by Mandy Baggot
‘No! I don’t want to be fairly remunerated! I want this hall open - I want its history protected,’ Samantha spoke firmly, her whole body shaking with emotion.
‘We had to look at the bigger picture. The Presbook Centre can provide a host of amenities that the Civic Hall just can’t,’ Mr Radcliffe attempted to explain.
‘It couldn’t provide an ice rink when it was needed - it wasn’t big enough. I was planning public ice skating here around Christmas time,’ Samantha told him.
‘I’m sorry Miss Smith, I don’t really know what else I can say,’ Mr Radcliffe said with an uneasy sigh.
‘And what about the OAPs? How will the extended Presbook Centre cater for them? They don’t do anything at discounted rates there - they don’t even do shepherd’s pie!’ Samantha exclaimed in a shriek.
‘A lot of older members of the community have expressed an interest in water aerobics,’ Mr Radcliffe told her.
‘Water aerobics! They chose water aerobics over the half price meals I’ve been serving them for years? No wonder half of them can’t afford to heat their homes if they fritter their money away on water aerobics,’ Samantha continued tears rolling down her face.
‘Miss Smith, would you like a glass of water?’ Mr Radcliffe offered.
‘No! No, I don’t want a glass of water. I want you to go back to the council office and tell them they’ve made the wrong decision. You tell them how much history there is here, you tell them about the on-line booking, the new menu and Air Patrol, tell them about Air Patrol. No, on second thoughts, you stay there. You stay right there, I will tell them!’ Samantha spoke hysterically.
She couldn’t breathe. Everything was closing in on her. Mr Radcliffe’s grey face, the Wheat Dream walls of her office, the grey carpeted floor. She began gathering up files from her desk, knocking things over and hunting for things she couldn’t immediately see.
‘Miss Smith, I know this wasn’t the news you wanted to hear and I realise you’re upset, but there really isn’t anything you can do,’ Mr Radcliffe spoke as kindly as he could, getting to his feet.
‘I can go and see Mrs Randall and I can ask her why she didn’t tell me in her email yesterday that she was about to stab me in the back!’ Samantha exclaimed her breathing rapid and her emotions high.
‘Miss Smith, please, I…’ Mr Radcliffe began.
‘Do not stand in my way! Not unless you want another ambulance ride to the General,’ Samantha screamed, moving toward the office door.
Mr Radcliffe stepped aside and Samantha bowled out of the office, carrying half a dozen lever arch files.
‘I’ll be popping out for a while Felicity - hold the fort. Oh then again, you needn’t bother,’ Samantha spoke as she marched past her colleague and moved out into the main lobby.
‘Samantha? Is everything OK?’ Felicity called as she watched her superior moving towards the door.
Samantha didn’t reply, but when she saw Jimmy entering the foyer from the corridor to the dressing rooms her resolve weakened and she just divulged into tears. She stood in the middle of the foyer sobbing, trying hard to keep hold of the lever arch files in her arms.
‘Sam? What’s happened?’ Jimmy questioned as he reached her and saw her reddened eyes and tear streaked face.
Samantha looked up at him, her mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish. Her heart was bursting and she couldn’t breathe.
‘The hall - they’re closing the hall,’ Samantha blurted out.
And then the tears became hysterical, the sobs coming over her in waves. Her shoulders shook and she felt like someone was stamping all over her insides.
‘What? I don’t understand, the meeting…’ Jimmy began, putting his arms around her and enveloping her away from the onlookers as she cried out loud.
‘It’s over, it’s all over,’ Samantha sobbed, burying her face into Jimmy’s chest and not caring who saw her.
‘Sshh, it’s OK. Everything’s going to be OK, I promise. Come on, let’s go and get some tea,’ Jimmy spoke, shepherding her over towards the restaurant.
