Chapter 16
16
Love_Drive_Draft1.doc
Target word count: 7,000
Current word count: 6,102
A little under three weeks to go …
Over the next couple of days, I only have phone catch-ups with Wale. My old feelings for him are resurfacing and, if I’m not careful, things could get messy. I need some alone time, to shake off whatever this is. More importantly, I need some time to write. I have a little under three weeks before I have to submit Love Drive to Mayee, and the thought of my looming deadline is making my chest tight. All I want to do is curl up in bed and hide away from the world.
Sticking to my plan, I work on Wale’s memoir during the day, shifting my focus to Love Drive in the evening. I glance at the time. Two hours and only 200 words! I groan. I’ve been struggling to enter flow state, writing and rewriting sentences over and over and over again. I’m mentally and physically exhausted. I’m absolutely shattered.
I’m trying to get the letter ‘P’ to work, when my phone flashes.
I sigh.
It’s my parents.
I pick up their video call and tell them that I’m busy.
‘We just have a quick question,’ Mum says briskly.
Ten minutes later, I’m still on the call.
‘I dunno, pick whatever,’ I say, glancing at the time again.
They have been going back and forth on which celebration cake they should get for Rosemary, only for them to return to their original choice.
‘Bad day at work?’ Dad says.
I go quiet.
I’ve been so preoccupied with writing and trying to understand my confusing feelings for Wale that I totally forgot that I haven’t yet shared my news with my parents.
‘I’ve got a new job!’ I blurt out.
I watch as the news settles on their faces.
‘Darling, congratulations!’ Mum cries. ‘Why didn’t you mention it earlier? And we’ve been sitting here nattering about cake.’
Dad beams. ‘That’s great news, Temi. What’s the role? What’s the company?’
I feed off their excitement by telling them about how my agent put me forward for the gig and that I didn’t even need to apply.
‘Oh, so it’s another ghostwriting job.’ Mum sounds slightly concerned.
‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m in a much better place now. Plus, I’m freelancing, so I’m essentially my own boss.’
Dad smirks. ‘So, aren’t you going to tell us who it is?’
‘Huh?’ I say automatically.
‘Your client.’ Mum tuts. ‘The one you’re writing for.’
I freeze. I can’t tell them I’m writing for my ex, let alone a former Villa cast member. Dad thinks reality shows are trash.
‘It’s for a young TV star,’ I say, playing it safe. Yes, keep it nice and broad.
Mum nudges Dad. ‘She thinks we won’t know who it is. Try us!’
They begin to throw out names: Steve Bartlett, Rochelle Humes.
‘I know! I know! Stormzy!’ Mum says.
‘Stormzy is a music artist not a TV star,’ I tell Mum, who’s looking all too pleased with herself. I decide to put a pin in it. ‘And I can’t say who it is for confidentiality reasons.’ This is true. ‘Anyway, I should get back to writing.’
Mum and Dad wish me luck.
The next morning, I wake up feeling groggy. I glance at the time. I only have a few hours left before Kathy from ACE will be expecting me. Dragging my laptop into bed, I down a glass of water and prepare questions for the meeting.
Now I’m on my way to ACE’s office. Despite using Google Maps, I still walk right past it. There isn’t a big, jazzy sign or an eye-catching window display. Instead, the charity’s name is listed under an intercom beside a weathered red door sandwiched between a launderette and a coffee shop.
I’m buzzed in. I wait in the tiny reception area, where I stare at the peeling posters: ARE YOU LOOKING AFTER A LOVED ONE ? WE CAN HELP.
I’m trying to imagine Wale working in this building when my attention is snagged by a loud creaking sound. A familiar-looking older woman with fine, straw-like hair appears from behind the door.
It takes me a moment to register where I’ve seen her before – Wale’s gala announcement on The Tea Lounge.
‘Temi, yeah?’ she says.
I rise to my feet. ‘Kathy. So nice to meet you.’
We shake hands.
On the way to her office, Kathy apologizes for the mess. In the corridor is a bucket collecting water from the leaky roof. She ushers me inside and then goes to make us both a cup of tea. Her office is very … busy. The room is tiny and stuffy and mostly overtaken by her overflowing desk, which is covered with receipts and printouts and multicoloured folders. I gaze at the tired-looking cabinet. On the shelves are awards dating back to twenty years ago.
‘The good ol’ days,’ she says, closing the door behind her. She places an Arsenal cup in front of me and then collapses behind her desk with an audible exhale. Although she has a friendly, crooked smile, there’s a weariness in her eyes. ‘So –’ she wraps her hands around her mug – ‘how can I be of help today?’
