Only Strange People Go to Church (16 page)

At the far end of the café there is an electric sewing machine on a table festooned with bright yellow, red, blue and green shiny material. These must be the Can Can costumes for the Golden Belles that Alice was talking about yesterday. There is a casting of coloured threads littering the floor all around. Some have been carried by through-traffic to different parts of the café floor and a few remain stuck in the grooves of customers’ shoes.

The face of the woman operating the machine is not visible as her head is down, her eyes following the line of thread and the fast pneumatic action of the needle as she feeds the material through. She’s concentrating on what she’s doing. Maria can only see the crown of her head, her thin hair neatly sectioned and rollered. When she lifts her head she looks very professional. She’s wearing an overall, buttoned all the way up and a pair of glasses on a chain.

Alice Boyd does not look happy to see Blue Group shuffling nervously around the noisy cafe. They’ve not yet got used to this social interaction with strangers but, although it may be uncomfortable for them, Maria is committed to pushing her clients out of their comfort zones. These experiences will be a positive step in their development.

‘Here we are then, Alice, I think you know everybody by now: Fiona, Jane, Brian, Martin, and my colleague, Dezzie.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ Alice says.

Dezzie nods but stays in the background behind Brian’s chair, for which Maria is grateful. This is her team, her work experience triumph. But although Dezzie’s quiet, his T-shirt is a conversation piece.

‘I hope you don’t do them all at the same time,’ says Alice.

‘Sorry?’

‘Drink and ride and talk, I mean, you’d spill it all over the place!’

It takes a second before Dezzie and Maria catch up with her but when they do, they laugh enthusiastically. This naturally radiates out to Blue Group.

‘I like your T-shirt, but there’s someone here who can top that. Would you like to see the slogan the Seniors are wearing this season?’

Dezzie looks to Maria for approval. Maria isn’t sure what Alice means and begins to worry that Alice is using Dezzie’s T-shirt to usurp her work experience plans. They’re not here for a social call.

Alice doesn’t wait for a reply but calls to one of her kitchen assistants.

‘Jean? Could you ask Jean Stevenson to pop out for a minute, I want to show off her jumper.’

One Jean calls another and Jean Stevenson emerges from the kitchen, preceded slightly by her big, pointy, rather low-slung boobs. It always depresses Maria to see old women with such impressive racks. What good are they to them? It’s such a waste. Jean Stevenson employs hers to buttress a lilac-appliquéd sweatshirt. She’s laughing; mock-embarrassed to be summoned in this way.

Jean, though elderly, is a smart looking woman, pink-lipped and fully made up. Her shoulder length hair is thick and shiny, a shade of auburn that begins dark and rich on her shoulder and gets lighter towards her head. At the roots it’s a light pink colour. Her turquoise eye shadow has been smudged by the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, but the overall effect is bright and cheery.

‘Go on then, Jean, give us a twirl,’ says Alice.

Jean obliges, she smiles and turns with the careful deliberation of a schoolgirl with a stack of books on her head. In this elaborate fashion, she models her sweatshirt.

Around appliquéd butterflies, flowers, teddy bears and rocking horses, in a feminine and florid script, are the words:

Old Ladies are just Antique Little Girls

‘I got it on holiday in Florida,’ Jean explains. ‘It’s a nice way of looking at it, isn’t it?’

Maria doesn’t want to be disagreeable, she nods vigorously, eliciting baffled nods from Blue Group.

‘Thanks Jean,’ says Alice dismissively.

As Jean sashays back to the kitchen Alice turns back to Maria and Dezzie.

‘Bliddy creepy, isn’t it?’

Maria and Dezzie quickly agree.

‘Jean’s single at the moment, she’s looking for an antique paedophile boyfriend.’

Alice cackles at her own joke and Dezzie hesitantly joins her, causing another wave of tittering from Martin, Jane, Fiona and Brian. Maria is unable to laugh, she’s getting anxious. This is all very well, but she’s not here to laugh at deluded pensioners. She wants to crack on with the work placements but yet another Jean approaches the table. Alice is in big demand here today and Maria can see she’s loving it. It’s the seamstress, Maria recognises her as the ditzy receptionist at Autumn House.

