The Not So Perfect Plan to Save Friendship House: An uplifting romantic comedy

by Lilly Bartlett

  Chapter 18

  June and I wait till book club is finished to go up to Maggie. She was obviously upset to have fled the scene like that, and we can’t let her backslide into hermithood again. Not that she wants us pestering her in her room, either. But we’ve got to at least try, for her sake and – selfishly, I’ll admit – for mine. I’m still holding on to a shred of hope that eventually she’ll eat with everyone else and save me the daily deliveries.

  Most of all, though, we want to make sure she’s okay.

  ‘Go away,’ she says when we knock. ‘I don’t want to talk to anyone.’

  ‘Should we go?’ I ask June.

  ‘It’s my responsibility to make sure she’s okay. If she’s in there topping herself, Max won’t be pleased.’

  ‘He wouldn’t like to lose the income,’ I say.

  ‘You don’t have to stay, though.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you.’

  ‘Maggie, I’m sorry,’ June calls through the door, ‘but I need to talk to you. I won’t take much of your time, I promise.’

  ‘You’re going to use your key, aren’t you?’ Maggie says.

  We look at each other. How does she know that June’s just taken it out of her pocket? ‘I could, but I’d rather you let me in,’ she says. She’s always been the diplomat between us.

  Maggie saves us the trouble of letting ourselves in. ‘As this isn’t going to take long, I won’t invite you inside,’ she says, going back to her sofa. ‘You can conduct your conversation from there.’

  Now that I look around Maggie’s room, it’s so obvious that she’s a bookworm. Not like Dot, though, who’s got entire shelves lined with Danielle Steele, Jilly Cooper and other racy romances. Maggie’s books are nearly all hardbacks and lots of them have leather spines. They look real too, not like the cardboard sets Mum bought to give some old-world ambiance to the great room.

  ‘We just want to check that you’re all right,’ June says. ‘You seemed upset when you left.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ She smooths the front of her silk cardigan. It’s the paisley one that I know is amongst her favourites. She dressed up specially to make an impression. In spite of the glare she’s giving us, my heart goes out to her. She wanted to be at her best when she joined in with the other women.

  ‘Then why did you leave like that?’ June asks. That’s a lot bolder than I’d have dared, but I guess she’s got to get an answer one way or another. Even if it will be dripping with abuse.

  Maggie draws herself up even straighter. ‘I am sorry, but I was under the impression that we’re free to come and go within our own home. Is the book group not voluntary? I wasn’t aware I needed to punch a clock.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Maggie,’ I say. ‘But you have to admit that you seemed upset.’

  ‘How should I know how I seemed to you, Cook, when I am not you?’

  ‘So, you’re all right, then?’ June asks. I guess if she’s not clutching a handful of pills or a razor blade to an artery, then June has done her job.

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Knock knock,’ comes Laney’s voice as she squeezes though the doorway between June and me. She goes straight to the chair beside the sofa and throws herself into it. ‘Please don’t be upset, Maggie. I’m sure it’s not that bad, whatever it is.’ Laney snatches Maggie’s hand from her lap. ‘What is it? Please tell me.’ Her golden eyes search out Maggie’s.

  I’m just about to turn to go when June stops me.

  ‘I used to know those quotes as well as my own name,’ Maggie says quietly, still holding Laney’s hand. ‘They’re only throwaway lines, silly party tricks. If I can’t even remember those… everything I’ve ever worked for really is slipping away.’

  ‘But Maggie,’ June says, ‘it’s not a big deal. So what if you’ve forgotten a few lines. Nobody minds, really.’

  ‘I mind, and it is a very big deal,’ Maggie says. She’s swallowing hard and her eyes are glistening. ‘I was an expert in literature, I lectured all over the world. I’ve had dinner with Nobel Laureates. Doris Lessing and Beryl Bainbridge were my friends. I used to be someone. Now what have I got?’

