Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
By Thursday evening, Harriet was beginning to feel the pressure. Four weeks from today there would be a theater full of punters expecting to watch A Christmas Carol on the stage. She still hadn’t heard back from Gideon’s Great Foss Players. And her quest for costumes had been a bust; Cornell had got wind that she’d been sweet-talking the drama department technician for wardrobe loans and had sent her a snitty email.
It felt like too much of her time was spent putting out small fires instead of concentrating on the blaze. Today was a case in point: she’d attended four compulsory departmental meetings and proxied for Cornell in three others because he declared them to be a waste of his time. Most often her presence was merely an exercise in box-ticking, and she was always left with a bubbling undercurrent of frustration at having to neglect the more practical elements of her job.
Now she was sitting on a chair on a stage listening to a bunch of teenagers and a grown man bicker like toddlers in a sandpit. She was tired, cold, and hangry. The four cardigans over her pinafore might have been made of chiffon for all the good they were doing, and the fearsome draft around her ankles was making her long for Jane Fonda–style leg warmers.
“I didn’t make the rules,” said James when Ricco threw his arms in the air dramatically. “We’d have to pay a licensing fee for the copyright to A Christmas Carol the musical, which takes it off the table. End of.”
Thus far he had managed to successfully shoot down all their ideas without a hint of positive reinforcement. He would really benefit from the “unconditional positive regard” workshop she and Ali had arranged for the last professional development day at Foss.
“Let’s not be too hasty,” Harriet interjected. “Ricco, I like your idea of introducing a musical element; I’m sure there must be a way around it. I don’t think we need to take singing off the table entirely.”
James rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t. God forbid you agree with me.”
Harriet ignored him and picked up her phone to search theater licenses. The bickering continued around her.
At least Leo was happy. He had spread one of the backcloths out across the freshly mopped stage and was diligently drawing out the images from his sketchbook. He expressed himself via his hair color and his artwork, which was preferable; the last time his emotional dam burst, a chair had gone through a window.
“You’re a lawyer.” Ricco looked accusingly at James. “You must know about loopholes. Isn’t that how you keep rich white people out of prison?”
Oh gawd, here we go again! She scrolled down the government website to the section she needed.
“Dude! Nice burn,” said Billy, holding up his hand, which Ricco gleefully high-fived.
“That is both presumptive and offensive, and I will not dignify it with a response.” James’s tone was condescending.
“ I will not dignify that with a response ,” Carly mimicked in a voice so laden with snobbery that Harriet had to stifle a snicker behind a cough. She felt James glaring at her.
“Found it!” She held up her phone triumphantly. “Evaline will need to acquire, if she hasn’t already, a public performance license if she wants the theater to be fit for purpose. So, while I don’t think we have the time to get a whole musical under our belts, you could choose a couple of songs that would fit with the play, and we would be covered by the theater’s license.”
Phew! Another crisis averted. Although James was looking at her like she’d just wiped a bogey on his suit trousers.
“Ooh, Kate Winslet sang ‘What If’ for one of the animated versions. I’ve learned all the words to that one already!” Carly was bouncing on her chair. Her mood this evening was the complete opposite to that of the night before.
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” agreed Ricco. “I know it too. Done my Chazzer Dick homework!”
“I’m not sure we should nickname one of Britain’s finest writers Chazzer Dick,” said Harriet.
“Nicknames are affectionate, miss,” offered Isabel.
“I trust that after all this you can actually sing?” James’s tone was snippy; he was clearly still smarting after Ricco’s last remark.
“Oh, I can vouch for that,” Harriet jumped in quickly. “They sang a Taylor Swift duet in the Foss end-of-year talent show, they were incredible.”
“I love that you’re such a Swiftie, miss,” said Leo, looking up from his backcloth.
“I cannot deny that Taylor Swift has my whole heart,” Harriet said, smiling.
“Are you a Swiftie, James?” Isabel asked.
He looked discombobulated. “Um, I’m not sure I know much of her work.”
Bless his misguided life.
“I’m not singing,” said Billy.
“Me either,” added Isabel.
“You don’t have to. Nobody needs to do anything they don’t want to,” Harriet assured them.
“Except put on a play,” Billy grumbled.
“Precisely.”
