Chapter Twenty-Six
Tuesday 11th December, The Glyn, Afternoon
Good idea or not, Bill can tell within minutes of my arrival that something is wrong. In spite of my brightest smile.
Honestly! I must not be a good actress, after all, if my fake face doesn’t fool anyone.
He keeps giving me concerned looks and finally comes out and asks, point blank. “What’s happened? Why are you so upset. You haven’t even enjoyed your tea.”
“That’s right,” Gethin says. “You normally have this way of closing your eyes when you take a sip of PG Tips, not today.”
“As if you’re only drinking it to keep up appearances.” Shirley agrees. “And you haven’t heard a word I said.”
“That’s because you’ve been banging on about Christmas for the last two hours.”
“Don’t start bickering you two,” Bill tells them before turning back to me. “Are you going to tell us?”
In the end I give them an edited version with no mention of Cynthis. I just focus on Owen Kendric and his threats, the community at the house and the legal implications.
“I don’t understand,” – this from DeNiro – “why is the surveyor coming. What’s it got to do with him? It’s Evan’s house. Surely he can’t force entry.”
There’s a chorus of agreement from everyone except Bill who is looking very thoughtful. After he moment, he taps me on the hand. “You had better leave before Mrs Jenkins comes. I don’t want you having words, and you look like you’re spoiling for a fight. We’ll see you tomorrow. But come earlier, come right after lunch.”
I don’t know why he’s keen to get me out. My impression of the Squad is that they’ve abandoned the strategy of ‘anything for a quiet life’ and embraced the ‘let’s upset the apple cart’ ideology. So, something is up.
The next day, as soon as I arrive, with a bag full of goodies, Bill pushes himself up from his chair. He’s dressed in a suit and has a coat folded nearby which he grabs. “You have your car don’t you?”
“Yes, why?”
“Let go and talk to Mr Kendric.” He threads his arm into the sleeve of his coat.
“You’ll miss your tea and biscuits.” Philomena follows him with her eyes as he edges his way out of the circle of chairs and tables.
“We’re not going to solve anything by sitting here drinking tea. If we don’t act soon, you can forget about biscuits, we’d be lucky to get gravel and sulphur in the New Year.
No flies on my grandfather; he clearly has worked out the connection with Cynthia.
“I’m coming with you.” Vanessa gets up too, rummaging in her handbag for a packet of wet wipes which she uses to clean her hands and lips.
“We can all—” Philomena starts.
“No,” he says firmly. “We can’t all fit into Leonie’s car.”
Actually, they both can, but I don’t contradict him. Perhas he’s trying to avoid the competition between the two women.
Vanessa, who seems to like Bill a lot, must have also worked out that whatever size my car it can fit one more person.
“Just me, surely.” She starts to button up her cardigan, a pretty cornflower blue with pearls along the collar.
“This is not a fun outing.” Bill says not ungently, but he is still moving towards the exit. “It’s business, and my son lives there, so I’m involved.”
This stops both women, and we leave the games lounge alone. But when we get to the car park, Raff is there waiting. He is coming with us, apparently. And it’s equally clear that Bill already knew that.
We make it to Kendric House by 2:30 p.m. in time to find Evan having a meeting with the partners. Alex, Llewellyn, Haneen, the professor, Watson the gardener (even though he hasn’t done anything yet), and a couple of the volunteers.
They’re all sitting round a table in the kitchen.
“Sorry to interrupt.” I turn around to leave them. But Bill has already come through the kitchen door.
“Dad?” The professor stands up surprised.
“Leonie told me about this threat.” Bill steps around me and goes to shake hands with Evan. “I’m her grandfather. I hope you don’t mind me joining your meeting.”
Evan is a little surprised, but he makes room for the three of us round the table without a word. Alex brings more chairs and we all sit.
Evan opens a file in front of him and pulls out a sheet. “This is what I’ve managed to get out of Cotes Care Homes since all this started. They initially wrote to me and to” – his lips thin– “my older brother. They complained to him about our inviting their residents. My brother has written back telling them the house is unfit for human habitation.”
“Which is why the council is going to close us down,” Alex says, grimly.
“In my opinion,” Watson (the not yet gardener) pipes up. “We should cooperate and see if we can reach a compromise. We say the north and west wings are available for sale to a developer who has the funds to rebuild. This way it removes the problem.”
“I won’t sell.” Evan says.
“They’re more likely to be lenient if we don’t fight them,” Watson says. He’s a square looking guy, square frame, square head, dressed like a teacher. He’s maybe late thirties but his attitude strikes me as already middle-aged.
“Offer them the contract for finding a suitable buyer, they will jump at the chance.” He insists.
