The Piano Man Project (31 page)

The following morning came with indecent haste, and Honey had never felt more ill-prepared to lead her troops into battle. It was with tired eyes and a sore heart that she opened her door at a little after half past seven in the morning. It came as a shock to find Hal leaning against the wall outside her door. She’d assumed she wouldn’t see him again for days.

‘What are you doing lurking around in the hallway?’

‘I told you I’d be there today to help feed the protesters. That hasn’t changed.’

It was just about the only thing that hadn’t.

‘We can manage without you,’ Honey said, even though they patently, clearly could not.

‘Don’t be stupid. You’ll have mutiny on your hands if you leave Skinny Steve in charge of the kitchen,’ he said, then dropped his voice. ‘There’s no need for us to be awkward around each other. We’re adults, not school kids.’

So that was how he was going to play it. Achingly cool, terribly sophisticated, it happens every day kind of thing. Well she’d never be able to do that.

But he was painfully correct about one thing; her army could not be expected to march on an empty stomach, and Skinny Steve was no sergeant major. She desperately didn’t want to spend today around Hal, but so many people had invested too much time and effort, not to mention hope, into this day, and she had to put their needs before her own.

‘Fine,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Let’s just get on with it then, shall we?’

Outside it was one of those early autumn days to relish; the leaves turning, yet still enough warmth and the promise of washed-out lemon sunshine. Linking arms with Hal out of necessity, Honey tried not to feel any of the emotions he’d stirred in her last night, or BL, as she now referred to it in her head. Before Letter. They were now to adjust their relationship to AL status, or After Letter. Or neighbours without benefits, to put it another way. It was going to be a long, long day.

At the shop she found the troops already in the trenches. As it was closed on a Sunday, there were no customers, but the shop was heaving nonetheless. The majority of the residents had gathered inside, wearing oversized t-shirts over their woolly cardigans and jumpers with slogans painted on them, no doubt Billy’s handiwork. Today they would not be one or two residents chained to the railings. It was to be all hands to the pump, a human chain of as many people as they could muster, residents, their families, friends, customers … anyone who cared enough to give their time was welcome. They’d put the word out as surreptitiously as possible, and Old Don’s son had tipped off the press to expect something newsworthy. Honey could only hope now that their plan came together. They were banking on the fact that Christopher didn’t usually work the weekend shift. Without his eagle eye on the scene, they were hoping to make one last-ditch attempt to save the home.

‘Honeysuckle, our modern day Joan of Arc,’ Billy raised his hand and hailed her from the counter behind the till where he was busy handing out fluffy handcuffs from the large box he’d brought through from the staffroom. Mimi and Lucille flanked him, each with polka dot scarves knotted on their heads.

‘Nice headscarves, ladies,’ she grinned.

Mimi patted her dark curls. ‘Once a Land Girl, always a Land Girl.’

‘It feels a bit like those days in here today, doesn’t it?’ Lucille smiled fondly, her red lipstick the perfect match for her scarlet scarf.

‘Let’s just hope to God that we win this war, too,’ Billy murmured with unusual gravitas. He was all bluff and dander, so much so that it was easy to forget that beneath it all was a man approaching ninety and frightened of losing his home.

Honey cast her eyes around the shop, soothed by the low hum of chatter and the chink of teacups as the residents readied themselves for their scheduled ten o’clock start. They’d planned the protest carefully to begin after breakfast and the medication run, the inauspicious time when residents usually retired to their own rooms or to the communal lounge or gardens.

‘We will, Billy. We will.’

She patted his wrinkled, weather-worn hand, and he gripped her fingers tightly for a second and nodded, his resolute eyes over-bright.

‘Let go of her, you silly old goat,’ Mimi said mildly. Billy grinned and did as he was told, snapping back into his modus operandi as if nothing had happened. Honey turned her face towards the window while she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. They didn’t make men like Billy anymore, or for that matter, women like Mimi and Lucille. Fashioned out of sterner stuff by necessity, accustomed to hardship and fighting for what they believed in. In every way but physically, they were actually far better equipped for today than she was.

At a couple of minutes before ten, Billy and Mimi made their way out to the railings as if it were business as usual. Five minutes later, Lucille joined them, a trio of chained OAPs. Honey glanced at them through the window and Billy threw her a wink. He was enjoying this. In fact, everyone seemed to be in high spirits, and camaraderie ruled as they united together in their common cause. Safety in numbers, Lucille had said when they’d talked over the plans for the day, and it had become the unofficial name for the protest. Watching the residents walk out every few minutes to join the line, Honey’s pulse beat a little faster. Operation Safety in Numbers was go.

