‘Sorry, Mrs Hartford,’ says William, suddenly seeming to realise whose house he’s in and sitting down again. ‘We had a couple before we came so I think it’s got us going a bit.’
I look at William closely. ‘I could smell it on you, Will, but I didn’t want to say anything. Are you sure everything’s all right at home?’
‘I work in a pub, Mrs Hartford, of course I’ll have a whiff of the nectar on me.’ He pauses and settles down on the sofa. He glances at the TV and straightens his wristband. ‘No, but it’s true that Mum’s stressed out all the time. She’s got grandad to think about, the possible divorce and now this public meeting she’s trying to organise for the library campaign. She’s sent out leaflets and everything but it doesn’t look like many people’ll turn up. She can’t find enough volunteers either. She’s worried the village hall’ll be empty.’
‘I’m surprised by that, Will, I thought more people would be pulling together, you know, with this Olympic thing going on…’
‘I think they are – but not for things like that. Success brings them all out of the woodwork; the library shutting down just isn’t the same.’ He pauses and looks at Jessica. ‘And besides all you volunteers are down at the Olympics, there’s none left in the rest of the country to help my Mum!’
‘You know that’s not true, Will. There are still thousands of good volunteers helping people round the country. It’s just that we’re getting noticed and they’re not. They’re in the shadows a bit and I almost feel guilty about it.’
There is a moment of silence as all three of us feel complicit in revelling in some kind of party atmosphere while some people, like Gillian, continue to struggle to find volunteers for a worthy cause.
‘So have you read your mother’s book yet, Will?’ I ask.
‘Her book?’
‘She’s written one, about her relationship with your grandad?’
‘She hasn’t told me. Wrote it herself did she? Who published it? I didn’t know she could write.’
‘So no-one in your family knows about it?’
‘It’s the first I’ve heard…’
I look at Jessica who gestures that she’s as much in the dark as Will, even though she’d already seen it round the house.
‘I think she’s done a fine job,’ I say. ‘Whatever happens, you should be proud of your mother.’
‘I am – but if I don’t know half the things she does, how can I be proud of her?’
‘We’ve all got secrets, Will, just don’t be too hard on her.’
William hesitates and then nods. He then uses his thumb to point at Jessica. ‘What about her, has she got secrets too?’
‘Too many to mention…’
‘Name one…’
‘Careful Frannie,’ says Jessica. ‘I have the best contacts in the Olympic Park. A rumour can spread in seconds.’
I pause and look at the TV, as Usain Bolt and Johan Blake are interviewed.
‘She has plans to invite you up to the Yorkshire Dales for a weekend this autumn.’
‘No, Frannie don’t tell him that!’ says Jessica, looking annoyed.
William looks at Jessica. ‘Can’t wait, but I haven’t got many holidays left to take from work this year. Would have to ask the boss.’
Jessica’s face turns beetroot red and she rushes towards me. I get up and try to head for the kitchen.
‘Now, we’ll see who’s queen in the 40-yard dash,’ she says, with a weird blend of laughter and anger.
‘False start,’ I say, trying to get my stiff legs moving. ‘Go back to your blocks.’
Jessica reaches me within seconds. She grabs me in a playful hug and then lets go, doing a classic Usain ‘Lightning’ Bolt pose in a final flourish; arms outstretched, index fingers drawn. She nearly falls over as she stretches low for authenticity. I’m sure she’s had more to drink (like William) than she’s letting on. Eventually, she starts laughing so much that she does fall over. She crawls over to the sofa and leans her back against it, nearly touching William’s leg.
‘Do you think there’s a chance we could move to Yorkshire permanently,’ asks William. ‘My family here are driving me crazy.’
Jessica stops laughing – and offers me the first serious look of the day.
DAY ELEVEN
I take a closer look at the man’s waistcoat. He has a glittering row of Olympic pins tied to his waistcoat, one from each of the last eight Olympic Games. He keeps touching the tip of his Panama hat and is particularly keen to show me one of the Los Angeles games of 1984. I glance at Jessica who is a few feet away. She smiles as I nearly fall over while bending down to get a proper look. The pin shows a bird (is it an eagle or a duck?) with a stars and stripes top hat on with the words ‘Canon’ underneath. The camera firm’s name clicks in my mind to provide a snapshot from 28 years ago. Donald and I at his parents’ house watching Zola Budd and Mary Decker battle it out in the 1500 metres on a National Panasonic TV. Donald’s mother so vehemently against Zola Budd running for Britain that she wanted her to trip up rather than Mary Decker. I loved his parents, more than my own, because of their freedom and independent thinking. I remember a lot of laughs on that day, even though it was highly controversial. The man with the pins pats me on the shoulder.
‘Are you still with us, down there?’ he says, talking a bit too loud for my liking.
‘Yes, the Los Angeles one just brought back a few memories. Were you there, then?’
‘No, I got that one online. But I was in Barcelona in 92…’
‘So you weren’t at all these Games?’
‘No, but in a way, we’re all at every Games aren’t we?’ he says, putting his hand into his waistcoat and checking his Olympic ticket. ‘Television and the internet have seen to that.’ He starts walking away.