“Sell? That’s not a solution, it’s capitulation.” The professor throws his arms up in the air.
“It’s a compromise, lose part of the property so we don’t lose everything.”
Alex rounds on him. “Easy for you to say, you’ve done nothing, you have nothing to lose.”
“Everyone let’s please stay calm.” Evan tries to maintain a calm discussion. It’s clear from his barely controlled voice, he too is angry at Watson.
“Is anyone here an engineer?” Bill asks into the tense moment.
Heads shake all around the table.
“I used to be, and this kind of thing isn’t new to me,” he says, suddenly very businesslike. “Can I ask first of all, what is in the house that might be a hazard?”
“The north wing is the worst.” Evan explains. “Lots of piled up old furniture, some of it broken, also glass panels and mirrors stacked up which can break easily. When we cleared the other wings, we stored everything there until we have time to go through it and assess what can be kept or repaired. The west wing has less furniture but is still untouched. Cracked and rotten floorboards, aside from the dust and cobwebs, it has trailing wires everywhere, threadbare curtains.”
Bill takes out a small flip notebook from his jacket pocket and starts writing into it.
“Both wings have no electricity yet,” Evan continues. “So, they’re dark and grim. And they might have rats or—”
“No, they don’t.” Haneen cuts in passionately. “You cleaned out all that last year. Vermin need something to eat, they can’t eat dust.”
She’s trying very hard to inject a little positivity into the meeting and to defend Evan’s work. But he, like Bill is now very businesslike, stating facts with no emotion, the way actors play a man in a serious meeting.
“How accessible are both wings?” Bill asks.
Haneen, again replies, replies. “They’re not. There are doors off the central part of the house which lead to each wing. Both doors are locked.”
“However,” Evan says, still calm and matter of fact. “They’re not the only problem. “The top floors of the other two wings, south, and east haven’t been touched yet either. They’re not terrible, because we’ve partially rewired and plumbed both wings, but the floors are in a bad state. I wouldn’t want anyone walking on them.”
“The problem, as I see it, is that we’re open to the public.” Alex adds speaking directly to Bill. “Aside from the afternoon tea, we’ve had more than a few workshops for the teenagers from the village.”
Llewellyn nods. “My business hub is in constant use, seven days a week. On some days, that’s as many as ten people.”
It’s incredible how within moments Bill has become the focus of the meeting and everyone defers to him. Now he turns to Evan. “Do you have any paperwork from this surveyor who’s planning to come?”
“Nothing yet. Just a phone call this morning. Haneen took it while I was out. That’s why we’re having this emergency meeting. He wants to come next Wednesday at 11:00 a.m.”
Bill frowns “This is very irregular. You should have had letters not a phone call. When the council investigate, they usually give you notice in writing. And they never act so quickly after a complaint. My guess is these are private surveyors.”
For the first time, Evan looks optimistic. “Does this mean I don’t have to allow them into the property?”
Bill exchanges a look with Raff who lifts his eyebrows in a ‘that’s what I thought’ expression. As if they’d both talked about this before.
“That’s good news, isn’t it?” Alex asks looking more optimistic. “If it’s not the council, a private surveyor doesn’t have any powers. You can stop them coming into your home.”
“Unless…” Raff speaks for the first time.
Every head turns to him.
“Unless he’s been commissioned by The Glyn, or more accurately the parent organisation, Cotes Care Homes.” He reaches into his breast pocket for a folded page.
What have they been cooking up? Bill and Raff seem to have done a lot of digging up after they hustled me out of The Glyn early.
“The Safeguarding Adult Act.” He unfolds the page and reads from it. “It’s a legislative framework for those working in care homes and similar facilities. It allows for an independent advocate to act on behalf of vulnerable adults” – he nods to Bill – “That’s you and the Squad I’m afraid. The act is there to make sure you’re not put at risk.”
“No one was put at risk,” I can’t help speaking out. “I took every precaution. The main room where we had the tea party was spotless. Not a single nail or screw or anything. And the same for the passage to the bathroom.” Tears sting my eyes. With everyone round the table, the phone call from the surveyor, the file full of paperwork, it all seems so real. What have I brough on their heads.
Unexpectedly, it’s the professor, who takes my hand and squeezes it. “No one blames you. We’re all grown-ups. We all took part, even enjoyed, your tea parties.”
“What are you saying?” Haneen asks Raff, now. “This private surveyor has powers to…what exactly? Come into our home?”
“He doesn’t have powers,” Raff answers her. “But as the place open to the public, what’s to stop him just strolling in? Once here, he can make notes, take pictures to add to his findings which will then be presented to whoever commissioned him. The care home, I think.”
Haneen and Evan exchange a wordless look. I can almost read the name Owen in the air between them.
