Chapter 7
Was there anything he needed to do with regards to either the jumble sale, or the tea dance, Bill wondered. Fiona had booked the venue (the church hall), Molly and Jack had said they would set up for both events, the vicar was supplying the music for the tea dance (although Bill did worry that the music in question might be hymns and therefore not at all suitable), the posters had been distributed, and Fiona was in charge of the refreshments. So there was little left to be done, and even less to be done by him . And now that the excitement of the weekend (planning) and yesterday (delivering leaflets and posters) was out of the way, Bill was at a loose end.
He could run the vacuum cleaner around – with Patch there were always dog hairs that needed hoovering up – and he could put a load of washing on, but he wasn’t in the mood for housework.
Feeling restless, he found himself upstairs, standing in front of his mum’s large walnut wardrobe. His wardrobe now, he supposed, but he couldn’t help continuing to think of this bedroom as his mother’s, despite her having passed away some years ago. He had returned home as soon as he’d been notified of her stroke, and he had remained in Sweet Meadow until she died a couple of weeks later. After the funeral, he had gone back to sea for another three years before retiring and returning to Sweet Meadow for good. But no matter how long he lived in this house, he would always think of it as Mum’s.
After her death, when he was at sea and Sweet Meadow had seemed a lifetime away, he had debated whether he should sell up, but he had never got around to it. It was too late now, as he was far too comfortable with his living arrangements, even if a three-bed house was too big for him. A face-lift wouldn’t go amiss, and he wondered what Fiona had made of it when she’d popped in the other day.
Thinking of Fiona reminded him why he was peering into the wardrobe’s open door.
He had been flattered that she had shown such an interest in his days in the Merchant Navy, but when she had asked him whether he had ever thought about settling down the question had brought long-buried memories to the surface and he had nearly blurted out the truth. Luckily he’d caught himself in time, and had batted the question away with some nonsense about home being whatever ship he had been on. And once upon a time, that had been more or less true – until Tracey.
Bill lowered himself to the floor, his knees popping loudly and earning himself a concerned boop from Patch as he let out a grunt. Getting up was going to be a cow, but his back wouldn’t have taken much bending if he was going to rummage around in the bottom of the wardrobe. He had turned it into a kind of storage area for all those things he wanted to hang onto but didn’t know what to do with. He could have shoved them up the attic, but getting up there was a precarious business as he didn’t have a proper loft ladder. So into the wardrobe they’d gone.
Moving a small artificial Christmas tree to one side, he lifted out a cardboard box of baubles and tinsel, most of which dated from his childhood. Underneath, at the very back and hidden by a stack of old ledgers from before the days of computerisation, was a carved wooden box, no larger than a shoe box. Swallowing hard, he took it out and placed it on the carpet in front of him.
He hadn’t touched this box since he’d put it in the wardrobe not long after his mother had died. Why he felt the need to look inside it now was a question he couldn’t answer, but talking to Fiona yesterday had stirred up memories.
With trembling fingers, he opened the lid and put a hand to his chest.
He felt his heart thud alarmingly, because staring back at him was Tracey, the woman he had loved with every fibre of his being. The woman who had jilted him three days before their wedding.
***
Feeling restless was getting to be a habit, Fiona thought, as she lifted her lightweight jacket off the hook under the stairs. She probably wouldn’t need it, as the morning was a warm one, but she reasoned that it was better to have it and not to need it, than to need it and not have it. It was the same reasoning which made her keep a folding umbrella in her bag, no matter what the season. Summer in Sweet Meadow didn’t mean that it wouldn’t rain.
Shopping held no appeal, so she set her feet on the road towards the park instead. A bit of fresh air would do her good. The exercise would stop her from stiffening up after all the walking she had done yesterday traipsing around town delivering leaflets and posters, and she wanted another look at the cafe. It had been boarded up for so long, that it was a novelty to see it without.
Half-expecting to bump into Bill as he took Patch for his morning walk, Fiona was dawdling past the bandstand and doing her best not to look at it because the state it was in got her goat and might prompt yet another phone call to the council, when the sound of hammering caught her attention. It was coming from the cafe, and as she drew closer she spotted the open door.
Of course she had to go see what was going on. How could she not?
Sticking her head inside, she began to cough. The air was clouded with swirling dust and the floor was strewn with lumps of grey plaster.
‘Goodness gracious!’ she exclaimed. ‘Someone’s been busy.’
That someone was Jack. He was in the middle of chipping off the ancient plaster, exposing the bare brick underneath. He had nearly finished one wall, and she wondered how long he had been at it.
He turned at the sound of her voice, his face almost completely obscured by a pair of goggles and a mask. Putting the hammer and chisel down, he reached for a bottle of water, and gestured for her to go outside. When he removed his safety equipment, Fiona was amused to see the echoes they had left on his otherwise filthy face.
