second. Gaynor finally stepped aside to give Mattie the floor . . .

  The speech passed in a blur, Mattie finding her feet as her enthusiasm for her business overtook her nerves. Gaynor had judged the audience correctly: once into her talk Mattie noticed their eyes straying past her to the goodies laid out on the tables behind, and the not-so-whispered conversations about objects they recognised. At the end, following polite applause, Beauvale’s director, Dr William Lancaster, stepped forward to thank her, and relief flooded her frame as the residents and guests hurried from their seats towards the tables.

  Reenie Silver headed straight for Mattie. ‘You were bleedin’ good, you were.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so. Takes guts to face a crowd on yer own. I should know. The room loves you. Haven’t seen this lot so excited over anything for months. It’s like God’s waiting room in here most of the time. Depressing, when you’ve lived life as much as me.’

  It was impossible not to smile when talking to the vibrant old lady, Mattie thought. Throughout her talk her eyes had kept being drawn to the lady in red, who appeared to be sitting in regal splendour, even though her chair was identical to all the others in the converted barn space.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll let you go and get a cuppa. I expect you’re gaspin’. Nice to meet you, Mattie Bell.’

  Mattie watched the crowd of residents part like the Red Sea as Reenie sailed between them to the Bell Be-Bop tables.

  I hope I’m that confident when I’m her age, she thought.

  ‘Excellent presentation, Miss Bell,’ William Lancaster smiled as he approached, carrying two cups and saucers. ‘I took the liberty of bringing you a cup of tea.’

  ‘That’s kind, thank you.’

  ‘And I see you’ve met our resident celebrity.’ He nodded in the direction of the old lady in red.

  ‘She’s quite a character,’
Mattie replied.

  ‘Reenie’s much more than that. Quite famous in her day, by all accounts. She was a singer with The Silver Five in the 1950s – have you heard of them?’

  Mattie’s world seemed to screech to a halt. ‘The Silver Five?’

  Mistaking her shock for confusion, Dr Lancaster continued. ‘They aren’t as well remembered now as some of their contemporaries, although their songs have been revived over the years. I think Tom Jones covered ‘Because You Loved Me’ once. That’s the song they’re remembered for. Well, our Reenie was a rising star of British rock ’n’ roll in the fifties. I think she did some TV work in the seventies on variety shows with Cilla Black and Lulu, too.’

  Mattie had heard the story of The Silver Five so many times she could have recited it by heart. Grandpa Joe had fallen in love with them as a young man in his twenties, and for many years seemed to be one of the few who truly appreciated their music. His vinyl records of their songs were his most prized possessions. Had he not broken all ties with Mattie before his death, she was certain she would now own them. I was their biggest fan, she remembered him saying, her heart breaking as the sound of his voice flooded her mind. Only had the chance to see them perform once. But I missed the concert and it turned out to be their last. He’d always looked so sad when he’d said it, a glimpse of the young man he once was flickering across his pale blue eyes. Then he would rally, putting one of the records onto the creaking turntable of his beloved record player and grabbing Mattie’s hand to twirl her to the sweet-sounding close harmonies and cheery skiffle rhythms of their songs.

  Mattie looked over to the front of the room, where a group of elderly residents were picking up items from her shop. Reenie stood out a mile, but it was more than just her chosen colour of clothing. It was as if she was surrounded by light, her every move watched by those around her. Grandpa Joe called that kind of presence a ‘Ready-Brek glow’. The memory of her grandfather caused a stab in her heart, and she looked quickly down into her half-empty teacup.

  ‘Ah, let me get you another. You must be thirsty after your wonderful talk,’ Dr Lancaster offered, mistaking her demeanour for thirst. He took the teacup from Mattie’s hands and hurried away through the crowd of residents. Mattie let out a sigh and kicked an invisible pebble with her flowered kitten heels. Would Grandpa Joe’s memory ambush her forever?

  ‘Penny for ’em?’

  The enigmatic old lady had traversed the room with impressive speed and was practically face to face with Mattie when she looked up. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Pardon me for noticing. Only you look like someone wazzed on your chips, love.’

  Mattie suppressed a laugh. ‘I’m fine. Sorry.’

  Reenie shrugged. ‘No need to apologise. We all have our moments.’

  ‘Dr Lancaster was telling me that you’re a famous singer?’

  The old lady clicked her false teeth behind pursed ruby lips. ‘Should have been more’n I was, truth be told. But that’s a story for me memoirs.’ A wicked twinkle flashed in her pale grey eyes. ‘Singer with The Silver Five – named after myself, of course – 1951 to ’56. Then solo until 1980. Almost had my own TV show, I did. Headlined five weeks at The Sands in Vegas, ’71. Bloody tedious cruise-ship tours after that. But back in the day, they said I was the British Connie Francis. And now here I am: doyenne of Beauvale Retirement Village. Piggin’ Lulu can’t say that, now can she?’

  Mattie almost told Reenie about Grandpa Joe. But it didn’t seem right, somehow. Besides, the sting of loss was so keen today that she doubted she could find the words. Instead, she observed Reenie Silver with interest, trying to imagine her as the beautiful, raven-haired songstress who had led a group so seemingly destined for greatness – and had stolen her grandfather’s heart many years ago.

  One thing was certain: Reenie had lost none of her ability to command a room. She seemed so at odds with the other old folks, her brassiness unexpected in a lady of her age. When a gentleman who must have been in his late eighties tottered up and offered to accompany her to the refreshment table, Reenie shot him down in flames.

