“It is pretty funny,” Daisy whispers. She takes the seat next to me.
Mathias scowls at her. “Right, so this presentation is split into two parts,” he says loudly. “During the first part, everyone is gonna take turns explaining why your roof is not just your responsibility to fix—it’s all of our responsibilities—and why this pub is so important to them. Then, part two, I am going to propose a solution for raising the money needed. You with me?”
I’m nodding, but I’m already feeling awkward, like opening a gift in front of the giver, but you’re not sure whether you’re gonna like it. “It’s not, though. It’s not everybody’s responsibility. It’s m—”
“Will you let people say their piece before you go off saying things like that?” Mathias says to me.
I take a deep breath, roll my eyes closed, and nod. I can do that. I can hear everyone out first. Doesn’t mean I have to agree with them. It’s not their problem, it’s mine alone.
“Roger, since you’re so fucking important, you’re up first.” Mathias hands Roger a clicker and the pointer. “You just click this little button here to move to the next slide and this one to go back.”
Roger clears his throat. “Right, Boss, here goes. I’ve put together the following slides with the help of your boyfriend.” He says the word so casually, so unassumingly.
I pretend as though my pulse isn’t spiking. Mathias watches me, but doesn’t respond in any way, doesn’t even flinch like I’m sure I just did, so I keep quiet.
Despite Roger’s earlier opposition to the pointer, the man is a fast convert, and begins wielding the thing with gusto. He presses the clicker and slams the tiny white hand against the telly.
“Here I have outlined exactly why, if you don’t let us all help with the replacement of the roof, I’m going to take personal offence. Reason number one . . . Now, I’m gonna whisk you all back in time on a little journey.”
Viv and Bryn both moan in a“not this again”way.
“Now, many of you know that during lockdown, I lost my job. We were broke, weren’t we, Ange? Needless to say, Owen the ‘Boss’ Bosley here saved our lives. He brought us tea every night. Made sure we had everything we needed. Went shopping for us. We had pie and mash, fish ’n’ chips, pasta, lasagna, stir-fry. You name it, Boss brought it. He never asked for payment, never once asked anything from us in return. He didn’t have to do it, but . . .” Roger looks me dead in the eyes. “You did it because you care about the community.”
I’m about to interrupt, when he talks over me.
“Reason number two—oh, why hasn’t the slide changed?” He frantically jabs the clicker.
“No, you’ve got to press this button. That’s the fucking volume button,” Mathias says, snatching the device from Roger and sighing.
“Cheers.” Roger clicks it and a picture of a baby appears. “When our Soph was in the hospital with baby Tia, you let Tia’s other grandparents from Ireland stay in the flat upstairs rent free for weeks while Tia was in the ICU. Why did you do that?”
I wait for him to continue.
Oh . . . he’s actually asking me. “Um . . . well, I couldn’t exactly make them pay for a central Bath hotel, and your bungalow is only a one bed.”
Roger places his hands on his hips as though I’ve just proven him correct. “If you’re the type of man who’s happy to help others out in their time of need but not accept help in your own, what kind of man even are you?”
“Bloody hell, Roger,” Daisy says from beside me. “That’s a very well-made point.”
I can feel my defences going up, the excuses readying themselves.
“Anyway, I have more,” Roger says, before launching into slide after slide of nice things I’ve done for him and his family. I didn’t even realise people remembered all this shit.
“Now it’s Lando’s turn,” Mathias says when Roger returns to his seat and everyone gives him polite applause. Mathias turns to me. “I’m really sorry about this one.”
Lando bounds forward and snatches the gadgets from Mathias’s hand. He clicks the clicker and a slide appears. It’s a collage of Orlando Oakham-Goodwin gym selfies. In the top left corner it says,“I heart Mr B,”and at the bottom, in humongous pink all-caps, it reads:GAINS!
Oh boy, here we go.
“You all know my story,” he says. “So I’m not going to repeat it because . . . I don’t wanna make anyone cry today—”
“Famous last words!” Viv yells.
Everyone laughs, but I’m filled with a bubbling sense of dread. I’m an emotional wreck on the best of days. How am I supposed to deal with an hour, two hours of folk telling me sob stories and how much they love me?
“Bet,” Lando says. I have no idea what that means. “Mr B has been there for me in ways no one else has. At times when . . .” He trails off, looks at his feet. “So . . . I lost my mum, yeah? But I gained a dad.” He coughs into his fist and projects his next words. “And those are the types of gains that matter!”
“That’s really sweet,” I say, my throat feeling a little too tight.