‘Alice, did you manage to get the Broaderie Anglaise?’

‘Yes, I got a big roll of it. It’s in the back kitchen, I’ve left it on top of the fridge.’

Arnold, the musician who was playing snooker earlier passes and softly puts his hand on Jean’s back.

‘Thanks Jean, very much appreciated,’ he says.

‘He needed all his trousers taken in,’ Jean whispers loudly in explanation once he has safely passed. ‘Och, it wasn’t any bother, two minutes through the machine. He’s lost a lot of weight since she’s gone. A shadow of his former self, so he is, a shadow.’

Jean and Alice share a pensive look but after a few moments they both recommence as if Arnold had never interrupted.

‘There should be plenty of lace there for you, Jean, but let me know and I’ll pick up more on my way home tonight if you need it.’

‘Right you are.’

As soon as she moves off Alice shifts back into a gossip huddle and Maria and Dezzie are obliged to lean in and listen.

‘I’ve got them all working here now. That’s Jean Scott, the relief receptionist at Autumn House. She’s good hearted. She’s never done sewing buttons on for the men, anything they ask her. She’s just a girl who can’t say no. One of they homeless fellas that Ray lets doss in the back room came up to her with a button and said ‘hey missus, could you sew a shirt on that for me?”

Alice is slapping the table as she laughs.

‘The worst receptionist we’ve ever had but a great wee seamstress. Worked at it full-time all her days she did, never married, the wee soul, God love her. Worked there until the place shut down. Stuart’s the Kiltmaker. They moved the business abroad, Far East somewhere I think. She’s done a smashing job on our outfits, and for next to nothing. I got white pyjama bottoms and she’s putting a wee bit of lace on them, there you go: authentic Parisian cancan bloomers. The pyjammy trousers were cheap made, right enough; you could spit peas through the cotton, but guess how much I paid for them at that Primark?’

It is a few seconds before Maria realises that Alice is looking for an answer. She has absolutely no idea how much pyjama bottoms cost, in Primark or anywhere else. Since she took out her mortgage she has become out of touch with retail prices and buys bargains in charity shops.

‘Eh, five pounds?’

‘Nope.’

Maria’s hand presses hard against her breast bone. Really, she could do without the guessing games. Blue Group are here, ready and waiting to work. Normally she enjoys the buzz in the church but today she’s picking up their nerves and amplifying them. She’s probably more nervous than they are now.

‘Fifty pence. Fifty pence a pair. You wouldn’t credit it, would you? You wonder that they can make a profit on them at that price, and all the way from Indonesia, that’s where they’re made you know. Probably in a wee sweat shop owned by Stuarts.’

Alice is at it. No doubt, because they work in a centre for people with mental disabilities, Alice has taken Maria and Dezzie for activist socialists. She’s deliberately timewasting, trying to lure
them into what would no doubt be a stimulating debate on the decline of British manufacturing, the exploitation of cheap labour and rising consumerism.

‘Aye, and the people that made them are probably on starvation wages,’ says Dezzie, walking right into Alice’s trap.

‘Talking of starvation,’ says Maria, jumping up from her chair, ‘these customers won’t serve themselves. Right then, we’d better get on with our work experience, eh? Now, where do you want us, Alice?’

Maria wants to set a good example and create a strong work ethic in Blue Group and so begins by rolling up her sleeves enthusiastically. Alice has stopped cackling.

‘It’s just that I’m not sure where I can put you all,’ she says. ‘As you can see, we’ve plenty of help at the moment.’

‘There must be something we can do.’

‘I’m sorry, Maria; I don’t see how this is going to work. It’s dangerous with the hot plates and everything. Why don’t you all sit down and we can get you some soup. Anyone fancy a nice plate of soup?’

Fiona, Jane, and Martin agree they would like a nice plate of soup even though they had lunch only an hour ago. They are nervous of working in the café but eating is something they are quite confident about.

‘Or there’s lovely jam roly-poly, made with Margaret’s own home-made jam, fresh out of the oven.’