“And the care home might apply to the council for an emergency closure.”
“And the council will close us down while their slow wheels turn,” Evan says leaning back in his chair as if realising the uselessness of any further discussion.
Everyone looks defeated. Only Watson looks smug. “So, I repeat, the best option is to compromise. Offer to sell part of the house to someone who can rebuild and that will take care of the problem.”
“My advice,” Bill starts and everyone looks at him, hoping he has something good to say. “Tell this fellow he can’t come now. Tell him you're closing for Christmas.”
Everyone sits up.
“Why?” several voices ask at once.
“Christmas isn’t for another two weeks.” Haneen says
“For a start, that surveyor can’t come if you’re closed to the public. And even if he somehow makes a report based on rumour, the care home won’t act on it in a hurry. What they want is to protect their own business from outside catering, here.” He looks at me. “If and when Cynthia applies to Powys Council, she will need to check and double check her application with her superiors in the parent company. It’ll need time. So, if you remove the urgency by telling her you’re closed to the public until the New Year, she will wait.”
There’s a moment of silence which Llewellyn breaks. “So what? Before Christmas or in the New Year, they are still going to close us down.”
“It gives you breathing space,” Bill answers. “Time. And you must use this time.”
“How?” Evan asks.
“Your problem is that most of the house is dangerous. It’s not one wing, it’s two wings, the largest wings, and the top floors of the entire house. I know how health and safety regulators think. To them there are too many hazards, here there and everywhere. You need to reduce that.”
Evan finds a clen page and he too starts taking notes.
“Clean up and repair everything except the north wing. Seal the doors and windows into that. Place clean notices and hazard tape across every window and door. Hire builders, whatever you need. By the time January comes round, and the surveyor comes, there’s nothing to see.”
There’s a palpable energy that goes round the table like a Mexican wave. Everyone starts offering suggestions.
Llewellyn is the first. “I can call the builders who decorated the hub. They might be free over Christmas, even if we pay them double.”
“And my workers too,” Alex is already on his phone. “Mosaics can wait while we save our investment.”
“I don’t do manual labour,” the professor says. “But I am not bad at signing cheques.”.
“Wait a minute,” Watson suddenly pipes up. “We’re going to have to pay?”
“Unless you know builders who work for free,” Alex says pointedly. He and Watson don’t seem to like each other much. I never noticed but then Watson tends to keep to himself most of the time; we never see him.
“The upstairs is nothing to do with us. Maybe you and the professor but I’m working on the garden,
“You’re not working on the garden, you’ve been here three months and done bugger all.” Alex isn’t even trying to be polite.
“I have no stake in the inside of the house, It’s Evan and his brother and this interfering girl that’s caused all this. Not my fault.”
“You will speak of my daughter with respect.” The professor suddenly has iron in his voice.
“We’re all a community. If Kendric House closes we all lose.” Llewellyn says calmly but he is looking daggers at Watson.
“It’s a waste of time, you’ll never get the job done in time. the west wing in particular is huge.” Watson gets up.
“Leaving already. Rats out of a sinking ship?” the professor asks silkily.
“I’m glad you know it’s a sinking ship.” And he hurries out.
“With a bit of luck, that’s him giving up the partnership and leaving us.” Haneen says on a long exhale.
“I…er,” Raff says into the tiny silence. “I am good with my hands, I’m happy to help. For the next couple of week before I go.”
I’d forgotten.
He’s leaving just after Christmas. Two weeks.
His words are welcomed by everyone but me. No one notices the way my lips refuse to smile. it’s like something has glued the corners of my mouth down. To hide my face, I get up to make tea for everyone.
This is my go-to activity. My escape. I count the people at the table, make them all tea the way they each like it. In the fridge, I have a Bakewell tart almost ready; I slide it into the oven, and while it bakes, I make sandwiches. They’re all talking busy and excited, making plans. Bill as the only engineer is giving advice on what will make the most difference. Alex is on the phone, Evan is drawing up action lists.
The planning meeting goes on for another hour, they eat and talk. But when I clear the table and start to wash up, I feel a hand in the small of my back.
“You okay?” Raff whispers into my hair.
“Course.” My voice sounds strange.
He understands. He always has. His arms go round my waist and he pulls me back against his body. Slowly his heat warms me better than the oven. His stillness absorbs my jangling nerves and steadies me. After a moment he says. “Give me your keys, I’ll drive Bill home.”
“How will I manage without a car.”
He chuckles softly in my ear. “I’m coming back, of course.” He gives a final squeeze. “If you want me.”
“Only if you have time. You’ve just volunteered for a lot of work. I don’t mind if you need a rest.”
He laughs at my feeble bravado and kisses the top of my head.