Chapter Twenty-Two
Monday 3rd December, The Glyn, Afternoon.
The trouble because Bill and the Squad can’t stop talking about the tea parties.
The Squad. That’s what they’ve decided the call themselves. They did briefly consider the Magnificent Seven because there are seven of them. Vanessa and Shirley vetoed this because it was a gun-toting seven. Philomena who has a romantic heart suggested Friends but Gethin found it too generic. In the end they settled on the Squad after The Mod Squad a TV series from the 1970s.
It somehow brought them together in a common cause.
The first cause is Bill insisting that he was entitled to have his visits in the common area not in his room. The Glyn, he argues, has no authority to ban anyone from visiting him.
“What happened to drinking ale without upsetting the barman?” I ask when on the Monday, he leads me out of his room and to the games lounge.
“That was when it was just your word against Mrs Jenkins. Now Jack and the Squad are behind us. If we all stand together, Cynthia can’t single me out.”
It works.
From Monday, we all go back to the games lounge.. Even better, Jack is invited to join us there. Cynthia tries to object that he’s too weak to walk all the way. It’s true because the games lounge is down at the other end of the building. Raff, wonderful strong Raff steps in and promises to carry Jack.
“And you’re not going to get in trouble with Cynthia?” I ask him that night when we’re lying in my bed, playing with his long hair.
“Not worth her while. I’m going in three weeks. Cynthia isn’t going to waste her time on a battle with someone who’s already given his notice.”
Cynthia might not but Mrs Jenkins and her trolley have other ideas.
And that’s a whole other battle. The Squad refuse to accept Mrs Jenkins’ usual stale chocolate bourbons and dishrag-tea. Bill donates the large box of PG Tips I got him, and Shirley donates an elegant teapot, a family heirloom. Now, every afternoon, they make their own tea in the Games Lounge.
Two days later, walking into The Glyn with a shopping bag full of supplies when suddenly a trolley is pushed in front of me blocking my way.
“It’s all you,” Mrs Jenkins snarls at me. “Nasty interfering slag-face, keep causing trouble.”
The out and out aggression is so surprising, it makes me stammer.
“Please excuse me.” I try to step around her trolley but she grabs my sleeve in her fist.
“I know your game. You’re pushing to take my job.”
“I’m not taking away anything from you. Please let me pass.”
She fumes. “You revved them up against me.”
“Who?” I look around.
A few people have gathered to watch. Then Raff, like the magician he is, materialises behind them and starts edging his way towards me. “Is everything okay?”
“She’s taking our business,” Mrs Jenkins complains. “Don’t believe her visiting her granddad, all lies. She’s stirring up trouble.”
“I’ll take it from here, Mrs Jenkins,” he says in pacifying tone, laying a hand on my upper arm where she’s still gripping my sleeve.
Reluctantly, she untwists her fist and releases me but not before hissing, “Watch yourself, or you will pay.”
Raff steers me away and quickly down the hall. “Sorry about that. I was coming to the door to wait for you.”
“Did you know she was going to attack me?”
“No, but I thought there might be trouble today. You see, the Squad are demanding a partial refund of catering fees. They say since they don’t want the tea and biscuits she offers, they shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
“No.” My stomach twists as if Mrs Jenkins had it in her grasp. “This is trouble.”
“Oh yes, it is. They also insist they want a refund for dinners they don’t have when they’re at Kendric House.” He looks down at me, a small smile twitching the corners of his lips. “I’m afraid you’re going to be a victim of your success. The Squad is growing.”
We’ve reached the games lounge by now, but the double doors are closed which is unusual. Raff knocks and Vanessa cracks the door open. When she sees it’s us she opens it wide and welcomes us in. “Come inside, quick.” She closes the door behind us.
There are fifteen people here. All listening attentively. The room has been rearranged so everyone is sitting in a wide circle with DeNiro and Shirley in the middle.
“According to the contract,” DeNiro says, reading from a file. “We’re paying for three meals a day plus two snacks. If you divide the weekly catering charge by seven to get the daily allowance, then by five to get the single meal cost, we can—”
“It’s not the same, surely,” Philomena argues. “Breakfast isn’t the same as dinner.”
“Yes, it is,” Shirley says. “They’re both awful.”
“The point is” – Bill interjects – “we need an estimate.”
DeNiro agrees. “An estimate that the meals can be deemed to cost.”
I glance up at Raff and whisper, “Deemed?”
“DeNiro used to be a solicitor.”
Bill waves me over. “Here she is. You need to ask her before you go any further.”
“Ask me what?” I go to sit in the chair Bill seems to have kept empty for me.
“Are you happy to keep making fabulous afternoon teas? It’s a lot to ask.”
“Of course. I’m more than happy.” I smile at them all. Cooking isn’t hard; what worries me is this trade union they seem to be setting up. “But—”
“We will pay you, of course,” Bill says.
“Too right, we’ll pay her.” DeNiro beams at me. He has that twinkle in his eyes, the reason they call him DeNiro. Just like Rober de Niro in his more recent comedy roles. “We’ll just deduct it from what we pay them here.”
“I suggest we set up a subscription.” This from a lady with very short silver hair. “I can do the bookkeeping. Anyone wants to join the Squad can subscribe, and that money is paid to Leonie because she needs to pay her staff.”
“I don’t have staff,” I say quickly. This is starting to snowball.
“Maybe not,” she says sounding very much like an accountant. “But you will need staff if you’re making tea for all of us.”
“Those lovely youngsters helping you. You can pay them,” Shirley says.
“They’re just volunteers.”
Gethin is shaking his head. “Never run a project on volunteers. It’s bad business. You pay them, then you can rely on them.”
“What about Mrs Jenkins and Cynthia?” a man I don’t know asks.
“We’re not inviting them.” Gethin snaps back. “It’s bad enough we have to look at them all day here.”
“They won’t agree,” the man explains.
The lady with the short sliver hair stands up and starts counting heads around the room. “I’d say we’re between ten and fifteen per cent of the residents. That gives us a stronger voice. She won’t want us complaining to her managers.”
“The managers will side with her. They don’t care and they won’t want to lose the profit they make on the side.” The same man argues back. And I rather agree with him.
“Don’t write to the managers,” Shirley now says, looking like she’s just had a bright idea. “We write directly to the governors of Cotes Care Homes. I have a list of them somewhere. One is a vicar, and one is a consultant. We have a fair case. They won’t want to look like they’re exploiting us.”
DeNiro adds, “And send a copy to the local papers. That will force their hands.”
Raff and I look at each other across the room; he has the same baffled expression that must be on my face.
These people!
They might be elderly, some of them might be disabled or even sick, but, my God, when they pool their knowledge and experience, they are a formidable force.
“The only question.” Bill turns to me. “Will you do it?”
“I have to ask Evan Kendric. It’s his house.” Now that this is becoming a serious set up and they want to pay, I don’t need them to pay me but maybe the volunteers should be paid if this is going to become a regular thing.