‘Alice, stop,’ says Maria. ‘It’s hardly work experience, is it?’

‘Well,’ Alice says, hastily assembling more chairs round a table in a quiet corner, ‘let’s take this slow. One step at a time. Maybe to begin with the girls can serve the rest of you and then…’

Alice looks at the boys, her eyes trailing slowly across Brian, her expression a mixture of sympathy and exasperation.

‘And then we’ll see how we get on from there. I’m sorry Maria, that’s the best I can do at the moment.’

Maria sighs.

‘Okay.’

What else can she do?

‘Now Fiona and Jane, is it? Yes. Do you want to come with me into the kitchen and you can pick up your customers orders?’

‘I want crisps,’ says Fiona petulantly.

Maria knows that if any of them are going to let her down it’s going to be Fiona. Usually, to encourage her to do anything, Maria has to bribe Fiona with a packet of crisps. She has a few emergency packets of cheese and onion in her bag just in case, but Fiona will have to learn that a normal working environment does not include regular crisp breaks.

‘Fiona, we talked about this, we’re not having crisps. If you’re hungry, you can have soup in a minute,’ Maria says in a quiet, controlled voice. ‘But first you do your work experience.’

‘No,’ says Fiona, mimicking her tone, ‘first, I take the orders.’

‘Quite right, Fiona,’ says Alice. ‘D’you want to ask the customers what they want?’

Maria drums her fingers on the Formica table and tries to focus on this being a first step towards valid work experience rather than a hopeless charade.

‘Come on then Fiona, ask us.’

‘What d’you want?’ Fiona moans.

Martin takes his role as customer seriously.

‘Mmm,’ he says thoughtfully, ‘what flavour of jam is the roly-poly?’

‘Strawberry,’ says Alice.

‘Strawberry,’ repeats Fiona.

‘I see. And the soup?’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Martin,’ says Maria, ‘will you hurry up and order something?’

‘It’s lentil and tomato,’ says Alice, ‘delicious, I can recommend it,’

‘Hmmm, lentil and tomato, you say?’

Martin considers this for a minute.

‘Yes, well, I’ll have the soup then, please. And the roly- poly.’

‘Good choice,’ says Dezzie. ‘I’ll go with the soup.’

‘Soup for me too, thank you,’ says Maria. ‘Brian, what would you like?’

‘Lobster.’

Maria sighs.

‘The lobster’s off. Do you want something or not?’

Even as she’s saying it Maria remembers how self-conscious Brian is about eating in public. She has annoyed him and he’ll probably sulk all day now.

‘Not.’ says his Dynavox pleasantly, but Brian’s face is dark with teenage fury.

‘Right, so that’s three lentil and tomato soups and one rolypoly, please Fiona.’

Fiona and Jane stand waiting for further instruction. With the noise and the steam and all the grief Fiona is giving her, Maria’s head is starting to pound.

‘Go on, off you go, Jane, you and Fiona go with Alice, she’ll give you the soup. Bring one plate each and be careful. Take your time, there’s no rush.’

‘Don’t want to,’ says Fiona.

Maria tugs Fiona’s sleeve.

‘D’you want to sing in the show, Fiona?’

Fiona pulls away aggressively but doesn’t reply.

‘Well then, can you bring us our order, please?’

Alice shepherds the two women away and Maria lets her breath out. Her hand has been clamped hard on her chest. When she takes it away she knows Dezzie will see the unattractive red mark it will leave.

She’s annoyed with Fiona for trying to embarrass her in front of Alice and especially in front of Dezzie. Ever since she and Dezzie started dating Fiona has been playing up, almost as if she knows there’s something between them and is deliberately trying to make Maria look bad in front of him.

While they are waiting, Maria spots Ray coming into the café, flanked by Aldo. He’s rolling a cigarette while he walks but he lifts his head and smiles and nods as people greet him. Everyone here seems to know him. Even the weirdos from the Victory Mission are apparently his friends. As he walks into the kitchen Maria can hear appreciative giggles from the old ladies. Everybody loves Raymond.

