We would. We looked like women with very little hope.
‘You are never going to look or sound any different until you become different! No! Change that! You are never going to look or sound different until you believe that you are not those women. Dylan has offered us the chance to sing at the Christmas carol service. I will not let you stand up in front of people and sing like that. You need to start believing in yourselves! To be able to stand, unashamed and show the world that you are women of triumph! Everyone expects this choir to fail, to be a rubbishy mess.’
Do they? Who does?
‘And they will be right, until you learn to believe. Until you learn to love yourselves, choir! Like I do. Like I believe in you.’
She coughed and blinked a couple of times. ‘I want everybody at Marilyn’s house: The Old Rectory, Houghton. Seven o’clock, Friday. I will take your non-attendance as your resignation from Grace Choir. And none of you had better dare quit now.’
She marched out of the room. We all collectively released our breath.
‘Well, wouldn’t you know it!’ Janice said. ‘That was a proper racket.’
‘Terrible,’ Millie agreed. ‘Like a herd of elephants being attacked by killer bees.’
‘Fancy another flapjack?’
Millie tugged on her bobble hat. ‘Ooh, go on then. They say sugar’s good after a trauma.’
‘We’d best have two then.’
I stood alone in the kitchen drying up cups when Dylan came in, bringing the rest of the empties.
‘Hi, Faith. How’s it going?’
‘Yeah, good thanks.’ I concentrated hard on wiping every single drop of moisture from the cup in my hand.
‘No post-traumatic stress symptoms after your near-fatal cliff plunge?’
I smiled, despite myself. ‘No. Thanks. I’ve had worse brushes with death and survived.’
He turned from where he’d begun washing up the cups and looked at me. ‘When?’
Pah. I should have known he wouldn’t let a casual remark like that slip past.
‘A long time ago. How about you? Suffering any lingering back problems from your heroic catch?’
‘No, but I have started having this recurrent nightmare about being suffocated under a crushing weight…’
‘Very funny.’
‘Good. You should smile more.’
My smile disappeared. Dylan, ever tactful, turned away again and asked, ‘So how did you meet Perry? I can’t imagine you mixing in the same social circles.’
‘You mean because he’s rich and I’m not?’ I bristled slightly.
‘I’ve met enough children of privilege to know you’re not one of them, and he is.’
I didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. I didn’t know if I wanted it to be one. Part of me felt riled, but he’d only stated the obvious. I glanced at his easy-going face, hair drooping as he bent over the sink.
‘I met Perry when I worked at HCC. His family are wealthy, but he’s worked really hard to build up his business. And stilldoes. He isn’t a snob, despite sometimes acting like one.’ I grimaced. ‘After all, he’s marrying me.’
‘I don’t think he’s a snob. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.’
Really? You might be the only one who is.
I first met Perry properly at a function he had organised for his business. His family were well known in the club, and during the six months or so I had been waiting tables and serving behind the bar, I had observed them many times – grumpy father, domineering mother, son who nearly always left with a woman on his arm on the rare occasions he arrived without one.