  ‘Away with yer, Stan Massey. Last time I took your arm you were after goosing me – and don’t you deny it. Three husbands I’ve had and the last one that tried your trick ended up with a bloody nose!’

  As the pensioner slunk away, a titter broke out from a timid group of ladies standing nearby. Mattie had noticed them earlier, following Reenie around as she prowled the room, always maintaining a respectful distance, yet clearly hanging on her every word.

  ‘Please don’t let me keep you from your friends,’ Mattie said, suddenly concerned that she might be hogging Beauvale’s resident celebrity.

  ‘Who? That lot? They’re not my friends, girl!’ Reenie scoffed, leaning a little closer to Mattie but maintaining a speaking volume loud enough for her hangers-on to hear. ‘I call them the Three Furies. On account of how the sight of them makes me bleedin’ furious.’

  ‘Do you like it here?’ Mattie asked, the question leaving her lips before she thought better of it. Reenie seemed out of place in the retirement village, even if she clearly ruled the roost. Grandpa Joe’s words about places like this had been playing on her mind: It’s just a pretty-pretty holding cell for old fuddy-duddies until they pop off. You’d never get me in one of those places . . .

  ‘Can’t complain. Staff are okay, food doesn’t kill yer.’ She cast a sideways glance at Mattie and let out a deliberately heavy sigh. ‘Just wish I had family to visit, you know.’

  ‘You don’t have any family?’

  ‘That’s not to say I haven’t lived, of course. I’ve lived more than most people get a chance to. Three marriages and more money than I know what to do with. But it’s not the same when nobody comes to see you.’

  ‘You don’t have any living relatives at all?’

  ‘A few, but they’re distant in every sense of the word.’

  ‘And no friends?’

  ‘Plenty of them – in here. But none from me life. Just the way it is, Mattie. I don’t make the rules. Still, it’s a shame. I mean, I watch all these other sad beggars jumped on by family every weekend and I’m a bit jealous of them, you know, being on me tod and that. You get used to it, ’course. That’s what a lifetime on the road teaches you.’ Reenie turned to gaze up at Mattie, a beatific smile on her face, and to her horror Mattie saw a single burgeoning tear in the corner of the old lady’s left eye.

  It was just so sad. For all her illustrious past and considerable material means, Reenie Silver was lonely – a fact that made Mattie want to cry with her. Grandpa Joe might have cut her out of his life, but he was never alone. When Grandma Bell had passed away seven years ago, the whole family had rallied round, determined that their beloved patriarch be loved and cared for. The thought of him ever being alone or lonely was abhorrent to them: he had founded the family and his place was right at the beating heart of it. How could anyone allow an elderly relative to exist without visiting them? In the final months of Grandpa Joe’s life, Mattie’s one consoling thought had been that he was surrounded by so much love from the rest of her relatives. She might have been denied the chance to spend time with him, but everyone else in the Bell clan was taking up the slack.

  The idea came about as easily as breathing; later, Mattie would marvel at how spontaneous it had been, especially given her recent reticence about every other aspect of her life.

  ‘I’d visit you. If you’d like?’

  Reenie Silver stared up at her and for a moment Mattie worried she might have taken offence at the offer. ‘You’d do that – for me?’

  ‘I’d love to. I—’ Mattie gulped back the tug of emotion in her throat. ‘I lost my grandpa last month and I still miss him. His stories about the Fifties made me want to start my business. I would be honoured to hear yours – if you’d care to share them?’

  Maybe learning about his favourite band will bring me closer to him . . .

  Reenie folded her arms. ‘So a trade-off, eh? I ge
t a visitor and you get someone to fill the gap left by your grandpa?’

  Mattie wouldn’t have exactly phrased it like that, but it seemed a decent enough idea. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You might be on to something there.’ The twinkle returned as Reenie dabbed the lone tear from her eye with a lace handkerchief produced from a sleeve of her sweater. ‘But I have one condition.’

  ‘Name it.’

  Reenie tugged at Mattie’s elbow to move them a little distance away from the Three Furies, who were watching like over-anxious prairie dogs. ‘Bring us some of them posh violet crèmes from the chocolate shop in the village when you come, okay? Nurses won’t let me have them, see. Cholesterol, apparently. I’m eighty-four years old: why do I have to worry about cholesterol at my age? More likely to be bumped off by the wine in me coat cupboard I’m not supposed to be drinking.’

  All things considered, a bag of artisan chocolates was a small price to pay if it meant Mattie could feel close to Grandpa Joe again. All her life she had heard of his love of Reenie’s old group, yet she knew so little about any of the members. Talking about a period of time he’d had in common with Reenie would bring Mattie back to her life before the ultimatum, long before the rift was made, when she would sit for hours indulging in deliciously evocative details of her grandfather’s stories. The former singing star fascinated her, and the chance to learn more about her illustrious past was too enticing to miss.

  ‘Deal,’ Mattie said, feeling the strength in the old lady’s handshake as they traded smiles. ‘When shall we start?’

  ‘Next Sunday,’ Reenie replied, not missing a beat. ‘And don’t forget the contraband.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)’ – Etta James

  Kings Sunbury was quiet and still beneath a pink-gold dawn sky when Mattie headed out to work on Monday morning. She hadn’t slept well, but that was nothing new. Since moving into her rented home sleep had eluded her regularly. It was as if the moment her head touched the newly purchased pillow on her temporary bed it began to fizz with questions she’d kept at bay during the day.