‘What event are you attending?’
‘It’s not here but it’s at the ExCeL later today. I just wanted to wander the Olympic Park for a while.’
‘The event?’
‘Greco-Roman Wrestling,’ he says, touching the peak of his Panama and then walking off.
I can see Jessica laughing and she walks towards me.
‘Bit of a fruitcake wasn’t he?’ she says.
‘Not really,’ I say, looking at her with a smile. ‘Seemed to make perfect sense to me.’
I keep watching him as he heads out of the Olympic Park, head bobbing up and down as if he’s in tune with the acoustics of the Olympic Stadium. Applause, hush, applause again. No roars this morning in the athletics.
‘I think you’re just feeling nostalgic,’ she says, trying to get my distracted attention. ‘Anyway look, let’s get on to more important matters. William really does want to come up to Yorkshire immediately after the Games have finished. He’s deadly serious about looking at places together, even moving in together if we get a chance. He’s been looking at local papers up there already, as well as property websites, and thinks the cheaper prices will be perfect for us. It’s all going a bit too fast, Frannie. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.’
‘How serious is it? I mean you’ve only known him for a few days…’
‘As you say how serious can it be after a few days?’
‘Are you intimate?’
‘I’m not sure this is the time or the place,’ she says, looking around.
‘Have you kissed?’
‘Yes, for God’s sake…’
‘So it will get serious. I think you do have to be careful because he’s quite vulnerable right now. Parents breaking up can make children do reckless things.’
‘So what do you suggest? You know the family much better than me.’
‘My advice might be a bit old-fashioned…’
‘Yes, but I’d still like to hear it.’
‘You sure?’<
br />
‘Course…’
I pause and see the man with the Panama hat disappear into the station.
‘Marry him.’
Eric and I are having lunch in the canteen. He tells me about the brass band he plays in – and whether it will still be going when he returns. He asks me if I want to join but I’ve never played an instrument and I’m not sure I have the co-ordination and patience to start now. I know there will be little groups and organisations formed once the Olympics ends as it’s a natural reaction for everyone to want to preserve and treasure their memories. I expect there’ll be choirs, bands, online groups, volunteer evenings, everything under the east London sun, but I’m not sure I’ll have the capacity to talk about London 2012 with any degree of eloquence. Could I deal with an interview request? I know this has already happened to many volunteers already. I’m not sure I would want any of that kind of publicity. Sharing is important – but you can take a good thing too far.
Eric tells me he watched Saturday’s action on the big screen at Park Live, the big spectator area within the Olympic Park which was heaving with fans throughout the day. He said his tinnitus was so bad on Sunday morning that he considered calling the out of hours emergency line to get his ears checked out. He ended up not calling because his ears felt even worse with the phone pressed against them (he tried both sides). It’s clear to me that the earth did not move for him on Saturday evening like it did for everyone else. He seems to have found it taxing and wearying, the blistering noise becoming a weight on his shoulders rather than a fillip; the flag-waving and chanting a burden to be tolerated rather than shared with joy and relish. When I ask him why he felt so cowed, he responds that he’d never been to a football ground, or any other sports-related event, in his life so this was a scary, almost savage, experience for him rather than an uplifting one. I find it strange that two people with almost similar, zero-related sports stadium experience can have wildly different experiences. Perhaps, because I was inside the stadium – and he was outside – is the simple answer to this anomaly. He doesn’t think so. He shows me his forearm, which he’d kept curiously close to his body today, as though the two parts were tied together. I notice a big bruise just above his wrist.
‘Someone barged into me when Jessica Ennis won her gold,’ he says. ‘It was an accident – and it was just exuberance really – but I think he was drunk and his funny bone caught me on the arm. I’m still in pain now. To be honest, my ears, arm and legs are aching so bad I’m not sure I’ll make it to the end. The finishing line is still a long way away and I’m spent already.’
‘But why didn’t you tell Rob?’ I ask.
‘Pride, I suppose. I’m part of more than 30 voluntary groups and organisations. How can I back out of the biggest operation of them all: the Olympics? I’ve only worked seven days in total so far; it’s nothing compared to the shifts I used to do at the textile mill.’
‘But you’re not that young anymore, Eric…’
‘No, but a lot of these people you work with make you feel that way, don’t they? You feel like you’ve got to keep up with them a bit or you just fade away…’
I sigh and watch Eric rub his arm vigorously.
‘We don’t have to keep up with them, Eric, we just have to understand them.’
‘And you understand Jessica do you? You do spend a lot of time with her.’
‘I think so…’
He smiles and blows onto his arm. ‘If only I had that kind of luck with young people.’
The rest of my lunch break is spent telling Eric (who really wants to know) how I’ve managed to get Jessica living in my house and the two of us, ending up as ‘friends’. We’re about to get up and start our shifts again, when Rob comes into the canteen and gestures to us, from at least 20 metres away, not to get up yet. He stops to talk to about a dozen people before he gets to my table.
‘Come on, sit down again, we’re not going anywhere yet,’ he says. ‘But you can go if you want, Eric. I know you’re enjoying it so much out there. How’s your arm anyway?’