“Excuse me.” A short woman in a leopard-print hijab stood at the bottom of the stage steps. “I’m looking for Harriet Smith.”
“That’s me,” Harriet said, standing. “Can I help you?”
“I’m rather hoping you can. Could I possibly steal you away for a few minutes? It’s a community matter.”
“Oh, um…”
James stood and said, “I ought to leave now anyway, I’ve got some work to do.”
“Me too,” said Isabel. “My mum’s working nights this week, I’ve got to put my brothers to bed.”
“I’ll walk you home,” said Billy. And then to dispel the catcalls from Carly and Ricco, he added, “It’s on my way anyway.”
“I didn’t mean to break up your meeting,” said the woman. “We can arrange a time that suits you better.”
Harriet smiled at her reassuringly.
“No need, we were about done here anyway. Would you like to get a drink? There’s a bistro along the way that serves coffee all evening.”
“Sounds perfect.” The woman smiled broadly back at her.
“I’ll just grab my coat from the dressing room, and I’ll be with you.”
James followed her backstage. “Why do you always side with them?” he asked as they walked the corridors.
“I don’t.”
She did.
“Demonstrably, you do.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Well, somebody needs to be in their corner.”
“What about my corner?”
“I think you fill your own corner just fine.”
They reached the dressing room, and Harriet wrapped her scarf around her neck.
“But it undermines me, and it only succeeds in further pitting them against me. How am I supposed to build any sort of rapport with them when you behave like their gatekeeper?”
“To be honest, James, I’ve seen very little evidence of you trying to build any sort of connection with them.”
“I saved their bacon last night!”
“Yes, you did, and I am grateful to you for it, but I’m talking about personal connections, letting them know that you’re on their team.”
He looked ready to shoot back something defensive, and then he seemed to change his mind.
“I want to be on their team.” The anger had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a kind of dispiritedness. “I want them to know that I’m on their team. But I can’t seem to judge it right, I keep putting my foot in it. And if I’m being completely honest, they, well, they…”
“They scare you a bit?” she said softly, making sure to catch his eye so that he knew she wasn’t mocking him.
He grimaced. “I hate to admit it, but I think maybe they do a bit. They’re so unpredictable. I never know what’s going to come out of their mouths next. Or what they’re going to do. One minute it’s all singing and dancing and the next they’re punching walls, literally.”
She laughed as she pulled her coat on. “But you’re a solicitor. Surely you must work with unpredictable people all the time?”
“I deal with adults. I can read adults, they’re straightforward, they may think they’re complex, but I can break them down and see how they tick. These guys…” He rubbed his jaw, which was well into five o’clock shadow. “They’re all over the show, I can’t get a handle on them.”
She shrugged. “That’s teenagers for you. Look, they haven’t been set in stone yet, they’re still figuring themselves out. Did you know that a teenager’s brain goes through a literal process of reconfiguration? They are not only physically changing but neurologically too. Imagine having to deal with school and peer pressure and exams and family and all that other stuff, all while there’s an illegal rave happening inside your brain.”
She pulled on her bobble hat and adjusted her hair in the mirror. James watched her reflection intently, his eyes studying her face as though seeing her again for the first time. She turned back to him.
“Okay,” he said, nodding as though answering a question only he could hear. “What do you suggest I do?”
“Try to relax around them. And then just accept that you’ve bought a one-way ticket for the banana express and lean into it. It’s the only way.”
“Right. Banana train. Got it.”
She finished doing the buttons up on her coat. “And I’ll try not to be quite so gatekeepery around them.”
“Thank you.”
The famous five had scarpered by the time Harriet got back to the auditorium, and James had left through the newly replaced back door, leaving the mystery woman alone on the stage.
“Sorry about that,” Harriet said, throwing her bag over her shoulder.
“No problem at all, I was just marveling at this interior. I’ve never been in here before. I’m Hesther, by the way.”
“Good to meet you, Hesther.” She shook her hand. “It’s a pretty awesome place, isn’t it? I’d never been here until a week ago and now I feel like I live here.” She chuckled. “But it is beautiful. Especially now that the repairs are properly under way, it’s like Sleeping Beauty waking up. Come along then, I could use a treat.”
