“Shhh, just listen.” Lynn frowns and then nods toward the front, where Gerry is now reading from a prepared speech.
“It was agreed that if we could see signs of a return to profitability by the end of the summer,” he continues, looking shifty as hell, “then we could commence with renovations applications. But, if that looks unlikely, then unfortunately our lovely community lido will likely be sold to a private vendor.”
There are no surprised gasps. Only a sneeze, and the cranking whirr of a fax machine I didn’t know we had, coming from reception.
“This is our pool,” comes a ragged voice from the back.
“Hear, hear!” shouts another.
“Who would ever buy this place?” I say to Lynn. “It can’t turn a profit in its current state. And the prices, as I constantly tell everyone, are ridiculous! Swimming costs a pound.”
“I don’t know what more I can do,” Lynn replies, a sadness in her eyes as she glances around at our regulars, a group so pale-skinned and wrinkled we could be at the casting ofCocoon 3.
“Well, if it gets sold they’ll put a wanky seafood restaurant in the canteen, solar panels on the roof, and suddenly Shirley over there is paying fifteen quid a dip. Or worse, you have to become a private member.”
“I think they are actually considering luxury apartments,” Lynn replies sheepishly. “I’ve tried, love. I really have.” I stifle my gasp. She knew!
“Obviously, revenue is continuing to fall,” Gerry says, looking directly at me while making this salty point as if I, a bookkeeper, could have any sway over profitability. I can see the books, but I cannot do much to improve them, and especially not when Gerry has shot down every one of my ideas.
“This is really bloody upsetting,” I say now, looking over at Ryan, who is mostly looking at his biceps in the reflection in the glass doors. When he sees me looking at him, he maneuvers his arm so it looks like he was scratching the back of his head. I wonder if he understands what is happening here.
“Next week, under the suggestion of our friends here at Broadgate Council, we are going to try to drum up business with a ‘friends and family’ introduction week, and so, as regular users of our facilities, we’d like volunteers to door-knock, bring a friend. That kind of thing.”
I raise my hand and hear Lynn tutting as she shifts her weight slightly away from me.
“Two things, Gerry,” I say.
“Yes, Nina. Everyone! This is Nina, who does our office accounts and knows better than anyone what we need to get back on our feet.”
“It’s Mara,” I say, as I feel the slow crank of elderly heads turn my way. I look at the sea of faces and take a deep breath, feeling my skin heat and the sweat start to prickle on my neck. “Wouldn’t a fundraiser to, say, replace the old sea steps, or bring in some new catering for the canteen, be beneficial?”
“A fundraiser?” Lynn says in a loud whisper.
“Can’t we look at the activities we do? I know aqua aerobics is fun, but do we need four classes a day? No one came to the three fifteen class yesterday, or the five fifteen, for that matter. The soft play area would make a great place for deck loungers. I’m not saying turf out the toddlers, but perhaps a small baby pool would make more sense than a plastic ball pit seven feet from the sea?”
“Mara has a point,” says Lynn. “She has a point, Gerry.”
“I’m just saying that without a decent investment in the facilities, some new, exciting events to get the locals engaged—as well as the summer tourists—you’re unlikely to pull new people in. An alcohol license for the canteen would reel in the younger people too. A floating cinema is an absolute slam dunk. Can’t you just imagine it?”
Gerry’s eyes narrow as he takes a moment to collect himself.
“This session is for our customers,” says Gerry, “a sort of heads-up, a chance for them to chip in. We can discuss official ideas upstairs later, thank you.”
“Sure,” I say, feeling a bit embarrassed. And also a bit angry. I’ve pointed out our dismal deficit to Gerry month after month. I’ve offered to draw up funding applications. I think about Lynn and the paper receipts the day of that storm,andthe fact that she keeps appearing with new membership forms when it’s Samira’s job to sign them up. She knew and didn’t tell me. Why?
An hour later and Gerry is sitting on the edge of my desk, the crotch of his polyester navy trousers bunching in the most inappropriate manner. He’s smiling, his yellowing teeth making me queasy.
“I understand you’re upset, love,” he says, nodding at me.
Ryan and Samira are both here too. Ryan is drinking a protein shake and kicking the back of the desk partition repeatedly. I can tell he’s stressed. But it’s Samira I’m most surprised about; her eyes look glassy. I catch her gaze and she looks away from me swiftly, pulling herself together with a deep breath and a sigh.
“I can’t be the only one feeling blindsided,” I say, my brows knotted together, arms folded. I take a moment to examine my feelings. Am I angry about the threat to my job? Or is my anger more to do with the threat to the lido itself?
“Blindsided,” Gerry says, shaking his head. “There is no need to be dramatic. If the worst happens I’m sure you’ll be snapped up by someone, somewhere. Everyone needs a bookkeeper, at least until you’re all replaced with artificial intelligence machines.” He chuckles, and then when I respond only with a blank face, he sighs. “Why don’t we all go out for a nice pub lunch and talk about our options. How does that sound? A brainstorm over a pint of ale?”
“I just can’t believe you’re giving up. This membership drive is going to fail. You need so much more than Mildred bringing herfriend Dotty one time.” I realize, with some clarity, that I’m really upset about the possibility of this building becoming private. What a tragedy that would be.
“Look,Mara,” he says sharply. Then his eyes flicker to the skies and he folds his arms, changes tack. “You know that wealllove this place. But you must see that everyone is abandoning hope to save this as a council-funded enterprise. When I came in the other day, none of you were working. If you really cared...”