‘Fine,’ he says, getting up. ‘A spectator from China did some massage on it this morning, so it’s better than it was on Saturday evening.’
‘Out in the Olympic Park?’
‘Yes, he said he was a specialist in Tai Chi so I let him give me a few tips. Seems to have improved me no end.’
‘Good man, I’ll see you out there this afternoon.’
Eric waves at me and then leaves the canteen, still walking a little groggily.
‘Hope he can get through to the end, he deserves it, the old mucker,’ says Rob, watching Eric disappear out of the canteen. He turns back towards me. ‘Now, Frannie, first of all did you enjoy Saturday night? I’m sorry I had to be so secretive about it but it wouldn’t have worked otherwise.’
‘I was so relieved on the Friday because I thought I was in the clear; no-one had remembered my birthday or even mentioned it. Should have known better with you around. I think you’re the only person around here that knew when it was.’
‘You wanted to forget because there was nothing to celebrate?’
‘Yes…’
‘There is now, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Too much in a way. I’m not sure I’ve absorbed everything that’s happened. But it was a wonderful night I can’t deny that.’
‘Agree with that, I must say you’re a different person in a week.’ He pauses and lowers his voice. ‘Now listen, I saw Jessica this morning and she doesn’t seem to be her bubbly self. She’s got a face like thunder and spent a lot of time in the toilets before lunch. Has she got boyfriend trouble or something?’
‘No, I don’t think so. She’s just got a lot on her mind…’
‘Did you say she should get married to this lad or something?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, did she tell you that?’
‘As you know, all my troops tell me everything…’
‘It was a joke, Rob, I was just comparing her situation with mine all those years ago. It wasn’t really a serious suggestion.’
‘Is that the first joke you’ve told since…’
‘…Since Donald died? Yes, probably.’
‘Hmm, can’t be that then,’ says Rob, deliberately stroking his chin as if he’s in deep thought. ‘She mentioned someone else’s name: a Lawrence. Do you know anyone called Lawrence?’
‘Well, yes, he’s my neighbour’s husband. What about him? What did she say?’
‘She said she got a text message from him saying that he was coming to the Olympic Park this afternoon to ‘sort things out with her’ or something. She’s been quite spooked by it. I’ve never seen her so nervous.’
‘I can’t believe Lawrence would do such a thing,’ I say, feeling genuinely shocked at this turn of events. ‘He does work nearby, that’s true, at Canary Wharf so he’s not that far away but why come to the Olympic Park rather than talk to her back at my house? He only lives a few doors down.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t want to see you. He probably thinks he can strong-arm a young girl.’
‘I need to call Gillian now…’
‘No, no don’t do that. You just go out onto shift now – and I’ll see if I can find Jessica. Maybe this Lawrence bloke genuinely does want to talk? Let’s see how it goes and not cause an incident, shall we?’
‘Gillian said he hated the Olympics so I wonder how he got a ticket…’
‘Works in the city, you say?’
‘Sort of, not sure what he does really…’
‘That mob can get anything – even lunch with the Prime Minister.’
It’s late, late afternoon and Jessica and I are relieved that our shifts are coming to an end. Lawrence and William are mentioned very early after lunch and then forgotten about. Instead, we talk about Britain’s showjumping gold at Greenwich
Park (I’m a fan of Nick Skelton) and the fact that the Olympic Park is still a joyous place to be after the momentous events of the weekend. The most heated debate comes when Jessica mentions Nicola Adams in the women’s boxing and I stress that I can’t watch the sport with men going toe-to-toe with each other so seeing women raise their fists is impossible for me to stomach. Jessica then asks me whether I would watch Nicola Adams if she got to the final and was about to land another gold medal for Britain. I do not answer immediately but when Jessica says Adams was born in the same home city as her (Leeds), I tentatively agree to make an exception. I regret it immediately as the thought of women with head guards knocking lumps out of each other is not my idea of a pleasant afternoon’s viewing.
A man wearing a Mo Farah mask, and with a Union flag tied round his head like a pirate, is having his picture taken a few feet away from us. He is doing that strange ‘Mobot’ ritual and spots us looking at him. He eventually approaches us with his phone and wants to take a picture each with the two of us. Jessica takes the phone first and I pose with this odd-looking Mo, who whispers in my ear, that he’ll win gold in the 5,000 metres too. For a moment, I begin to think it is actually him. Jessica then hands me the phone and I have a moment of trepidation because modern phones seem to have all their buttons in different places. But Jessica points the way and I happily raise the phone, steady my hand and press the button for a snapshot of Jessica and masked Mo with their arm round each other. Jessica does try to take his mask off so we can see his true identity but he wags his finger and walks off. We have a good laugh about this – but a couple of minutes later the smiles are wiped off our faces. Behind us (we don’t even spot him) is Lawrence, tapping Jessica on the shoulder and looking at us with that penetrating, lowered gaze of his. I’m astonished that he’s actually here; loosened tie, two buttons undone on shirt, dark trousers and brown leather shoes. He smiles and tries to shake Jessica’s hand, to which she eventually submits.
Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess Page 17