By eleven o’clock, they were all there, standing if they were able, seated if they weren’t. Thirty-three of them in all, each fastened by fluffy sex cuffs to the railings, or in Old Don’s wheelchair’s case, his vintage tie collection again.

Honey locked the shop doors and went outside to join them. Much as she wanted to join them on the railings, they needed her for other things. She was their designated spokesperson, and just as importantly given their ages, she was the welfare officer. It was up to Honey to make sure they were all okay, grab seating for those who were flagging, put blankets around shoulders, and make sure they were all well fed.

‘Hey, Honey!’ She turned at the sound of her name and found herself flanked by Tash ready for action in her gym gear, and Nell in jeans, Hunter wellies and a buttoned-up Barbour. The girl even had a whistle around her neck.

‘You came,’ Honey grinned, gladder than she could have imagined to see them. The weight of making sure today went well sat heavy on her shoulders, but having her two best friends beside her lightened it.

‘As if we’d be anywhere else,’ Nell said, looping her arm around Honey’s shoulders. ‘What can we do?’

‘We need to make sure everyone’s warm, comfortable and fed,’ Honey said, going through the basic list that had been running through her mind constantly since she’d woken. The whole thing would be for nothing if they gave Christopher any ammunition to use on them again. Honey had had to look away to hide her smile earlier when she’d overheard Billy giving Lucille and Mimi a strict talking-to about not brawling in the street again, but the fact was that they couldn’t afford to come across as anything other than the fabulous band of elders that they were.

‘There’s a box of blankets by the gate,’ Honey said, pointing towards the large box that she and Mimi had put together in the charity shop yesterday. Blankets were one of the things they received lots of, and they’d certainly be put to good use today.

‘And there are chairs stacked just over there by the shop door.’ She gestured at them. ‘Basically, we need to make sure everyone is okay at all times, you know?’

Tash nodded. ‘Easy-peasy, Honeysuckle.’

Nell’s professional eye skimmed the line. ‘Thirty-three. Eleven each,’ she said briskly. ‘Honey, you take from Billy onwards to eleven. I’ll take the central chunk. Tash, you look after the last eleven. Right?’

She turned expectant eyes towards Honey and Tash, who could only nod, wide eyed. It was not for nothing that Nell had spent the last five years marshalling schoolyards of rowdy children.

‘Will you blow your whistle if you see any of them playing up?’ Tash asked innocently.

Nell smirked at Tash’s sarcasm. ‘I’m more likely to blow it at you than them. Chop chop.’ She craned her neck as the doors to the home opened and Skinny Steve appeared with a large tray of plastic cups, a thermos of tea, and a mountain of muffins.

‘Is Skinny Steve on his own in the kitchen today?’ Nell frowned, having heard all about the recent kitchen woes from Honey.

Honey inspected her fingernails rather than look her friends in the eye.

‘He has help.’

‘If chilli-chef has returned from Spain, my eleven aren’t going near those muffins,’ Tash said, holding up her perfectly manicured hands. ‘These babies are so not made for wiping OAP bottoms.’

‘You’re safe. It’s not chilli-chef.’

Tash nicked one of the lemon and poppy seed muffins from the tray as Steve passed. ‘Christ, they’re still warm! Have you actually made these, Steve? Because if you did, you’re coming home with me, mister.’

Skinny Steve turned an unattractive shade of purple and his hands shook enough to make the plates on the tray rattle.

‘Umm, it wasn’t just me,’ he said, struck by an up-to-that-point-in-his-life-unheard-of stammer. ‘Hal did most of the work.’

‘Hal?’ Nell muttered as Steve moved away down the line.

‘Hal as in your dirty sexy neighbour who has officially been declared bad for your health?’ Tash said, breaking off a chunk of muffin with her fingers.

‘He’s a good cook,’ Honey said evenly.

Tash nodded, her mouth full. ‘Heavenly.’ She swallowed, narrowing her eyes at Honey. ‘As long as that’s all he’s doing for you. I’ve bust a gut finding you the perfect pianist.’ She grinned. ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’

With difficulty, Honey pulled Christian into focus in her mind. So much had happened in the intervening hours that it seemed days since she’d sat in the café with him.

