So now he had a choice. Other than his family, he had three great loves in his life: his career, the Academy and Stevie. And it was becoming clearer every day that he couldn’t have them all.
Today was decision day.
And he just hoped that he would make the right choice.
2
NETTA MCGONIGLE
Netta was just reaching the chorus of Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy’ when the kettle clicked and steam rose from the spout. The teabag and milk were already in her mug, and yes, that still made her smile. Putting the milk in before the water always enraged her husband, Fergus, and yet now, two years to the day since a heart attack took him, she still carried on this silent, secret act of rebellion.
Two years to the day.
On some days, it felt like a lifetime ago, and on others, it still felt like he could walk in the door at any moment. If Fergus was still here, then just like a thousand mornings in their life together, he’d wander into the kitchen right about now and pick up the cuppa she made him every day. For forty years, they’d had a traditional marriage, and the patterns that had been established early in their lives together had never changed. Pigs would fly and unicorns would fart out Tetley teabags before he got as far as making his own morning beverage.
After filling the mug to the brim, Netta lifted it and cradled it in her hands, resuming her rendition of one of her favourite songs. When Fergus was still alive, she would sing quietly, so as not to wake him, but now, at the age of sixty-seven, she could let the words soar wherever they wanted to go.
There had been many moments over the last two years when the feeling of freedom would come in waves. The winter that came after he was gone was the first cold spell that her teeth weren’t chattering in the mornings. Fergus had never allowed her to put the heating on until icicles formed in the windows, so when he was still there, she would wear whatever furry dressing gown their daughter, Mandy, had bought her for the previous Christmas over her fleecy pyjamas, and socks so thick she couldn’t fit her feet in her slippers. Sometimes she’d even nipped out to the hall cupboard for her purple puffer jacket and worn that while she ate her breakfast.
Back when Fergus was alive, they ate at the same time every night. Six o’clock. On the dot. And no takeaways or convenience food, only home-cooked dinners that she made from scratch after she got home from her shift in the canteen at the local school.
It wasn’t that her husband was a bad person. He was just a strong personality who was set in his old-fashioned ways and Netta had gone along with it, at first out of a feeling of duty, then habit, then peace. For all his faults and controlling ways, she’d loved him, and in his inexpressive, emotionally stilted way, she knew he’d loved her too. It hadn’t been the passionate, romantic love she’d felt when she first met him – that had fizzled out and been replaced by more of a resigned, companionable, made-our-bed-so-we’ll-lie-on-it kind of affection and she just got on with it for the sake of their family unit. Somewhere along the line, she’d decided that it just wasn’t worth the arguments, especially after the kids were born. She’d married at twenty-five, and Mandy had been born a year later. They’d hoped their second child would come along while Mandy was a toddler, but in the end, nature had kept them waiting for six years before blessing them with Blair. When he’d started school, she went to work in the dinner hall there and that’s where she’d stayed until she’d retired, at Fergus’s insistence, a few months before he passed. She’d had thirty years preparing lunches for kids and over forty years of preparing an evening meal for Fergus.
Now, she’d gone back to work because she damn well wanted to, she sang her favourite melodies in the kitchen and she ate whenever she pleased. Sometimes the sense of freedom she felt now came with a twist of guilt. Fergus had been her partner for almost her entire adult life, so of course, there were days that she missed him, but she wasn’t going to waste what time she had left in sadness. Not when she could focus on the joys of being independent for the first time in decades.
She smiled as she took a seat at the ancient old oak table, getting comfortable as she switched on the TV that hung on the kitchen wall. Fergus never allowed her to watch the television in the mornings either, saying that it disturbed his peace while he read the newspaper. Now, she started every day by flicking the channel toMorning Scotland, the daytime programme that covered all things fashion, entertainment, celebrity and lifestyle. She was just in time to hear Devlin Jones, the handsome bloke who did the TV round-up every week, talk about the big show that was coming tonight. He was flamboyant, over the top and endlessly enthusiastic, so Netta always enjoyed his slot, but today it had personal relevance. She sat forward in her seat, so that she didn’t miss a word.
‘Folks, just a quick reminder that the Netflix special,The Academy of Dreams, airs tonight, starring our very own Ollie Chiles. Now, you all know I’ve got a soft spot for Ollie…’
Raising her mug, Netta took a sip of her tea, her eyes not straying from the screen until Devlin uttered the final line of his review.
‘So there we go, my friends.The Academy of Dreams, streaming tonight at 8p.m. Cancel your plans, get the popcorn out, call a pal and thank me later.’
There was a shared chuckle between Devlin and the other host, and Netta realised she was smiling too. Devlin Jones loved the show. That was terrific, because Netta had a real soft spot for Ollie Chiles too. He was the loveliest boss, treated everyone in the Academy the same way, whether they were a star, or, like her, making him a cup of tea. It wasn’t like she was part of this show or all the buzz surrounding it – she just worked in the canteen and was nothing to do with the actual performance, but still… If ever there was a day that she needed a distraction from her real life, it was today, so she’d take it.
In fact, the search for a distraction, for something to fill her days, had been the reason for taking the job in the first place.
It was her son, Blair, who had mentioned it to her before the centre even opened. His electrical crew had been working on the construction, and he had tipped her off that there were about to be vacancies for background positions like cleaners, canteen staff, janitors.
‘Mum, have you heard about that theatre school for kids that’s opening on the South Side?’ he’d asked her one Saturday morning, when he’d popped round for breakfast, just a few months after Fergus passed.
It was the solitude that had been the most difficult thing to deal with. Fergus hadn’t been chatty, unless he was shouting instructions at the football teams on television, but at least he was a presence in the house.
‘I think so,’ Netta had said, trying to rack her memory. It had been mentioned on theMorning Scotlandgossip round-up a couple of weeks before, but she hadn’t paid much attention. ‘Is it Gerard Butler who’s behind it? Or James McAvoy? Martin Compston?’
‘Ollie Chiles,’ Blair had corrected her, before she ran through a Wiki list of Scottish actors. ‘He named it after his mum, Moira Chiles.’
‘I remember her,’ Netta had said. ‘I saw her singing at a cabaret in the King’s Theatre back in the day. She had some voice on her.’
‘She still has. Look, let me speak to her and I’ll drop in that you’d be interested in a job there. It would be good for you, Mum. Get you out of the house.’
He wasn’t wrong. Blair’s recommendation, combined with her experience of thirty years as a dinner lady, had sealed the deal and it had been such a godsend. Got her out of staring at these four walls. In the beginning, she’d fed the construction workers and staff, and now she was surrounded by swarms of excitable teenagers too, but for those hours that she was there, she felt alive again. Needed. Useful. It was a smashing feeling, and she didn’t take it for granted, because she’d spent decades before that wondering if she’d ever feel happy again.
Two years ago today, the first big change had happened, when Fergus had taken his last breath. But the new job at the Academy wasn’t the only other thing that had reshaped her life since then. There was one more thing that now filled her time.
She was about to go and refill her cup when the phone that sat in the centre of her table rang. This wasn’t her personal phone. It was the one supplied by the volunteer service that she’d joined a month after Fergus died, when the isolation had threatened to suffocate her. It was the third life change, and another one that gave her a sense of purpose. She didn’t get paid for the twelve hours a week that she dedicated to helping others, but the feeling that she could still be useful to someone made every moment worthwhile.
‘Hello, this is Netta on the Family Listening Line. I’m here to listen to whatever is on your mind today.’