‘Look,’ says Dezzie, nodding towards Ray and Aldo, ‘even the gangsters come here. Are you not taking this social inclusion a bit too far, Maria?’

‘Gangsters? Ray’s a gangster?’

‘I don’t know about that. His wee pal Aldo is anyway, or he thinks he is. I saw him in the Hexton Arms, in the gents.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘Dealing, I think, but he was up to something. He was talking to some guy, heavy atmosphere, I walked in on something.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing. Walked straight back out again.’

Maria takes a closer look at Aldo. He’s standing with Ray, laughing at something Alice has said. Alice slaps at him with her tea towel and Aldo steps back, pretending to be wounded. Then, apparently on Alice’s order, he lifts a tray and begins to clear dirty plates from a table. With his tall thin frame and glaikit expression he’s an unlikely looking gangster. But then, being nice to old ladies is a perfect cover for a drug dealer.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t testify, if that’s what you’re asking. All I know is I’ve seen him in the toilets before; he uses those toilets as his office.’

This conversation is abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Marianne Bowman in a cloud of her pungent perfume. Maria takes the opportunity to gather more information about her ex- neighbours.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Marianne: are you still in touch with Arlene’s husband, Norman?’

Maria has harboured a vague and fond notion of visiting Norman and chatting about Arlene: the old days when he used to waltz his lovely wife round their living room. He must be an old man now but he’s probably still handsome.

‘No, Norman died, years ago now.’

‘Oh, that is sad. Arlene must have been devastated.’

‘Hmmm, I don’t know if I’d say that, but certainly it was sad. He was unrecognisable when he went, just skin and bone.’

‘What did he die of?’

Marianne leans in close and drops her voice.

‘Aids,’ she says solemnly.

‘But…’

Maria can’t believe it but Marianne isn’t the type to joke about things like this.

‘Norman was gay,’ Marianne whispers. ‘Nobody knew until he became ill, not even Arlene. That’s why they moved, they were scared people would find out.’

‘Did Arlene get Aids, too?’

‘No, but her death was no less ugly, bitterness killed Arlene; she drank herself to death.’

‘She loved him so much.’

‘Eh,’ Marianne hesitates while she seems to weigh up what’s she’s going to say next, and then she dives in. ‘Actually she didn’t. She hated him. I don’t know how my mum put up with it, many’s the night Mum had to listen to the same sour story: Norman had cheated her of a family, that’s the way Arlene saw it.’

‘But she stayed with him.’

‘Yep, and moaned like hell every day about it,’ says Marianne, shrugging. ‘A different generation.’

Maria is shocked. The Arlene of Maria’s meditations never gives any hint of this personal tragedy. But of course the Arlene of Maria’s mediations knows none of this. Just as well. Maria would like to shield her from this brutal reality.

‘What a terrible waste.’

‘I know, let’s not talk about it, it’s too depressing. I’ll tell you something that’ll cheer you up.’

‘Go on then. I could do with being cheered up, what is it?’

‘We’ve had a late entry, one of Pastor McKenzie’s crowd, an amazing act, this’ll blow your socks off. Now I know what you’re thinking…’

Maria has no clue as to what Marianne is talking about.

‘But wait till you hear him. He’s going on stage once the primary class finishes. I asked him to come in and let you see him.’

‘Marianne, are you talking about someone auditioning?’

‘Well, I’ve kind of already offered him a spot. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Are you serious? The auditions were a month ago. The show is set; it’s been set for weeks, running order and times agreed. We only have two more full rehearsals. We can’t change things now, it’ll cause chaos. And anyway, never mind all that: another singer? Marianne, you were the one who said we already have too many singers.’

‘I know, but none of them are as good as this guy. Look, here he is now.’

Madonna comes out on stage. Madonna from the 1980s, in the full Gaultier cone bra ensemble. There is something very familiar about her, about the way she walks, but Maria can’t quite put her finger on it. She is slim and blonde and leggy, she even has a big black beauty spot exactly where Madonna used to wear one.

‘He looks amazing, doesn’t he?’

‘This is the guy? That’s a
guy
?’

