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“No,” I said. I was hoping he had rugby player thighs. “Fine, tell me more about this demanding chairwoman?”
“She’s always been gracious and kind, so not sure why our organiser quit. Maybe they clashed, a personality thing. I know no one else that could pull this off with success. You organised so many of these things at Uni.”
She fell silent, letting me contemplate what she was asking. Steph knew I would say yes, but still gave me the time to say no. She had already saved my ass with a prospective new tenant, which allowed me to pay the bills. The least I could do was repay the favour.
“Ok, I’ll do it. Where is it being held?”
“At the Empire Hotel,” she said and pointed over my shoulder at the grand red brick hotel overlooking the seafront. “I can give you the details for the event manager. I’ll give you the password to the charity email account that deals with this event. You can find all the emails from the suppliers in there. I’m so grateful Adaline, you are saving the charity’s event.”
“I have a condition,” I said, resolute in my ultimatum.
“Name it,” she grinned, leaning forward to take in my condition.
“I’m not attending. I’ll organise it. Stay until the first guests arrive, and then I’ll hand over to one of the charity trustees on the night.”
“That’s a shame,” she said, and pouted. “I understand. Maybe you’ll change your mind once you get to grips with the event. Maybe there will be a man in your life, and you’ll want to bring him as a date.” Steph said with a certainty that scared me.
I wouldn’t change my mind. The last thing I wanted was to attend a gala ball with a room full of people I didn’t know. At least with the email account, I could correspond with the attendees and charity members without having to speak with them.
“It’s too stressful to go, too many opportunities to misread people and to look like a complete fucking fool. I’ll be wishing I could run away the whole time.”
“I get it. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your hearing. You’re superwoman to know how to lip read the way you can.”
She was genuine with her concern, not in the least bit patronising. I’d shared with Steph and Elliott my inability to hear most people’s words. I couldn’t hear female voices and the majority of men’s voices. It was like I had sunk to the bottom of the swimming pool. I could hear muffled sounds, but not the words. It was something about the pitch. When the doctor explained it, I wasn’t listening, on purpose. There were few people I could hear. Brian Blessed was one person I could hear. I had hidden myself away in a bar not far from the shop, searching the internet for my latest customer. Some time after my second pint, a booming voice, clear as day, drifted over from the other side of the pub. No one else had that ability since that day.
I’d rather suffer in silence and use text messages over talking. Steph and Elliott made sure they were facing me when they spoke, so I could understand them. School and University didn’t affect me. Teachers and professors talked at me from the front of the class. Learning to lip read at a kid was hard work, but the determination to hide my problem from the world and my parents spurred me to learn every technique I could. I saw a doctor while at University in America. The hearing aids he gave me still sat in the red velvet-lined box in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. I was sure they wouldn’t work, and I knew for sure my hearing had worsened since his appointment.
Steph clasped my hand that rested around my mug and squeezed my fingers.
“Thank you for understanding. I better get going. Say hello to Elliott for me.” I said and got up from my seat. Steph stood too, and hugged me hard. She waited until I broke the embrace and faced her.
“Please come for dinner during the week, Elliott misses you.”
I hugged her again, leaving her at the table. She resumed her seat and watched me battle with the long, thick chain for my bike. The lock was the most expensive thing I owned apart from the shop, more expensive than the bike itself. At seventy-four years old, my neighbour declared that the streets of Brighton were too dangerous for her to cycle. She said the double-decker buses were making it their mission to run her over. One Sunday morning, she knocked on my door and presented me with her bike.
The bus drivers could get impatient, as they have a timetable to stick to. They could get a little close to my back tyre. I understood why she worried about her reaction time. The bike was the perfect mode of transport. I go everywhere on it. My car is an old classic that sits in my garage because I can’t afford to run it. The bike saves me a fortune in bus and train fares.
Once the coiled lock was in the saddle bag, I gave Steph one last wave and headed along the seafront, back to my shop.
Callum
I was the last person to walk off the plane, through the long corridors of Gatwick airport, to the luggage carousel. My rucksack was fast approaching on the conveyor belt. I was bone tired, void of any patience, and wanted to get the hell out of there. I needed to get through to arrivals where my best friend Elliott would be waiting. There were a group of women between me and my bag. They all looked the same. Tall, tanned and wearing too much makeup for nine in the morning after a twelve-hour flight. They were laughing, holding onto each other’s arms. The brunette was telling a whispered story.
Squeezing through them, I muttered my apologies, not looking at any of them in the eye. Leaning forward to grab the handle as the bag approached, I could hear the storyteller had stopped mid-sentence, just after she’d said cock. Her friends sniggered, trying to hold back their laughter.
In the arrival hall, the tannoy announcing the conveyor belt for another flight arrival overrode anything else they were saying. The two children play fighting while standing on a suitcase trolley caught my attention. I gave them a conspiratorial wink as their parents lifted them off the trolley by their waists. Considering I’d checked in with only half an hour to spare, it surprised me that my bag was one of the first to appear on the conveyor belt.
I nodded my thanks to the women who parted for me to pass my arm through to grab at the straps. One of the four women checked me out, craning her neck to take a look at my arse. Her smile would have stopped me in my tracks on any other day, but the twelve-hour flight had wiped my mind of clarity. If I’d been able to sleep on the flight, I might have had the energy to care that the raven-haired beauty was interested. I hadn’t had sex in well over a year, but that still didn’t make me stop and ask her name. Nothing would have made me ask her name. I couldn’t cope with the rejection if she told me to fuck off. Stalking away, throwing the bag over my shoulder, I brought the peak of my baseball cap lower to avoid any further eye contact.
Choosing the nothing to declare side of customs I exited through the automatic doors in the arrival lounge. Scanning the crowds of people waiting for their loved ones, it took a few minutes to locate Elliott. It was late August, the hottest week the UK has experienced since time began and Elliott was wearing a suit. Sticking out like a sore thumb, I had no idea why Elliott needed to hold up the sign that said,idiot. The nickname was from our childhood. Elliott was street smart. He’d got us out of many close calls where I was oblivious. I was book smart, could study anything easily and pass exams with ease. We were like chalk and cheese, but the best of friends. Our parents were friends, and my mum and his mum fell pregnant at the same time. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know Elliott.
I grinned as I approached Elliott, snatched the makeshift sign out of his hand and hugged him. It felt so good to see him again. A year in Kenya was a long time to be without my best mate. I missed him and his wife. She could cook like a professional chef. That was the first thing I would do when I got to their place. I would shower, change out of my stinking clothes, and sit down to one of Steph’s dinners.
“Welcome home, Callum. How was the flight?” Elliott said, taking my bag out of my hands. He dumped it on the floor and gave me a bear hug. I missed Elliott the most while I was away. We talked on the phone every week, but it wasn’t the same. He threw my bag over his shoulder, not caring if it creased his suit. I loved that about him. He had style and sophistication without the pretentiousness.
“Fucking awful. I almost killed a five-year-old kid. The airlines should put anyone under the age of fifteen in a soundproofed section of the plane. They can annoy each other to their heart’s content, and I don’t have to listen to it for twelve hours.”
“Did you travel cattle class again?”
