Magnolia Close Episode 8. Greasing the Wheels

Brooke Ames said goodbye to her parents and set off for the evening. She was carrying a rather unflattering shopping bag that didn’t suggest she was heading for a night on the town.

"Hang about," said a voice. She turned. It was Maxwell Fairhurst.

"Huh," she said. "What do you want?"

"I was wondering whether you fancied going for a drink."

"What if I did? You wouldn’t be coming."

"Why not?

"Because you’re under-age."

"Only just. And I’m big for my age." Realising the double entendre in what he had just said, he added, "if you know what I mean."

"And where would we be going for this supposed drink? Down The Petrel? Nearly everybody there knows who you are."

"They don’t know when my birthday is. I could be turned eighteen already. You turned eighteen in your final year at Hope."

"But you’re not even in your final year yet."

"Oh, come on – you could go to the bar – I’d give you the money. Nobody’d bat an eyelid."

"I can’t," she insisted. "I’m going to my mate, Sasha’s, to do some revising together." She raised the bag, as if to suggest it was full of study texts.

"Oh, yeah? Revising what?" He grabbed the bag from her before she could react and pulled out a piece of clothing. Some kind of spangly top. "Revising going clubbing and how to pull on the dance floor?"

She snatched the bag back from him. "Just a bit of fun first. Then we come home and do some work."

"You mean before her parents get back from wherever, I’m guessing."

"All work and no play…"

"Exactly," Maxwell pounced. "You don’t want me becoming a dull boy. Come on – just the one drink."

"Get lost."

"What if I told your parents where you were going? What you were studying?"

This impasse in negotiations was interrupted by the arrival of Douglas Gormley. "What are you two arguing about?"

Brooke was unable to speak. "School work," said Maxwell, attempting to be helpful.

"Hey! – we can help each other out," said Douglas.

"In what way?" said Brooke.

"Well, if the two of you were looking for somewhere peaceful to do your swatting, how about at my house? Plenty of quiet there."

Brooke gave Douglas a look that would have withered a cactus. "You mean except for your baby daughter, Bethany."

Maxwell liked the idea of an empty house. "That would be very nice, Mr Gormley. No distractions."

"He means," Brooke turned to Maxwell, her tone matching her expression, "that he wants me to baby-sit."

"Just for a while," said Douglas, as lightly as he could. "Max, is your Dad going to be down The Petrel tonight?"

"‘Spect so. He’s there most evenings."

"Great! Well, we could do each other a favour. I want to do some work for your Dad, and I could pay you, Brooke, for keeping an eye on little Bethany. And it would be good for your experience for your college course."

"In what way?" Brooke’s voice dripped with derision.

"What is it your going to be doing again? Nursery care, isn’t it?"

"Media studies and sociology."

"Well. There you are then." Douglas hadn’t the faintest idea what media studies were, nor did he care. "And remember, Max, you owe me a favour already."

"I do?" Max tried to recollect.

"So we all scratch each other’s back," Douglas concluded. Max was still slightly tangled in trying to recall what favour he owed Douglas Gormley. However, he was alert to the opportunity presented by an empty house shared with Brooke Ames and a hopefully-sleeping infant.

"Just one thing," said Max. "I don’t suppose you’ve any beers in the house have you? Pay me in kind instead of the money."

Douglas was desperately trying to work out the cheaper option between cans of supermarket beer and hard cash, when Max added, with a nod towards Brooke, "baby-sitters get, what, a fiver an hour these days?"

"A fiver?" Douglas was still struggling with the sums. "What do you need beer for if you’re studying?"

"It’s brain-food," said Max.

Douglas caved. He had bigger fish to fry and he had to get to The Petrel to do it. "There’s some cans in the fridge I was saving for a special occasion." There was a note of wistful hurt in his voice. "You can have them."

Max led Brooke away towards number 25 as Douglas hurried off to The Stormy Petrel. Looking round, he murmured, "How can you be saving a can of beer for a special occasion? Tell you what – if I give you a fiver, you can pop in The Petrel and get a couple of take-outs.""

Brooke was less than impressed herself, but for different reasons. "‘Brain-food’? You should have told me you’ve been on a starvation diet."