‘Oh yeah.’

The woman, or rather the guy, the female impersonator, plays his track, Madonna’s
Express Yourself.

It is uncanny. He looks and sounds exactly like Madonna. Not only has he got her voice to a tee, his dance moves incorporate many Madonna stylings, including a wee bit of vogueing, although this is obviously anachronistic. He has tremendous confidence and stage presence, head and shoulders above all their other acts. The people in the café are responding well and Maria can see how this could wow their audience. But still and all.

Changing the show at this stage could throw the other acts into a panic, especially Blue Group. She can’t risk that. If she lets Marianne get away with this, others will want to change things. Alice has been agitating for more time for her Golden Belles routine. It’s got to stop.

‘So what do you think, he’s brilliant, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, he’s good, but I’m afraid we can’t have him.’

‘What, are you kidding? Apart from the orchestra he’s the best thing we’ve got!’

‘I’m sorry, but we’ve no space for any more acts.’

‘But I’ve already told him he’s in.’

‘Well you shouldn’t have.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Maria…’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m busy with my clients on work experience at the moment so if you’ll excuse me.’

Maria turns away and Marianne is left no option but to back down and walk away. Maria’s shaking, she doesn’t know whether to giggle or puke. Effectively she’s just pulled rank and dismissed the Head Teacher of Hexton High. She has barely time to get her head round this when another potential crisis occurs. Ray emerges from the kitchen and comes over to their table.

‘Hello Maria,’ he says.

Before a conversation has a chance to develop a woman taps Ray’s shoulder. He turns, delighted to see her, and immediately introduces her to everyone sitting at the table by pointing at them.

‘Maggie – Maria, Martin, Brian and Dezzie.’

Everyone nods politely as their name is called and Maggie beams a smile at each of them individually.

‘You’re looking well,’ he says to Maggie, ‘how’s the hip?’

‘Och, you know. The pain control thing you showed me, that’s great. It means I can get about a bit more. It’s just like you said, Ray, it’s all about attitude, isn’t it?’

‘Absolutely, and you’ve got a great attitude, love, you’re a wee star.’

Ray puts his arm around the tiny woman and squeezes her shoulders.

‘Well, I’ve perked up a lot since you zapped me! I’ll be tap dancing with the Golden Belles before you know it.’

Maggie moves off, still laughing at her own joke and Ray turns his attention back to the table. None of this has meant anything to them but they have sat, crane-necked, listening and smiling politely to the cryptic exchanges between Ray and his strange little friend Maggie.

Ray addresses Maria now.

‘How’s the work experience going?’

‘Em, okay so far.’

Maria cannot really concentrate on what she’s being asked; her attention is taken up with watching Marianne speak to the
Madonna guy at the side of the stage. If Marianne is telling him he’s out of the show, he seems to be taking it rather well.

‘Here she comes!’ says Ray.

And now Jane is slowly walking out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup. Alice is three steps behind her all the way. Jane carries her own lunch every day at the centre canteen but she’s making a big production of this. She holds it out in front of her as if it’s a holy chalice. Maria knows from Jane’s records and from what she’s told her, that she was once a staff nurse in an Intensive Care Unit, saving patients’ lives on a daily basis.

When she finally sets the soup down in front of Martin she’s beaming with satisfaction. This is a rare experience for Jane, she almost never smiles. The deep bowl only has half an inch of soup swilling around the bottom but even so, Martin leads off a modest round of applause.

‘So is this one of the new starts we have in the café?’ says Ray to Alice. ‘I think you’ll need to watch your back, Alice, if Jane carries on like this she’ll be after your job.’

Fiona’s progress from the kitchen is faster and much less careful. She slaps the plate down in front of Maria and says,

‘It’s rotten, I’ve tasted it. Too much salt.’

She has no sooner put it down than she goes to snatch it back up again.

‘I’m going to take it back.’

‘No, Fiona, thank you, it’ll be fine,’ says Maria tightly.

Maria knows very well what game Fiona is playing. She’s annoyed because she didn’t get crisps on demand and she’s making sure everyone knows it. This is so typical of her selfishness.