Nineteen
Samantha sat at one of the corner tables in the restaurant. It was Mrs Machin’s table. Mrs Machin and her eighty year old friend Miss Fipps ate toasted teacakes at that table every morning at 11.00am. Or at least they had. Now they truly had had their last cake and eaten it. Samantha stared into space, not really seeing anything or anyone as she went over in her mind what Mr Radcliffe had told her. It was like an awful dream. It had been pretty awful before, worrying about how she was going to try and save the hall, fretting about giving the speech and how she was going to compose herself. None of that compared to how she felt now, she was just numb.
‘Here, it’s blackberry. It’ll make you feel better,’ Jimmy spoke as he joined her at the table.
He put one cup in front of Samantha and then sat down opposite her.
She was still unmoving. She felt weak, devoid of feeling, apart from the numbness, she could feel the numbness. Was it possible to feel numbness?
‘What happened Sam? What exactly did Mr Radcliffe say? What happened to tonight’s meeting? Why did they reschedule without telling anyone?’ Jimmy queried, trying to make sense of the situation.
‘We ate there, we watched a concert there - we contributed to the decision,’ Samantha muttered, thinking about the Presbook Centre.
‘They chose the Presbook Centre over the Civic Hall. Well when? What about tonight?’ Jimmy spoke, trying to unravel her vague sentences.
‘There was another meeting, last night - a sneakily especially convened meeting. They want a leisure pool and OAPs doing synchronised swimming. They don’t care about the history, they don’t care about the central location - they didn’t give it a chance,’ Samantha stated, picking up her tea cup and almost spilling the hot water over herself.
‘I don’t know what to say, they’re wrong,’ Jimmy said firmly.
‘Do you know, I don’t know who I was trying to kid thinking I could make a difference. After all, I’m just a box office assistant who has no life apart from this hall. Perhaps I’m going mad, perhaps no one wanted the hall saved, except me,’ Samantha spoke her eyes again filling with tears.
‘I don’t think that’s true, I really don’t. I think it’s got great potential,’ Jimmy replied.
‘Don’t you mean it had great potential? Because that’s what we should use now - the past tense,’ Samantha answered.
‘You can’t give up,’ Jimmy said immediately.
‘Look, I know I’m pretty unintelligible right now, but you did hear what I said didn’t you? They are closing the hall and selling it off. In less than a year it will probably be flats,’ Samantha spoke, trying to swallow the knot of emotion in her throat.
‘I don’t believe they can make a decision just like that. I’m sure that’s not how it works,’ Jimmy told her.
‘You obviously don’t know much about the council system around here. This is exactly how it works. One of the big supermarkets is probably getting a plot of land for a superstore in exchange for paying for the improvements to the Presbook Centre. I don’t know why I even thought there was a chance of keeping the hall open,’ Samantha continued.
‘Because you were led to believe there was a chance. I think what they’ve done is wrong on so many levels,’ Jimmy spoke with a shake of his head.
‘Well, wrong or not, they’ve done it,’ Samantha told him.
‘Is there still a meeting tonight?’ Jimmy asked her.
‘Yes, but apparently just a routine monthly meeting. Probably to discuss their big, fat bonuses now they don’t have the Civic Hall to fund,’ Samantha spoke, sipping at her tea.
‘Then you’re going to go and you’re going to tell them what a huge mistake they’re making and they are going to listen to your proposals, just like they promised they would,’ Jimmy said seriously.
‘What’s the point? I’m half expecting the estate agent to arrive at any second and start measuring up,’ Samanth
a replied her emotions moving from distraught to angry.
‘The point is they didn’t give you a fair chance. You’re probably right, all this was a foregone conclusion and that’s wrong. You need to go to that meeting and you need to tell them everything you were going to tell them before today,’ Jimmy told her.
‘But they’ve made their decision,’ Samantha reminded.
‘Then they need to be made to realise they made the wrong one,’ Jimmy answered her.
He reached across the table and took hold of her hands, squeezing them supportively.
‘How can you be so positive? This is just about the end of my life,’ Samantha stated with a sigh of despondency.
‘Don’t say that. This isn’t the end of anything. It’s just a set back that’s all,’ Jimmy insisted, holding onto her hands.