  ‘I understand,’ says Laney. ‘Everyone tells you it’s not a big deal. They’re only trying to be nice, but it is a big deal when it’s happening to you. It feels like bits of yourself are getting lost. You watch piece after piece fall away and wonder how long before you disappear altogether. But, Maggie, you’re still you, even if you’re forgetful.’ Her laughter tinkles through the bedroom. ‘Look at me! I’m not even seventy and I’m not fit to live on my own. I’d forget to feed myself or turn on the gas and set the house on fire. Maggie. You don’t have to be your old self here. None of us is perfect. We like you the way you are.’

  June taps my shoulder and, quietly, we leave Maggie’s doorway. Laney’s friendship will do more for her than we ever could.

  Max is lurking again, and by now we know what that means. It’s only a matter of which flavour poison he’ll try to convince us to swallow this time. He’s never been here this often. He wouldn’t even come when Terence was at his worst. He sent his poor wife instead. I’m sure she was thrilled that her marital duties included keeping her father-in-law from wandering around the garden in his Y-fronts.

  We never see Max’s wife now that money is involved instead of underpants, but maybe she should come back again to knock Terence into line. Someone needs to do something. He had a go at me this morning about the amount of meat in our menu.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he’d snapped. ‘Are you afraid to cook real food? Hello?! Are you listening?’

  I was listening. I also happened to be cutting the potatoes for chips, and knew better than to take my eye off the slicer. The scar from two years ago still sometimes hurts if I bang it.

  ‘We want to eat like men, not old spinsters watching their figures.’

  Where to start? At one end he was rubbishing my cooking. At the other he was insulting the women, and in between he was a sexist pig who claimed to speak for all mankind. ‘The meals are always well balanced, Terence, with enough meat, carbohydrates and vegetables.’ That is my job.

  ‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘In the last week we’ve had quiche. No meat. That rice with the tiddly little bits of salmon. And bean stew with weeds.’

  ‘That was Tuscan bean soup with kale, Terence, and there is meat in it. It’s made with bacon.’

  ‘What’d you do, wave a slice over the pot? What about the lasagne? You’re not going to try to claim that was meat too. You’re feeding us like hamsters.’

  Not enough like hamsters, according to Sophie. She was in here last week lobbying for a vegan option at every meal. Not that she, or anyone else here, are vegans. I can’t win.

  ‘I happen to know that we need more meat as we get older,’ he continued. ‘Don’t try to deny it.’

  ‘I will deny it, because it’s not true. There are studies that say we need more protein to help keep muscle mass healthy. Protein doesn’t have to come from meat. It’s also in dairy, eggs and, sorry to say, beans. For the record you also need iron, and dark leafy veg like kale is a good source of that. It doesn’t always need to come from beef. You should be happy to eat those weeds. They’re a superfood.’

  ‘They’re super shite,’ he said, and stalked out just as my phone buzzed with a text from Tamsyn saying she’d overslept and wouldn’t be in till Nick could come get her.

  So, I’ve had it up to my back teeth with the Greenes by the time Max calls his meeting. I’m not sure why he makes me attend anyway. My job is to cook, not to enforce his management decisions.

  ‘Right, I’ll be short and sweet,’ says Max. ‘The advertising is working great. We’ve had… how many new applications is it, June?’

  ‘Sixteen as of yesterday. I haven’t added the new ones yet today. You’re not going to keep running the adverts, are you? Because we haven’t got room for many more residents.’

  Max flashes his crooked-toothed vampire smi
le. ‘Thus, the reason for this meeting. We’re going to expand.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to reduce costs?’ June points out. ‘Renovations are expensive. Unless you’re thinking about putting a few residents into Terence’s old cottage?’

  I raise my hand. ‘Wouldn’t there be safety implications for that? It’ll be harder keeping an eye on things in a separate building. Plus, they’d have to walk across the lawn to get to the dining room. In the dark sometimes.’

  Max shakes his head. ‘I’m not talking about the cottage. That should be sold soon anyway. There is more room here in the house. You’ve just got to think laterally.’ He waits for us to do this. ‘No? Well, here’s the plan. We offer a discount to the women to share a bedroom.’

  From the look on his face, you’d think he’s just told us the secret to spinning gold from straw. ‘Great idea or what? The women pay less, which is always helpful, and we free up their rooms for new residents.’

