by Laura Marney
‘Aye, and the people that made them are probably on starvation wages,’ says Dezzie, walking right into Alice’s trap.
‘Talking of starvation,’ says Maria, jumping up from her chair, ‘these customers won’t serve themselves. Right then, we’d better get on with our work experience, eh? Now, where do you want us, Alice?’
Chapter 41
Maria wants to set a good example and create a strong work ethic in Blue Group and so begins by rolling up her sleeves enthusiastically. Alice has stopped cackling.
‘It’s just that I’m not sure where I can put you all,’ she says. ‘As you can see, we’ve plenty of help at the moment.’
‘There must be something we can do.’
‘I’m sorry, Maria; I don’t see how this is going to work. It’s dangerous with the hot plates and everything. Why don’t you all sit down and we can get you some soup. Anyone fancy a nice plate of soup?’
Fiona, Jane, and Martin agree they would like a nice plate of soup even though they had lunch only an hour ago. They are nervous of working in the café but eating is something they are quite confident about.
‘Or there’s lovely jam roly-poly, made with Margaret’s own home-made jam, fresh out of the oven.’
‘Alice, stop,’ says Maria. ‘It’s hardly work experience, is it?’
‘Well,’ Alice says, hastily assembling more chairs round a table in a quiet corner, ‘let’s take this slow. One step at a time. Maybe to begin with the girls can serve the rest of you and then…’
Alice looks at the boys, her eyes trailing slowly across Brian, her expression a mixture of sympathy and exasperation.
‘And then we’ll see how we get on from there. I’m sorry Maria, that’s the best I can do at the moment.’
Maria sighs.
‘Okay.’
What else can she do?
‘Now Fiona and Jane, is it? Yes. Do you want to come with me into the kitchen and you can pick up your customers orders?’
‘I want crisps,’ says Fiona petulantly.
Maria knows that if any of them are going to let her down it’s going to be Fiona. Usually, to encourage her to do anything, Maria has to bribe Fiona with a packet of crisps. She has a few emergency packets of cheese and onion in her bag just in case, but Fiona will have to learn that a normal working environment does not include regular crisp breaks.
‘Fiona, we talked about this, we’re not having crisps. If you’re hungry, you can have soup in a minute,’ Maria says in a quiet, controlled voice. ‘But first you do your work experience.’
‘No,’ says Fiona, mimicking her tone, ‘first, I take the orders.’
‘Quite right, Fiona,’ says Alice. ‘D’you want to ask the customers what they want?’
Maria drums her fingers on the Formica table and tries to focus on this being a first step towards valid work experience rather than a hopeless charade.
‘Come on then Fiona, ask us.’
‘What d’you want?’ Fiona moans.
Martin takes his role as customer seriously.
‘Mmm,’ he says thoughtfully, ‘what flavour of jam is the roly-poly?’
‘Strawberry,’ says Alice.
‘Strawberry,’ repeats Fiona.
‘I see. And the soup?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Martin,’ says Maria, ‘will you hurry up and order something?’
‘It’s lentil and tomato,’ says Alice, ‘delicious, I can recommend it,’
‘Hmmm, lentil and tomato, you say?’
Martin considers this for a minute.
‘Yes, well, I’ll have the soup then, please. And the roly- poly.’
‘Good choice,’ says Dezzie. ‘I’ll go with the soup.’
‘Soup for me too, thank you,’ says Maria. ‘Brian, what would you like?’
‘Lobster.’
Maria sighs.
‘The lobster’s off. Do you want something or not?’
Even as she’s saying it Maria remembers how self-conscious Brian is about eating in public. She has annoyed him and he’ll probably sulk all day now.
‘Not.’ says his Dynavox pleasantly, but Brian’s face is dark with teenage fury.
‘Right, so that’s three lentil and tomato soups and one rolypoly, please Fiona.’
Fiona and Jane stand waiting for further instruction. With the noise and the steam and all the grief Fiona is giving her, Maria’s head is starting to pound.