Maddy had arrived at The Stormy Petrel and installed herself behind the bar for the evening. She didn’t dislike bar work – it meant you got to meet people and have a bit of a chat sometimes, which in her book put above being stuck in an office, but it wasn’t the sort of work she would have picked if she’d had a choice. For one thing, it didn’t pay that well. For another, despite knowing there was nothing wrong with it – it was honest work – she still felt it slightly demeaning to be at people’s beck and call like a servant. Also, there was being on your feet all evening after perhaps a long day and above all, she got to see other people having a good time and spending money when she couldn’t. But a job was a job and it wasn’t all bad. Occasionally she got bought a drink and the landlord didn’t mind. Her first customer of the evening was Benson Fairhurst and she wouldn’t bet on him having the money to spare for a tip. Times seemed hard for nearly everyone.

"Pint of bitter, Maddy, when you’re ready."

She placed the glass under the tap and flicked the leaver. "Douglas Gormley stuck his head around the door just a moment ago looking for you. Have you seen him?"

"Looking for me? And he didn’t even stop for a drink?"

"No, he said he would try again later. Seemed really keen to find you."

"I wonder what he wants. Nothing useful, I’ll bet."

"Nas?"

"Yes?"

"You haven’t seen my camera while you’ve been unpacking, have you?"

"No, Rob – I haven’t been doing your things."

"Well it wasn’t actually packed – I had it out earlier to take some pictures of our new home. Moving-in day. I can’t find now."

"Why don’t we knock this on the head for the day? We’ve done enough."

"Good idea. I tell you what – let’s go and check out this Stormy Petrel place. I’ll by you a scotch and some pork scratchings."

"I may be about to marry you, Robert Farrah, but I’m still a good Muslim."

"Glass of coke then. And we can get to see some more inhabitants of Magnolia Close."

"You’re on."

End of Episode 8.

Magnolia Close Episode 7. Occupational Therapy

Maddy entered the living room of number 25, Magnolia Close. “Right, Bethany’s gone down, so I’m off.”
“Off where?” said Douglas drowsily. He had been dozing in the armchair since he had returned home from introducing himself to the Farrahs. And having a look round number 23.
“Off to work, behind the bar at The Petrel, where d’you think, you pie-can?”
“I didn’t realise is it was that late already,” he said, trying to raise himself in the chair.
“Time goes faster when you’re sat on your backside all day.” She busied herself loading her handbag. “It would go a little more slowly if you were working.”
Douglas fidgeted. It was not the first time they had had this conversation. “Jobs are hard to come by the way things are. You know that.”
“Oh, they are. I can see that. When you’re waiting for them to come to the house and find you. How many jobs have knocked on our door recently? Oh, let me think… None, right? You have to go out and look for work.”
“I have been looking for work,” he protested.
“When?
“Just today, as it happens.”
“‘As it happens’? How’d it happen? You haven’t stuck your head outside all day.”
“That’s all you know. I went to see those new people at number 23. Moving in and all. I thought they might need a handy-man.”
“And you thought you’d offer your services instead.”
“There’s all sorts of things that need doing in a new house.”
“And?”
“They said they’d get back to me.”
“Them and Santa Claus.” She slipped on her jacket and was nearly ready to leave. Before she got to the door he put his hand on her arm.
“Do you know whether Benson will be down The Petrel tonight?”
“How they hell should I know? Besides, you’ve got no money for booze and you can’t leave Bethany on her own.”
“But I might have some business with him.”
Maddy stood in the doorway as if she intended to block it for as long as it took to get Douglas to give up all hopes of going out for the evening. “What business could you have with him. I don’t think you’re the photographic model type.”
“Just a proposal I wanted to run past him. Bring some people together perhaps.”
Maddy wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re not thinking of starting a dating agency, are you.”
“Not that sort of proposal.”
“Just as well. I’ve seen bunions with more romance in them than you’ve got.”
From upstairs came a faint cry. Douglas took it as a hint. “We had some romance once.”
She gave a pained smile. “If you can call the back seat of a clapped-out Astra The Tunnel of Love.”
“Hey!” Douglas risked trying to be stern with her. “I don’t regret us having Bethany. I hope you don’t either.”
To his surprise, she seemed oddly mollified. “No, of course not. But we can’t feed her on fresh air.”
“That’s why I want a word with Benson Fairhurst.”
“So why didn’t you go and see him before I had to go to work?”
“I wanted a business drink with him. Catch him in the right mood.”
“Whatever,” Maddy shrugged, as if feeling her breath wasted. “Just don’t leave Bethany on her own.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll work something out.”“Mum, I’m hungry.”
“Dinner’s nearly ready,” said Daisy. “We’re just waiting for your Dad to get back from the shop.” She busied herself preparing a traditional Caribbean dish of curried goat.
“And I’m thirsty.”
Daisy halted. She recalled the conversation she had had with Tricia at the surgery earlier that day about Luther’s apparent constant thirst and loss of weight. She had looked in at the local chemist’s to check the price of a set of scales, but, seeing again how dear they were, she had decided to delay making a decision about buying them. She would speak with her husband, Foster, about it. “What would you like to drink?”
“Doctor Pepper!” he answered with glee. It did seem to be his favourite drink. Sadly, she could not oblige.
“Would some orange squash do?”
Luther pulled a face and groaned a little.
“You can make it with fizzy water, if you like. I’ve got some bottled water from the supermarket.”
Luther’s expression brightened. Daisy poured him the drink and he gulped it down. Just then, Foster let himself in.
“Dinner won’t be long,” she said. “How was the afternoon?”
Foster sighed. “They say this is a country of animal-lovers. I wish they would come and show some of their affection by buying something from the shop. Do you know how many customers I had after you went home?”
“Go on.”
“Just two.”
“What?” Daisy exclaimed. Business had been quiet, but not to this extent.
“Two – one for some rabbit-straw and one for some millet for their budgie. She was an awkward customer too. Said her little bird didn’t like just ‘any old millet.’ I mean, how many kinds of millet are there? I talked her into buying one of those rings she can fit on a perch. This is no way to make a living. I’ve gotta think of something else to expand the business.”
She turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Maybe I can show you some ‘animal-loving’ later on.” She winked.
“What are you after, girl?” Foster was on his guard.
“Nothing!” she said, feigning hurt. “And I got some good news – we’ve got new neighbours.”
“Why’s that good news? They got a pony or something?”
“You never know.”
“So what were you after, girl?”
“Who says I was after anything?”
Foster gave her a look.
“Alright. I want to buy some scales. From the chemist’s. But they’re a bit dear.”
“You don’t need to lose weight,” Foster protested.
“It’s not for me,” she responded, with a hint of outrage. “My weight’s just fine.”
“Well then?”
“It’s for your son. He’s skinnier than a bean these days.”
“So? He’s a growing boy.”
“Haven’t you seen? He’s growing ups but he ain’t growing out. I’m concerned for him.”
“If you’re so concerned,” he said, putting hands on her shoulder in an echo of her gesture, “you’d have dinner on the table already.”