  ‘Who will pay more,’ says June, sussing out the punchline before me. ‘You’re talking about subsidising the women with the men’s fees. I get it, Max, but I doubt the women are going to want roommates at this stage. It’s not really fair for you to ask them.’

  ‘I’m not asking them,’ he says.

  He’s leaving that to us.

  By now they know that when we interrupt Judge Judy for a meeting in the living room, they’re not going to like what we say. This time they don’t even wait for us to start.

  ‘Don’t tell us, you’re inviting a mass murderer to come live here,’ Dot says. ‘And he’ll be replacing the community nurse.’

  ‘You’re turning our occupational therapy into piecework?’ Rosemary asks with a smirk. ‘And we’ll be paid in biscuits.’

  The others banter around their guesses, which are only a bit more outlandish than what we’re about to tell them.

  ‘It could be good news,’ June tells them, though no one believes that. ‘Max is offering a twenty-five per cent discount to all the residents. That’s not bad, eh?’

  Sophie narrows her eyes. ‘Why?’ The others wait for June to explain the catch.

  ‘For sharing a room.’ She soldiers on over the women’s objections. The faster we can get through this, the faster we can tell Max that everyone thinks his idea is terrible. ‘It would only be for the biggest rooms, obviously, and it’s completely voluntary, so if you’d like to share with a friend, you’ll both get twenty-five per cent off your fees. Look, don’t shoot the messenger, I’m only telling you what Max has told me.’

  That stops most of their talking. They know June is caught in the middle. ‘Thank you for telling us, June,’ says Dot. ‘We understand that you’ve got to do your job, but you can probably tell from the response that this isn’t something we’re interested in. Speaking for myself, in any case.’

  ‘Twenty-five per cent off would come in handy, though,’ Laney says.

  ‘Laney, darling, aren’t your fees covered by the council?’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she says. ‘I forgot that.’

  Then Rosemary says, ‘I’ve got council support too. I think a lot of us do. Why would Max want to give us a discount? Not out of the goodness of his heart.’

  June glances at me. She’s got no choice but to tell them. ‘We’re getting a lot of new applications. Max wants us to be able to accept them, but there are only a few empty rooms now.’

  ‘More men!’ Dot and Sophie say at the same time. Though their expressions are very different. ‘Isn’t it bad enough now?’ Dot says. The discussion moves on to all the ways the men aren’t welcome. Sophie, as usual, is the only one defending them.

  We haven’t been back in June’s office thirty seconds when she says, ‘Okay, don't be mad. I did something.' Her look is worried and excited all at once.

  ‘Oh, no, you didn’t ring Callum again? Because, June, if you leave him alone for a few weeks then there’s a chance of being in touch again later. If that’s what you want.’

  Such a look of sadness crosses her face that straightaway I feel bad. I shouldn’t bring it up again unless she does. ‘Of course that’s what I want, but I didn’t ring him. It’s about you. You’ve only gone and won an award! We nominated you for it, and you’ve won!’

  ‘What award?’ I’m already grinning. Even if it’s nothing more than a Tesco Club Card competition, an award is an award!

  ‘Have you heard about the Social Superheroes honours list? It awards the best areas of social care in the community. And you’ve won, Phoebe! We didn’t want to tell you about the nomination because you’d only say you weren’t worth it. And, obviously, you are. You have no idea how hard it has been not to tell you. Remember when you rang me that Saturday and I was here? I had to get the testimonials and everything when you weren’t around. Otherwise you’d have sniffed us out. Believe me, none of our residents could hold down a job in the Secret Service. Are you happy? You’re not cross, are you?’

  ‘No, no, of course not! I can’t believe you did that.’

  ‘Me and all the others,’ she reminds me. ‘Wait till you see the testimonials everyone did. Even Sophie, and she was the biggest wildcard.’

  ‘What have I won?’

  ‘Sorry, of course!’ She hurries around her desk to hug me. ‘You’re the government’s new Social Superhero for care home catering. Phoebe, this is big. You’re the Jamie Oliver of care homes!’

  ‘Well, that’s… super!’ I say, hugging her back and fighting tears. Max might think I do nothing but microwave ready meals, but the others appreciate me. That’s what really counts.