‘Go on, off you go, Jane, you and Fiona go with Alice, she’ll give you the soup. Bring one plate each and be careful. Take your time, there’s no rush.’
‘Don’t want to,’ says Fiona.
Maria tugs Fiona’s sleeve.
‘D’you want to sing in the show, Fiona?’
Fiona pulls away aggressively but doesn’t reply.
‘Well then, can you bring us our order, please?’
Alice shepherds the two women away and Maria lets her breath out. Her hand has been clamped hard on her chest. When she takes it away she knows Dezzie will see the unattractive red mark it will leave.
She’s annoyed with Fiona for trying to embarrass her in front of Alice and especially in front of Dezzie. Ever since she and Dezzie started dating Fiona has been playing up, almost as if she knows there’s something between them and is deliberately trying to make Maria look bad in front of him.
While they are waiting, Maria spots Ray coming into the café, flanked by Aldo. He’s rolling a cigarette while he walks but he lifts his head and smiles and nods as people greet him. Everyone here seems to know him. Even the weirdos from the Victory Mission are apparently his friends. As he walks into the kitchen Maria can hear appreciative giggles from the old ladies. Everybody loves Raymond.
‘Look,’ says Dezzie, nodding towards Ray and Aldo, ‘even the gangsters come here. Are you not taking this social inclusion a bit too far, Maria?’
‘Gangsters? Ray’s a gangster?’
‘I don’t know about that. His wee pal Aldo is anyway, or he thinks he is. I saw him in the Hexton Arms, in the gents.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘Dealing, I think, but he was up to something. He was talking to some guy, heavy atmosphere, I walked in on something.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing. Walked straight back out again.’
Maria takes a closer look at Aldo. He’s standing with Ray, laughing at something Alice has said. Alice slaps at him with her tea towel and Aldo steps back, pretending to be wounded. Then, apparently on Alice’s order, he lifts a tray and begins to clear dirty plates from a table. With his tall thin frame and glaikit expression he’s an unlikely looking gangster. But then, being nice to old ladies is a perfect cover for a drug dealer.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t testify, if that’s what you’re asking. All I know is I’ve seen him in the toilets before; he uses those toilets as his office.’
This conversation is abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Marianne Bowman in a cloud of her pungent perfume. Maria takes the opportunity to gather more information about her ex- neighbours.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Marianne: are you still in touch with Arlene’s husband, Norman?’
Maria has harboured a vague and fond notion of visiting Norman and chatting about Arlene: the old days when he used to waltz his lovely wife round their living room. He must be an old man now but he’s probably still handsome.
‘No, Norman died, years ago now.’
‘Oh, that is sad. Arlene must have been devastated.’
‘Hmmm, I don’t know if I’d say that, but certainly it was sad. He was unrecognisable when he went, just skin and bone.’
‘What did he die of?’
Marianne leans in close and drops her voice.
‘Aids,’ she says solemnly.
‘But…’
Maria can’t believe it but Marianne isn’t the type to joke about things like this.
‘Norman was gay,’ Marianne whispers. ‘Nobody knew u
ntil he became ill, not even Arlene. That’s why they moved, they were scared people would find out.’
‘Did Arlene get Aids, too?’
‘No, but her death was no less ugly, bitterness killed Arlene; she drank herself to death.’
‘She loved him so much.’
‘Eh,’ Marianne hesitates while she seems to weigh up what’s she’s going to say next, and then she dives in. ‘Actually she didn’t. She hated him. I don’t know how my mum put up with it, many’s the night Mum had to listen to the same sour story: Norman had cheated her of a family, that’s the way Arlene saw it.’
‘But she stayed with him.’
‘Yep, and moaned like hell every day about it,’ says Marianne, shrugging. ‘A different generation.’
Maria is shocked. The Arlene of Maria’s meditations never gives any hint of this personal tragedy. But of course the Arlene of Maria’s mediations knows none of this. Just as well. Maria would like to shield her from this brutal reality.
‘What a terrible waste.’
‘I know, let’s not talk about it, it’s too depressing. I’ll tell you something that’ll cheer you up.’