The bistro was situated halfway along one of the narrow alleyways off the high street. Its bay windows were bowed with age, the little square panes of glass so thick you could see neither in nor out. Flower-shaped sconces glowed amber on the rough plastered walls, and candles flickered on the tables. There wasn’t a straight wall or floorboard in the place, and each table was fine-tuned by pieces of cardboard wedged under the legs to stop them from wobbling.
They ordered two bowls of French onion soup, and each nursed a steaming cup of decaffeinated coffee—it was after seven p.m.—while they waited for their food to arrive. Hesther was a striking woman. Her dark eyes were defined by black liquid eyeliner with perfect flicks at the corners, and a bright purple lipstick enhanced her heart-shaped lips.
“You’ve probably heard that the community center had to close all its spaces?” said Hesther. The community center had designated meeting rooms dotted throughout Little Beck Foss.
“I did.” This town! she thought. Always cutting back the resources most needed.
“Well, it’s left some of the groups out in the cold, literally. I run a group for refugee women, a safe space where people can meet and cook together and make new friends, you know, just find some sense of community in a new country. We like to share food. The familiar flavors can be a great comfort, especially for those living away from loved ones. We run a few courses alongside to help with their English-speaking skills and give them the tools they need for entering the workplace if that’s what they want. Anyway, I’ve been looking for a new place to set up camp and I was told that you might be able to help us.”
Harriet took a sip of her coffee as she considered. Technically there was plenty of room. And Evaline had agreed in principle to her idea for a community hub. And Hesther’s group was a part of the community very much in need of a home. Would Evaline agree? Probably not. Would Evaline need to know? Maybe not?
“How many of you are there?” she asked.
“Usually about twenty, give or take. Sometimes they bring their children.”
“Do you know what? Yes, absolutely, the more the merrier. It’s a bit like playing musical chairs—there’s a lot of shifting between spaces depending on where the maintenance teams are, and it gets pretty noisy, you heard that for yourself. But it’s friendly and we’d be honored if your group would share the space with us.”
Hesther’s smile was wide and joyful. “Thank you. You don’t know what it means to these women.”
“Don’t thank me, I don’t own the building; I’m pretty much squatting there. But if you don’t mind squatting alongside us, then you’re very welcome. I can’t guarantee that it’s a long-term solution to your problem. The owner might feel differently to me, but what she doesn’t know…”
“Ah yes, the infamous Evaline Winter.” When Harriet eyed her curiously, Hesther continued, “Some of the women in the group live in her buildings, and let’s just say the property maintenance companies in her employ don’t deserve their title.”
“Oh.” She had heard something of this from Pete, and now here too. She would speak to James about it; surely he couldn’t condone such negligence. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It isn’t your fault. I am learning that is often the way with landlords who own multiple properties: they’re quick to buy the buildings up at auction but slow to maintain them on a day-to-day basis.”
“Well, one thing you can be sure of, the team renovating the theater is excellent and very supportive of us being there. I’m sure they’ll welcome you too.” She was thinking of Ken’s bonhomie, how it infused every space he inhabited.
“You are a lifesaver,” Hesther enthused.
Harriet laughed. “Hardly. Can I ask, who pointed you in my direction?”
“A solicitor. Mr. Knight. I emailed his law firm to ask if we had any rights with regard to community areas. Unfortunately, we don’t, no surprise there. But he very kindly wrote back to me and told me to come and find you. He said if anyone would help me, you would.”
Harriet’s blood became honey in her veins. She wasn’t sure why, but knowing that hers was the name on the tip of James’s fingertips warmed something inside her.
“Funnily enough, Mr. Knight—James—was the man you met at the theater.”
“Really? Oh, I wish I’d known, I would have liked to thank him in person for his help.”
“Never mind, you’ll be seeing plenty of him, he’s at the theater almost as much as I am. I’m glad he pointed you in my direction. Come whichever days work best for you and your group. I’m only there in the evenings—aside from weekends—because I work during the day, but I’ll give you my number.” She scribbled it down on a napkin and handed it to Hesther. “And if you let me know when you’ll be coming, I can alert the maintenance teams.”
“Evenings would probably work for us too, most of us work during the day. I get the feeling you stay busy too; Mr. Knight outlined your project in his correspondence.”
Harriet laughed the maniacal laugh of overworked and underappreciated women everywhere.
“Rather too busy. But there’s nothing to be done about it. And it’s only another few weeks until the end of term, and then hopefully I won’t be quite so tired.”
