Page 13 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

This is what I love about you, bro. You’re always on the side of the underdog. Reminds me of that time the neighbours opposite put in a planning application for an extension to make life easier for their disabled daughter. Everyone started waving their NIMBY flags but you talked them round. You were brilliant. And you will be brilliant again.

An extension on a house across the road and an unsuitable person inside your own house were two completely different things.

Stuart played for time. “What do you do for a living?” Perhaps he could say ‘no’ on the basis that she wasn’t earning.

“I’m a singer in a tribute band.” Her eyes suddenly sparkled up at him and she spoke with enthusiasm. “You remember the Blackberries?”

Stuart’s knowledge of any pop music beyond the eighties was nil butthe Blackberrieshad been big in his student days. They’d played the sort of music that had had everyone rushing to the dancefloor. Even now their hits still got regular airings on Radio 2. They’d comprised a male drummer, male guitarist and two female singers who’d worn high-heeled boots and figure-hugging stage outfits.

“My era,” he said.

“And mine. Our audience is full of middle-aged boppers. It’s really rewarding to stand on stage and watch people squeeze along the rows and into the gangways so that they’ve got room to dance. Sometimes I feel like we’re providing a social service for all these people who’ve become uptight with age, worry and responsibility. At our concerts they can let their hair down and have a really good time.”

Stuart was surprised at Florence’s insight into the human psyche. Maybe she wasn’t as shallow as he’d first assumed.

“We’re called Double Berry Black. We play all the local venues, up to a fifty-mile radius. I’ll get you free tickets to come along.”

Any sort of pop concert would be the last place he’d think of going. Yet when he was at university, gyrating his hips and raising his arms in the air had been second nature — after a few pints. He got a sudden longing for those days when anything had seemed possible. When the future had stretched interminably in front of him and only success had crossed his mind.

“Can I move in tomorrow?”

Chapter Nine

That night Stuart didn’t sleep. He was trying to invent a diplomatic way of stopping Florence moving in. A pop singer was too far from his own life experience. It would become evident very quickly that they weren’t suited and he needed a way out. But there was none, unless he used underhand tricks to make life in his house extremely uncomfortable for her.

In the early hours he got up and made cocoa. As he went past the landing window, he again spotted a pool of orange light spilling onto Lillian’s patio. Perhaps she struggled with insomnia. He’d read somewhere that happened to old people. Stuart knelt on the carpet with his milky drink and watched the light.

A figure came out of the house and stood in the pale orange glow. It was Lillian in a long, light-coloured nightdress but no dressing gown. Stuart shivered for her; it was May but still cold outside at night. Lillian walked from the patio onto the lawn. She was no longer in the spotlight but still easily visible. As she prowled about the grass, slightly stooped with age, she looked ethereal. Stuart imagined her as an old, wise, tribal elder. He finished his drink and Lillian stepped back onto the patio. She wore no shoes. He took his mug back down to the kitchen and when he returned past the window, she was gone and the light was out.

It felt far too early when the alarm shocked him awake and Stuart’s fingers felt automatically for the snooze button. Then he remembered he was a working man now with a breakfast visit to Mr Rutherford to fit in before the Sunday club ride. A small part of him cursed replacing one responsibility with another that equally curtailed his movements. But Veronica had promised him every other Sunday off.

* * *

With the old man fed and watered, Stuart arrived at the meet point just in time. He relished the way he was feeling more included in the group. Since his father’s death, several people with whom he’d had little connection before had made a point of shaking his hand and offering their condolences. This had led onto longer, more general conversations and the beginnings of friendships.

As the bikes made easy work of a long, flat stretch of road, the club’s programme manager found his way to Stuart’s side. “Can I add you to our rota of ride leaders? It works out about once every twelve weeks or so.”

Hearing the words brought a rush of pleasure that he was both wanted and thought capable.

“Yes. Great. If you can manage to make it one of my Sundays off?”

“No problem. I do the rota twelve months in advance so no one can complain they don’t have enough notice. Somebody’s dropping out at the end of the year so you won’t actually need to do anything until January. OK?”

“Wonderful.”

Over a mug of tea and a piece of bread pudding in the café, Stuart’s name and contact details were added to a sheet of paper and he officially became a part of the Sunday Ride-Leaders’ Rota. He cycled home with a smile on his face, barely noticing the usual fatigue in his legs following the long ride.

He’d only just got dressed from the shower when Florence pulled up in a metallic-orange, fifteen-year-old Fiat Panda. The roof was badly faded and the bonnet mottled. Stuart helped carry her stuff inside. There was one suitcase, sporting a tattered airport label for a flight to Palma. There were numerous carrier bags overflowing with shoes, electric hair gadgets and a heavy one containing pans.

“They’re my best ones,” Florence said when she saw Stuart looking at them. “Jim will only burn them and there’s no reason why he should get to keep all the household stuff. If you promise to be careful, you can borrow them.”

Once everything was upstairs, her room looked like a junk shop after it had been picked over on sale day.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said.

“Do me a favour.” She tossed the car key at him. “Lock the car for me. It’s not worth much but I can’t afford for it to go AWOL. Don’t want to disappoint my fans by not turning up to gigs on time.” She winked at him.

Stuart stuck the key in the driver’s door and heard the clunk as all the other doors synchronised. To be sure he tried each of the doors.

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