They had been given two weeks. Two weeks until the ice show came to an end and the Civic Hall closed its doors for the very last time. Acts would have to be cancelled, refunds would have to be sent and before all of that, Samantha had to tell the staff. She shivered when she thought about that, most of the employees were the main wage earners in their households, they would struggle and have to find alternative employment in a difficult time. She would be as popular as a mobile fish and chip van outside a Slimming World meeting.
She had read and re-read the letter Mr Radcliffe had left on her desk confirming what he had told her and countless times of reading it did nothing to change its contents.
How could she cope without the Civic Hall? It was everything to her. It was where she felt close to normal and it was where Jimmy had kissed her.
Now all she faced was complete uncertainty in every area of her life. In a fortnight the ice show would move on to the other end of the country and what would happen then? She hadn’t even thought about the fact she was getting involved with someone who had his home in America and was currently travelling around Britain, staying at a different place every few weeks.
And then there was Cleo. She actually believed her about Jeremy being the love of her life no matter how implausible it sounded. She was therefore on borrowed time with the house too, unless she gave in and could cope with another house mate. Could she put up with falling over his brogues every five minutes and having them shagging in every room of the house whenever the urge took them? She didn’t want to think about that, but she would definitely have to double her dose of Domestos on the surfaces.
That evening the Civic Hall seemed ironically busier than ever. The majority of the tables in the restaurant were full and there were scores of people in the bar area and more heading that way from the foyer.
She gazed around the room, letting each and every piece of décor, and every nook and cranny, sink into her, knowing it was all a matter of a few short weeks before she would never set eyes on any of it again. And there were the posters, the one advertising Jethro, the pantomime that would never happen, Ballet for All Seasons. It brought a lump to her throat again and she swallowed it down.
She had only been home briefly to change. Cleo had been having telephone sex in the kitchen when Samantha came in and was still having it when she popped her head around the door to announce she was going again. Her sister had just nodded and turned her back on her, continuing to whisper suggestive things into the mouthpiece. There had been no opportunity to tell her about the hall and Samantha was glad really. She had cried so much already her eyes were swollen like a boxer who had managed ten rounds against someone much better.
She had dripped hot, wet tears into Gobby’s fur when she had served him up more macaroni cheese before the doors opened for the evening performance. Where would he go? Who would ensure he got his unorthodox, but balanced diet of meat, vegetables and carbohydrates? She couldn’t have him at the house, Cleo hated animals. Their parents had a budgie and it used to whistle whenever Cleo walked into the room. She hated it, said it smelt and refused to take a turn feeding it or cleaning the cage. Their next pet was Bodie, a Yorkshire terrier and for a while Cleo enjoyed putting bows and bobbles in its hair, but the Alice band was one step too far and it bit her. Needless to say she made such a fuss about the little nip on her hand and accused the animal of being somehow related to the Rottweiler line and an accident waiting to happen. He was quickly dispatched to the vets to be put down. They didn’t have any more pets after that.
She clutched the file she was holding to her chest. She was dressed in her funeral suit, under the circumstances it was entirely appropriate.
It was almost 7.00pm and her taxi was late. She checked her watch again and then looked back towards the bar area. People were having a wonderful time, unaware that the entertainment centre they were laughing and joking in was set to close forever.
Then the doors at the side of the room swung open and Jimmy came rushing out of them. He was wearing costume and skates and he hurried over to her.
‘I’m so glad you’re still here, I thought I’d miss you. I got held up, another row with Dana,’ Jimmy stated, taking her hands as she stood up to greet him.
‘My taxi’s late and I’m starting to have second thoughts about doing this,’ Samantha admitted with a sigh.
‘No, don’t do that. You’re doing the right thing, the only thing. You mustn’t give up without a fight,’ Jimmy told her.
‘But I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to get there, I’m going to either back out before I’ve begun or I’m going to begin, throw up all over someone and be escorted from the building,’ Samantha told him.