  The Social Superhero award. Me! I don’t think I’ve felt this proud since I got my college certificate.

  So the sense of loss that kicks me in the tummy takes me by surprise. This is exactly the kind of thing I’ve always wanted my mum to see. Someone other than me is saying that I’m really good at my job, presumably someone important if it’s a national government award. ‘I wish Mum could be there.’ She would have been proud of me.

  ‘I know. But I’m sure your dad will come to the ceremony – it’s in three weeks so don’t make any plans for the twenty-sixth – and we all want to be there to see you get the award.’

  ‘I’d love that, thanks. I’m going to ring Dad now.’

  June nods, taking her own mobile out. She sighs and turns off the screen. She’s still checking for texts from Callum.

  Chapter 19

  Now it’s my turn to confess. I’ve done something and it’s not award-winning, unless it’s for the Biggest Bad Idea by someone who should know better. It’s Nick’s fault. If he wasn’t so persuasive then I wouldn’t now be nervously on my way to meet him.

  I started out completely resolved to say no when he asked me out again. In fact, I did say no. I didn’t shy away from the Tamsyn issue, either. I got right in there with my big girl pants on. He’s denied again that there’s anything going on between them. I double-checked there’s nothing between them, just to be sure. He promised, and I do believe him. That’s not to say she’s not gunning for it, or that he’s not closer to her than I’d like. Though in fairness, Timbuktu would be too close for my liking.

  That might still cause problems, but I have to take this chance and hope it’s the right decision. This is Nick: kind, funny, hot-as-a-volcano and, as far as I can prove, honest Nick. If he wasn’t all of those things then I wouldn’t be about to meet him.

  He’s already waiting for me at the pub’s bar. It’s an ancient country pub with exposed beams so low that they’re nearly grazing the top of his head. Every flat surface is covered with milk jugs and bottles – some with candles stuck in – and fiddly porcelain figurines of chickens and dogs. Above the huge fireplace hangs a hodgepodge of copper pots and pans and I can already tell it’s too dim to read a menu without the light on your phone.

  In other words, it’s a perfectly romantic setting. Nick’s in his usual jeans and dark jumper, but as he leans in to kiss my cheek – that’s a new development – I catch the citr
usy scent he wore at the supper club.

  ‘All right, one of us needs to say it,’ I tell him when we’ve tucked ourselves away at a little corner table by a window. ‘This feels weird.’

  ‘I think it feels fantastic,’ he says. ‘Thank you for finally saying yes.’

  ‘Well, you were starting to get pathetic.’

  We smile into each other’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t you know I’ve liked you for months, Phoebe?’

  How long have I fantasised about hearing those words? I’d need to check Nick’s employment file to know for sure, but it was from about 10 a.m. on his first day.

  It’s tricky to answer him, though, without risking Seth or Tamsyn popping up, and I do not want that. I can’t say that he made his feelings pretty clear after the supper club. Or that lately he’s been too busy following Tamsyn around like a lost puppy to pay much attention to me.

  ‘Erm, it wasn’t always clear,’ I say.

  He shakes his head. ‘It’s clear that I think you’re amazing, though, right?’

  ‘I’m very open to convincing, but I wouldn’t want to get a swollen head.’

  He leans back in his chair and stretches out his long legs. In a butcher’s shop, he’d be more sirloin than fillet. ‘I can’t imagine anyone with a less swollen head than yours. It might even be shrunken.’

  ‘Thanks, that makes me sound so hot.’

  When he laughs, his eyes glimmer in the candlelight. ‘I mean that you’re a lot more amazing than you give yourself credit for.’

  ‘I’m giving myself all the credit. You’re looking at the new Social Superhero for care home catering.’ I polish my fingernails on my top. ‘I’m an award winner.’

  ‘Yes, exactly. And you’ve been downplaying it all week. Face facts, Phoebe. You’re a lovely woman, but you’re possibly the worst credit-taker in the world.’

  ‘That’s my mother.’

  ‘From what you’ve told me, your mother had no trouble with her self-esteem.’