‘Go on then. I could do with being cheered up, what is it?’
‘We’ve had a late entry, one of Pastor McKenzie’s crowd, an amazing act, this’ll blow your socks off. Now I know what you’re thinking…’
Maria has no clue as to what Marianne is talking about.
‘But wait till you hear him. He’s going on stage once the primary class finishes. I asked him to come in and let you see him.’
‘Marianne, are you talking about someone auditioning?’
‘Well, I’ve kind of already offered him a spot. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Are you serious? The auditions were a month ago. The show is set; it’s been set for weeks, running order and times agreed. We only have two more full rehearsals. We can’t change things now, it’ll cause chaos. And anyway, never mind all that: another singer? Marianne, you were the one who said we already have too many singers.’
‘I know, but none of them are as good as this guy. Look, here he is now.’
Madonna comes out on stage. Madonna from the 1980s, in the full Gaultier cone bra ensemble. There is something very familiar about her, about the way she walks, but Maria can’t quite put her finger on it. She is slim and blonde and leggy, she even has a big black beauty spot exactly where Madonna used to wear one.
‘He looks amazing, doesn’t he?’
‘This is the guy? That’s a guy?’
‘Oh yeah.’
The woman, or rather the guy, the female impersonator, plays his track, Madonna’s Express Yourself.
It is uncanny. He looks and sounds exactly like Madonna. Not only has he got her voice to a tee, his dance moves incorporate many Madonna stylings, including a wee bit of vogueing, although this is obviously anachronistic. He has tremendous confidence and stage presence, head and shoulders above all their other acts. The people in the café are responding well and Maria can see how this could wow their audience. But still and all.
Changing the show at this stage could throw the other acts into a panic, especially Blue Group. She can’t risk that. If she lets Marianne get away with this, others will want to change things. Alice has been agitating for more time for her Golden Belles routine. It’s got to stop.
‘So what do you think, he’s brilliant, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he’s good, but I’m afraid we can’t have him.’
‘What, are you kidding? Apart from the orchestra he’s the best thing we’ve got!’
‘I’m sorry, but we’ve no space for any more acts.’
‘But I’ve already told him he’s in.’
‘Well you shouldn’t have.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Maria…’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m busy with my clients on work experience at the moment so if you’ll excuse me.’
Maria turns away and Marianne is left no option but to back down and walk away. Maria’s shaking, she doesn’t know whether to giggle or puke. Effectively she’s just pulled rank and dismissed the Head Teacher of Hexton High. She has barely time to get her head round this when another potential crisis occurs. Ray emerges from the kitchen and comes over to their table.
‘Hello Maria,’ he says.
Before a conversation has a chance to develop a woman taps Ray’s shoulder. He turns, delighted to see her, and immediately introduces her to everyone sitting at the table by pointing at them.
‘Maggie – Maria, Martin, Brian and Dezzie.’
Everyone nods politely as their name is called and Maggie beams a smile at each of them individually.
‘You’re looking well,’ he says to Maggie, ‘how’s the hip?’
‘Och, you know. The pain control thing you showed me, that’s great. It means I can get about a bit more. It’s just like you said, Ray, it’s all about attitude, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely, and you’ve got a great attitude, love, you’re a wee star.’
Ray puts his arm around the tiny woman and squeezes her shoulders.
‘Well, I’ve perked up a lot since you zapped me! I’ll be tap dancing with the Golden Belles before you know it.’
Maggie moves off, still laughing at her own joke and Ray turns his attention back to the table. None of this has meant anything to them but they have sat, crane-necked, listening and smiling politely to the cryptic exchanges between Ray and his strange little friend Maggie.
Ray addresses Maria now.
‘How’s the work experience going?’
‘Em, okay so far.’
Maria cannot really concentrate on what she’s being asked; her attention is taken up with watching Marianne speak to the Madonna guy at the side of the stage. If Marianne is telling him he’s out of the show, he seems to be taking it rather well.
‘Here she comes!’ says Ray.