‘And looking on the positive side, if that happens then make sure you barf all over Mrs Randall, the sly witch,’ Jimmy suggested with a grin.
‘This isn’t funny,’ Samantha reminded him.
‘Excuse me, could we have an autograph and a picture?’ a woman asked as a group of them sidled up to Jimmy and Samantha.
‘Yes, sure, just give me a minute, Sam…’ Jimmy began.
‘It’s OK, I’ll go and wait outside. I’m sure the taxi won’t be long, I did pre-book,’ Samantha said, still clutching her folder.
‘Well come back here straight after the meeting and let me know how it goes. I’ll be thinking about you,’ Jimmy told her and he kissed her softly on the lips.
The group of women made a woo-ing noise at his show of affection and Samantha turned crimson with embarrassment and hastened towards the exit.
The taxi arrived, almost fifteen minutes late. Thankfully Samantha had planned for any eventuality. All through the ten minute ride to the council offices she went through every emotion possible. She went from sad, feeling like someone had died, to mad, feeling like the Incredible Hulk with rage that would burst the sleeves of her suit. She kept telling herself she was going to make this stand for the community of the borough but was that really why she was doing it? Or was it just to save her job and her safe haven? She didn’t have time to worry about that now.
Before she knew it she had arrived.
The Borough Council offices were in a rather shabby 1970s building squeezed in between Bridal Fantasies, a low price wedding dress shop specialising in alternative gowns, including the red leather PVC gown on the mannequin in the window and an oriental food shop that sold all manner of dried things, most of them a really bizarre shape.
Samantha took a deep breath and pushed on the front door. To her horror it was locked! She hadn’t considered that possibility. She had just assumed it would be open. The lights were on in the building, obviously because of the meeting, but she had no way of getting to it. That was it, it was over, just like that. All that build up and nothing. It was a stupid idea anyway, they wouldn’t be interested in listening to her, they had made their decision.
‘Miaow!’
It was a familiar sound, instantly recognisable. Samantha turned around and there was Gobby sat behind her on the street, looking at her.
‘Gobby, what are you doing here? This is too far from the hall. It’s miles - how did you get here?’ Samantha asked him, bending down as
the cat ran towards her.
Gobby licked her hand and rubbed his face against her knee, purring and nuzzling.
‘You should go back to the hall or go wherever you sleep at night. There’s nothing for you here - there’s nothing for me here either,’ Samantha responded with a sigh.
Gobby miaowed loudly and ran up to the council offices, pawing at the front door.
‘It’s locked, I can’t get in,’ Samantha said, cuddling her file to her body.
Gobby continued scratching and started to make an insistent howling type noise.
‘Gobby, stop it,’ Samantha told him.
He mewed louder and scratched even more and Samantha wondered what she should do. Perhaps Gobby was as perceptive as she always thought he was. Maybe he knew what was going on and couldn’t face losing his favourite feeding spot. Perhaps this was his protest, or maybe it was a wake up call for her.
Jimmy wouldn’t let a locked door stop him making his voice heard. She had to make a stand. She had to try no matter what the final outcome.
She walked over to the alleyway between the offices and the wedding dress shop and found the biggest thing she could.
She charged at the glass door with the naked, armless mannequin. The first two attempts had no effect. On the third attempt one of the legs fell off but on the fourth try the head impacted on the glass at exactly the right point and it finally shattered. She dropped the plastic woman, picked up her lever arch file and opened the door.
Once inside, she followed the trail of lights until she stood outside the room where the council meeting was being held. It was like being outside the head teacher’s office at school. She had only been there on one occasion when she had hit Mary Kennedy in the eye with a conker. It had been a perfectly executed manoeuvre, although she had never admitted to that.
She could hear the discussions, people talking in turns and then she heard laughter. Loud laughter, like a hundred clowns guffawing all at once. It set her teeth on edge, especially when she recognised it was Mrs Randall’s laughter. The posh, fake-sounding laugh she probably practiced at coffee mornings with the bridge club. Samantha felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end and a furious feeling deep in her gut propelled her forward.