I thank Kathy for her time and do my whole spiel: introduction, permission to record, interview format. She is already clued-up on what Wale’s memoir is about.
‘We’re thinking of dedicating a chapter to Wale’s career,’ I explain as I hit the record button on my phone. ‘We haven’t nailed the angle yet but I’m hoping something will come from this interview. I also know Wale is keen to raise awareness of ACE.’
She smiles at this.
‘Before we talk about Wale, can you tell me about the charity? I saw on your website that you set it up.’
Kathy tells me about her experience of taking care of her parents from when she was a young girl. Her mum had multiple sclerosis and then her dad got cancer. After their passing, she founded ACE (Action for Carers Everyday).
‘Do you know what, Temi?’ she says, lifting her chin. ‘Back then, it never once crossed my mind that I was a carer.’
‘No?’ I ask.
She shakes her head. ‘There was no internet or social media. No wide support for people like us. We were just busy being a daughter, a mum, an uncle, whatever, while looking after a loved one. It’s difficult, though. Caring. You’re always on duty. Twenty-four seven.’
Kathy tells me about ACE in its heyday, when it was the go-to place for local information and support. They provided services such as short respites, food banks and emergency funds. They were never short of volunteers and were even based in a much bigger office. But, sadly, over time, things had changed.
‘We’ve had to downsize massively.’ Kathy twists one of her many gold rings. ‘We’ve been hit hard by the cuts. Donations are at an all-time low. We rely on the goodwill of a small group of volunteers. God, it kills me whenever we have to tell a carer that we can’t help. It’s like we’re turning them away.’
Kathy’s eyes begin to well. My heart aches with sympathy.
‘Wale’s brilliant,’ she carries on, rubbing a finger under her nose. She reaches for a tissue. ‘In the time he was here, he drummed up quite a bit of money. He secured a few grants and organized small fundraising events. We even toyed with the idea of something big like a fete or a gala.’
So , that ’ s where the idea came from . The gala has absolutely nothing to do with his rebrand. I feel a tinge of guilt that I even contemplated the thought.
‘Temi, what I’m about to tell you is confidential.’
I’m snatched back to the room again. A grave expression is carved on Kathy’s face. I lean forward and pause the audio recording.
Kathy wets her lips and then, closing her eyes briefly, she says, ‘ACE is on the verge of going under. It will be a miracle if we make it to the end of the year.’ She dabs her tissue under her nose. She looks truly, utterly devastated. The news is soul-crushing. ACE is her life.
‘Oh no. That’s awful,’ I say, a sharp pang in my chest. ‘I’m so sorry, Kathy.’
Her eyes shimmer but she manages to hold it together. ‘We’re hanging on by a thread, Temi.’ Her voice wobbles. ‘It’s got so bad that we struggle to pay our staff on time.’
Now it makes sense why Wale couldn’t pay for bowling. He hadn’t got paid because there was so little money to go around.
‘We don’t even have the money to recruit a new fundraising officer,’ Kathy carries on. She sniffs again. ‘Not that anyone would come close to Wale. Bless him. When I told him the news, he offered to work for free, but I wouldn’t let him give up that much time. So, now he’s organizing the gala pro bono. Told me I can’t stop him.’ She laughs to herself. ‘I don’t know how he’s going to pull it off. But I know he will.’
My heart melts hearing Kathy speak of Wale so fondly.
I smile. ‘Do you want to tell me more about your golden boy, then?’
Kathy is full of praise; she showers Wale with compliments. She tells me how organized he was – he loves a good spreadsheet – and how he would light up any room he walked into. She tells me how overambitious he could sometimes be and his habit of working on the weekends. I can’t help but feel proud of him. Why didn’t he tell me how great he was at his job? I guess he’s too modest to say it outright.
‘Sorry, I can go on a bit,’ Kathy says, interrupting herself. ‘I’m not sure if any of this is useful—’
‘Yes. Absolutely. It is.’
She gives me a teary smile and then she rummages under her desk rubble for her phone. ‘Apologies, I’m just conscious of the time.’ She looks at the screen and her eyes widen. ‘Gosh, has it been an hour already? I’m so sorry, Temi, but I’ve got another meeting.’
‘No worries. I really appreciate you talking to me.’
Kathy knocks down the rest of her tea and gathers her notebook and pen. ‘I’m sure Wale can tell you more about his involvement with ACE. I think it would make such an inspiring story.’
‘Oh yeah? In what way?’
‘I just find it lovely –’ Kathy places a hand on her chest – ‘when one of your own pays it forward. Wale benefited from our services and now he wants to help young carers just like him. It will make a nice full-circle story, don’t you think?’