And now Jane is slowly walking out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup. Alice is three steps behind her all the way. Jane carries her own lunch every day at the centre canteen but she’s making a big production of this. She holds it out in front of her as if it’s a holy chalice. Maria knows from Jane’s records and from what she’s told her, that she was once a staff nurse in an Intensive Care Unit, saving patients’ lives on a daily basis.
When she finally sets the soup down in front of Martin she’s beaming with satisfaction. This is a rare experience for Jane, she almost never smiles. The deep bowl only has half an inch of soup swilling around the bottom but even so, Martin leads off a modest round of applause.
‘So is this one of the new starts we have in the café?’ says Ray to Alice. ‘I think you’ll need to watch your back, Alice, if Jane carries on like this she’ll be after your job.’
Fiona’s progress from the kitchen is faster and much less careful. She slaps the plate down in front of Maria and says,
‘It’s rotten, I’ve tasted it. Too much salt.’
She has no sooner put it down than she goes to snatch it back up again.
‘I’m going to take it back.’
‘No, Fiona, thank you, it’ll be fine,’ says Maria tightly.
Maria knows very well what game Fiona is playing. She’s annoyed because she didn’t get crisps on demand and she’s making sure everyone knows it. This is so typical of her selfishness.
‘I’m the waitress, give me it. I’m taking it back,’ says Fiona.
She is pulling at the rim on one side of the plate but Maria is firmly holding on to the other side.
‘It’s fine, Fiona, leave the plate alone.’
The plate is an old white shallow soup dish; it’s only decoration a ring of sombre blue. Its cracked glaze is covered in fine grey jigsaw lines, any one of which could burst like a dam, spilling hot soup all over them both but Fiona will not let go.
‘Stinkin’ soup’s going…’
‘Leave it!’ Maria hisses.
The rest of the people in the cafe continue making noise and steam and
clatter, unaware of the grim battle that is being fought at the corner table. But this makes it no less humiliating for Maria. Ray is watching, Dezzie is watching. The rest of Blue Group do nothing to help her and stand or sit impassively, watching them grapple over the plate. Fiona is standing over her, so close she can feel her asthmatic breath on her face. Fiona’s knuckles are white, her face is red and her cheeks wobble with the effort of gripping the plate.
As a professional health care worker it’s beneath Maria’s dignity to tussle with a client over a plate of soup, but this is no longer about soup. It’s about whether the group will stay here and benefit from work experience, or do as Fiona wants and return to the centre to munch bags of crisps.
The soup quivers in the plate, like the contents of an angry volcano. Lentils jump and roll like hot lava rocks across the shifting livid red. Maria can’t let go now even if she wanted to. The plate is under so much pressure it’ll go flying, probably all over her. But she’s losing the battle. Positive visualisation cannot help her now. Fiona has the double advantage of her wilful determination and hulking weight. Maria feels her grip on the plate slip away and then the hot sting of soup on her skin. She jumps up in fright.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Fiona, you stupid..!’
Though it hasn’t burned her it has spilled down her jumper and jeans, making her look like the victim of a slasher attack.
‘Aoow!’ wails Fiona.
A small amount of soup has spilled on Fiona’s hand. She holds her hand in the air and stares at it with a pitiful tenderness.
‘Right,’ demands Maria, ‘you’ve done it; you’ve spilled it all over me. Are you happy now?’
Maria only knows that she’s lost, that she’s covered in soup, that Fiona has foiled her best efforts once again. She doesn’t know that she is almost screaming and that the rest of the café has fallen silent.
‘Oh, my sore hand, it’s nipping,’ cries Fiona.
Aww, is Fiona hurt, is poor Fiona crying? Does she want a bag of crisps?’
Maria dives under the table to find her handbag. She pulls out several packets of cheese and onion and begins hurling them, one by one, at Fiona. The first bag hits her shoulder. Fiona doesn’t move out of range but closes her eyes and flinches when she’s hit. The second bag gets the side of her head. Her crying changes from an attention-seeking wail to an all-out distress cry. The third is right on target and hits Fiona a bull’s-eye, right on the nose.