‘Getting on with it, I see,’ she observed.
‘I thought I may as well, considering I’ve got the day off.’
‘On a Tuesday?’
‘That’s the beauty of flexitime. I can build up my hours and take time off when I want.’
‘And you wanted to do this? ’ She pointed to the cafe.
Jack lifted a shoulder. ‘It needs doing, and I wasn’t sure how long it would take.’
‘Can’t you rope in some help?’
‘Probably, but with Molly sorting out the tradespeople and all the admin, and you and Bill in charge of the fundraising, I thought I’d better do my bit.’
Fiona gave him a shrewd look. When Jack had originally moved into Molly’s cottage – before he and Molly had got together – it had been on the understanding that he wouldn’t have to pay rent as long as he helped her renovate it. Gradually he had also been drawn into her scheme of restoring the park.
Now that they were a couple, it seemed that Jack was no longer working in the park out of obligation, but out of love – love for Molly and the park he now lived in. And of course he’d do anything for Molly: that was as obvious as the nose on his face. A nose that was currently covered in dust and dirt.
Even so, he was still a handsome chap. In some ways he reminded her of Bradley when he’d been a young man. Jack had the same kind eyes and easy smile, the same breadth to his shoulders and upright stance. Bill’s stance was the same, despite his more advanced years. And if you cared to look beyond the grumpy exterior, you’d see the kindness in his eyes too, Fiona thought. Although he didn’t smile very often, it simply made it more special when he did.
She glanced around the park but he was nowhere in sight, and her gaze came to rest on Jack once more. ‘I should let you get on,’ she said. ‘You don’t need me holding you up.’
He unscrewed the cap on his bottle of water and took a gulp. ‘I’m glad of the break, to be honest. It’s hard work, not to mention hot and dusty. How did yesterday go? Reuben said he’d dropped the posters off, and that you and Bill were going to hand them out.’
‘We did, and I must say that we had a good reception. People seemed quite enthused about a tea dance. But saying they like the idea, and actually turning up, is a different matter.’
Jack swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the dirt, and grinned at her. ‘We’ve sold thirty-four tickets already,’ he said, and Fiona clapped her hands.
‘That’s marvellous! You’ll keep me updated?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I need to know how many to cater for,’ she fretted, worrying that she wouldn’t prepare enough food. Or that there would be loads left over.
She couldn’t believe how nervous she felt, and as she continued her walk, she gave herself a silent talking to. Throughout the course of a normal day in the cafe, she used to serve a couple of hundred people, and she would do that day in, day out, week after week, month after month. Surely she could manage a hundred or so people for one afternoon, and Jack had promised to keep her abreast of how the ticket sales were going. She would have plenty of notice as to how many she would be catering for.
Although bubbling with excitement and wanting to share the news of the early ticket sales with Bill, she refrained from taking a walk up his street and knocking on his door, guessing that he might have had enough of her over the past couple of days. Just because she had enjoyed his company, didn’t mean he felt the same way. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t seemed desperate to get off home yesterday. If he had been, he wouldn’t have suggested lunch.
However, their friendship was in the early stages and although they appeared to get on well, she didn’t want to derail that. Knowing how cantankerous and how short-tempered he could be at times, she had no intention of rubbing him up the wrong way. Her news could wait. For now, she had plenty to keep her occupied by deciding what food she was going to serve at the tea dance, because as far as she was concerned, the dance would remind people why they used to visit Clover Cafe and hopefully put the cafe in Sweet Meadow Park firmly in their minds.
***
The idea must have come to Bill in the middle of the night because he awoke the following morning knowing exactly what he could do to help.
After taking Patch for an early walk, Bill changed into a shirt and a pair of slacks, and wrestled the dog into the harness that he wore whenever he was in the car, which wasn’t very often as Bill didn’t drive much these days. Today though, he would have to if he wanted to put his plan into action.
The nearest branch of the building society he banked with was a thirty-minute drive away. It did make him incredibly cross that the branch in Sweet Meadow had closed a year or so ago, and the inconvenience irked him. It was lucky that he’d mastered online banking, wasn’t it? Otherwise, he would be an incredibly annoyed customer. But what he wanted to do today couldn’t be done online, and he doubted whether it could be done over the phone, either. Therefore, a trip to the building society was needed in order to make his request in person.
The traffic wasn’t too bad but Bill took his time anyway, trying not to think about how he used to navigate ships weighing thousands of tonnes, yet he was now overly cautious about driving a fifteen-mile journey in a medium-sized hatchback. Because thinking about it brought home to him how small his world had become. He could sense that he was closing in on himself, and he didn’t like it.