‘He’s really nice,’ she said, noncommittally.

‘“Nice”?’ Nell said, picking up on Honey’s tone. ‘Nice doesn’t sound very impressive.’

‘No, nice is … good,’ Honey said, really wanting to change the subject, because all she could hear in her mind was Hal telling her that she was a nice girl and he wasn’t a very nice man. Actually, he hadn’t been wrong. Nice might be appropriate for Christian, but it wasn’t a word for men like Hal.

‘Looks like the cavalry are starting to arrive,’ Nell commented, and looking along the line Honey saw Titania’s middle-aged nieces had joined the end of the line, their splendid bosoms once more graffitied in honour of their aunt.

‘That plays hell with your numbers,’ Tash said. ‘How many people am I in charge of now?’

A frown creased Nell’s brow, and Honey stepped into the breach. ‘Just keep a close eye on the residents as planned, and a general eye on everybody else, okay?’ She nicked a muffin from the tray as Skinny Steve walked back down the line, drawing him aside for a second.

‘How’s it going in the kitchen?’

‘Pukka,’ Steve beamed, clearly channelling his inner Jamie Oliver. ‘Hal’s, like, all over it. These muffins? Twenty minutes from scratch. He’s, like, a genius.’ The upward inflection at the end of his sentence reminded Honey how young he was, and his words pressed home the fact that he held Hal in godlike esteem. Someone had to. She smiled encouragingly, despite the fact that her opinion of Hal was far less clear cut. She kind of agreed, and kind of violently disagreed. It wasn’t an easy position to be in, and it made being anywhere near him almost impossible. They’d barely spoken on the journey in that morning. Honey would have sat at the other end of the bus from him to avoid any more awkwardness if she could have gotten away with it without seeming childish. For a while last night she’d trusted him to take care of her, and then this morning she could only trust him to take care of other people. But he was here, and looking down the line at the residents happily eating the muffins, she knew she ought to be grateful. Skinny Steve was grateful enough for both of them.

‘Hal said he’ll help me get a job in a professional kitchen if I want,’ he said, his eyes shining.

Honey frowned, annoyed with Hal for widening Steve’s horizons beyond the home, even though she knew it was selfish of her. ‘Don’t even mention leaving right now,’ she smiled. ‘We need you here.’

‘I’ll stay while he does,’ Steve said, obviously still in hero-worship mode. ‘I can’t believe I’ve got him to myself.’

Yeah, don’t count on keeping him, Honey thought darkly. He’s only yours until he gets a better offer. She held her silence diplomatically as Steve meandered away back up the path towards the home, towards the kitchen, towards his idol.

‘Looks like you better tell Steve to up the numbers for lunch,’ Nell said, and Honey followed her gaze to the end of the line, to a group of seven teenagers in hoodies who’d been walking past and decided to join the protest.

She watched as one of them turned, lowered his hood, slid his phone into his pocket, and shook the hand of the nearest resident.

‘My granddad used to live here,’ he said. ‘He’d have hated to see it closed.’

They fell into easy conversation, and Honey made her way towards Lucille and Mimi at the other end of the line.

‘It’s all going rather well so far, isn’t it?’ Billy said, his roguish blue eyes full of mischief.

Honey nodded. ‘Seems to be.’

She glanced down at Mimi sitting on a chair beside him, her strapped-up ankle visible beneath the hem of her dress.

‘How are you holding up, Mimi?’ she asked.

‘I’d be better without this damned chair,’ Mimi scowled, too proud to admit that she needed any support.

‘Actually Mimi, I think the chair adds to the visual impact of the protest.’ Honey rubbed Mimi’s shoulder. ‘You’re obviously injured, but you haven’t let it stop you from coming out today. It shows everyone how much this means to you.’

Mimi sniffed, but her mollified expression told Honey that her words had helped soothe pride-ruffled feathers.

‘Protester number fifty just chained themselves up!’ Tash called from the other end of the railings, and a cheer of appreciation rippled along the line, along with the clank and rattle of cuffs against metal.

‘You better make that sixty,’ a familiar voice called out, and there, line dancing towards her, was Robin, his hair doing a dance all of its own choosing as he boot-scooted along the pavement. Behind him trailed what could only be described as a rugby scrum of questionable-looking characters, all of them twice the size of the oddest pied piper in history.