Only a few more weeks! Lawks! By the time this is over I’m going to need a cruise, shares in a sensory deprivation tank, and an intravenous ginseng drip to aid my recovery.
Hesther was looking at her with concern.
“Is your employer being supportive?”
This time her laugh was a harsh bark. The pile of paperwork on her desk plus the extra that Cornell had delegated her way felt like a mountain on the verge of an avalanche.
“No. They are not.”
“Could you ask to take some leave?”
She thought about her empty flat and a lonely Christmas. Schr?dinger’s mum. At least when she was working, she had a purpose.
“To be honest, I don’t mind keeping busy at the moment. You know,” she said, stirring her coffee, “the maintenance team just put a brand-new stainless-steel kitchen in one of the restaurants at the theater. I’ll ask Ken, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if your group used the kitchens.”
“Who is Ken?”
“Oh, he’s the site foreman. He shouts a lot, but it’s all bluster. He’s sort of taken my students under his wing, a bit like a granddad who scolds them and looks out for them all at the same time.”
“I think we could all do with a Ken in our lives.” Hesther smiled.
“I think you’re right.”
“Thank you,” said Hesther, suddenly serious. “It will mean a lot to my group. It’s hard to start all over again in a new country, especially when English isn’t your first language and your accent sets you apart. A little kindness goes a long way.”
Harriet felt a twinge of guilt for complaining about being tired and lonely in her warm and safe life.
“I’ll be happy to help you all settle in.” A thought occurred to her. “If your group would like a project, we’re in need of hands to help us paint up some sets and backdrops. We have an excellent artist in our midst, young Leo—blue hair,” she added for clarification, “who has designed all the backdrops and is working on drawing them onto the backcloths. We could really use some extra hands to help us paint them…once I find some paint…and brushes. We’re what you might call a ragtag outfit.” She covered her face with her hands and let out a tired huff. “What am I doing? I’ll be honest with you; I’m making it all up on the fly. To say I’m out of my depth would be an understatement.”
Hesther gave her a knowing look. “I’d never started a community group before this one. I’m a receptionist at a dental surgery, not a social worker. But here I am. Some people follow a calling and some, like us, stumble into one. Consider us part of your team. Put us to work. It’ll be like the art therapy I’d love to provide if money weren’t an issue,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’m guessing you know all about that.”
Harriet nodded in sympathy. “Unfortunately, I do.”
Hesther clapped her hands together as though to dispel any gloom, a sunshiny expression on her face.
“I can’t wait to give the group the good news. One of our members was an interior designer in her old life, I’m sure she’d love to stretch out her design muscles.”
“What does she do now?” Harriet asked.
“She works for a cleaning firm, cleaning offices. We have a former cardiologist who does the same.” Her smile slipped. “These women held up the sky in their old lives; here they are invisible at best and targets of xenophobia at worst. I can’t magically change everybody’s mind about them, but I can help make it easier to survive here.”
Harriet felt like she understood Hesther on a cellular level; she saw her own driving force mirrored back at her.
“I get it,” she said earnestly. She placed her hand over her heart in an effort to make Hesther feel her sincerity. “I don’t have the right words to explain myself, but I honestly get it.”
Hesther smiled at her with wise eyes.
“I know that you do. I saw it the moment I clapped eyes on you with your students.” She grinned. “Mr. Knight knows it too.”
Later, after she’d cleared her work inbox for that day, she lay back against her pillows, replete with French onion soup and good conversation, and thought about Hesther and her women’s group. She realized that her ambitions for a community space went beyond the needs of her students. Everyone deserved a safe sanctuary, no matter their age or station in life, and she would challenge Evaline and whoever bought the place to ensure that the Winter Theater reserved a space for anyone in Little Beck Foss who needed it.
And then she remembered what Hesther had said regarding Evaline being a crappy landlady. She wasn’t surprised where Evaline was concerned, but she’d expected better from James. She set a high bar for herself, and she would be doing herself a disservice if she lowered it simply because he had a very nice face and had given her two orgasms on the night they’d met. He had become her new favorite sexual fantasy and she was loath to part with it, but she couldn’t in all good conscience continue to perv over him if he was complicit in his client’s dodgy dealings. Words would need to be had, and the sooner the better.