When they arrived at their destination, Patch was ecstatic to be released from the car and he bounced around Bill’s legs as he patted his pocket, checking yet again that he had his wallet.
‘No need to get so worked up,’ he told his dog. ‘We’re not going anywhere exciting.’
Patch took no notice, trotting happily at Bill’s side, his tail wagging, pulling on his lead now and again if he caught an interesting scent. Although what could be interesting in a pedestrianised precinct filled with shoppers, Bill could only guess.
It didn’t take long to get to the building society, and as he approached the door he scooped Patch up into his arms. He had brought his dog here a couple of times previously, so he knew the staff probably wouldn’t object.
‘I’d like a banker’s draft for five hundred pounds, please,’ he said to the cashier, pushing his bank card through the little slot.
‘Certainly, sir. I can order one for you today and it will be ready for you tomorrow. I must inform you that there is a charge for this service.’
Bill frowned. He didn’t object to the charge, but he did object to having to come back tomorrow. ‘Why can’t you give it to me now? I only want five hundred pounds.’
‘It’s not the amount, it’s the process,’ she explained.
His frown deepened. He knew he was being awkward when he said, ‘In that case, I’ll order a banker’s draft for the full amount in my account, plus any interest. I know it’s not your fault that my local branch has closed, but it’s not mine either and I’m simply not prepared to come back tomorrow. Therefore, I wish to close my account.’
The cashier gave him a look, then began tapping away at her keyboard. Suddenly her eyes widened, and he guessed she must have checked his balance. It was a substantial sum.
‘Would you mind waiting a moment?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to have a quick word with the branch manager.’ And with that she slipped out of her seat and walked away.
Bill hoped they weren’t going to be awkward; he had every right to remove his money and close his account.
In less than a minute a lady in a smart navy suit appeared in the foyer and asked him to follow her. Showing him into a small side room, she invited him to take a seat. And less than another minute later, she had informed him that a banker’s draft for five hundred pounds would be available to him in about an hour, if he cared to wait.
‘There is one more thing,’ he said, chancing his arm. ‘Could you write a brief note on headed paper to the recipient of the cheque, telling them what the money is to be used for?’
And when he explained, she was more than happy to oblige.
***
Sweet Meadow Park at night was a different kettle of fish to the daytime. There were fewer people around for one thing, and for another those people tended to be of the teenage variety. They were usually gone by around half past ten or eleven though, and Bill occasionally took a stroll at that time, knowing he would have the park to himself.
Despite having Patch with him, he would see a fox now and again, a rabbit or two, and maybe a hedgehog, and in the warmer months he would catch sight of bats, and even an owl if he was lucky.
This evening he had a purpose other than taking the dog out for a final wee before bedtime. Bill had a letter to deliver.
He had contemplated posting it, but he was worried that it might go astray, so popping it through Molly and Jack’s letterbox was the only option. He would have to be quick though, because he fully expected Jet to sound the alarm that there was an intruder on his property, and Bill didn’t want to be spotted. The whole purpose of obtaining a banker’s draft was that it was anonymous, with the recipient having no idea who the money was from, and Bill intended to keep it that way.
This donation was his way of helping bring the cafe back to life. It meant a lot to Molly, but it meant even more to Fiona. Over the past few days he had seen her grow and flourish in front of his very eyes, and where he had not very long ago thought her a dotty old bat, he now realised she was anything but. She had merely needed a purpose, that was all, and the cafe was it.
Five hundred pounds would hopefully go some way to have the roof repaired, because that was the most important job, as the building needed to be watertight before any other renovations could be embarked on. If more money was required after their fundraising efforts, he would pay the building society another visit. He could certainly afford it, and after his monthly bills were settled, he didn’t have anything else to spend his money on.
But perhaps he would phone first next time, rather than throw his toys out of his pram.
He was slightly ashamed of his behaviour in threatening to close his account, but it had worked; he had got his cheque, and he and Patch had enjoyed a sandwich and a coffee while they’d waited for it to be processed.
As he approached Molly’s cottage, Bill kept to one side of the path, using the bushes and trees to hide his approach. But before he arrived at the gate in the middle of the little picket fence, he put Patch back on the lead and tied him to a tree, reasoning that if Molly or Jack happened to glance out of the window, seeing Patch would give him away, whereas a shadowy figure dressed in dark clothing slipping out of the gate could be anyone.
Bill was as stealthy as he could possibly be, but the letterbox rattled when he pushed the envelope through, which alerted Jet, who started barking, so Bill didn’t get away completely unscathed.
However, he was fairly confident that he hadn’t been seen, so it was with a spring in his step and a lightness in his heart that he made his way home, inordinately pleased with the day’s work.