END OF EPISODE 7

Magnolia Close, Episode 6. Hope for the future

Brooke and Celine entered the house in response to Martha, their mother’s, call.

"What’s up, mum?" said Brooke.

"We’re having tea early tonight," she said, retrieving three ready-meals from the freezer.

"How come?"

"Have you forgotten? We’ve got that parents’ evening at the Hope Academy this evening."

"It’s a bit late for making career choices for me isn’t it?" Brooke remarked. "I’m already registered for my ‘A’ levels."

"We can still discuss which university you’re going to."

"I already know." Brooke was querulous. "I’ve already put in my UCAS form."

"Just in case you don’t get your first choice," Martha said, trying to cover her previous remark.

"You mean if I don’t get my grades. Thanks a bunch."

"It’s not just you," Martha still trying to rescue herself,. "I’m hoping when I finish this secretarial course I’m on, I might be able to get a job at Hope. I’ve been a full-time mum long enough."

"What about me?" Celine piped up, picking up her school-bag. "I’m still going to be a full time kid for a while yet. Or are you packing me off too?"

Martha began to feel she was losing the debate to both her children. "No – you’re going to Hope as well. I’ll still be looking after you, and you would get to see me during the day too."

"Gee, thanks," said Celine. "‘Mommy’s pet,’ that’s what they’ll call me. What if I don’t want to go to Hope?"

"What’s wrong with the Hope Academy?"

"She’s worried about boys," Brooke taunted.

"You’re the one who should be worried about boys."

"What do you mean?"

"I’ve seen that Maxie Fairhurst looking at you. He was spying on you this afternoon. I don’t know what he’s doing home at this time of day anyway. He should be at school. I’ve a good mind to speak to his father."

"He was spying on the new neighbours moving in, not me!" said Brooke with some disdain. "Besides, he’s too young for me!"

"I’m very glad to hear it!" said Martha. Another thought occurred to her, and she would welcome changing the direction of the conversation. She unwrapped the frozen packages and pretended to be studying the cooking instructions. "By the way," she said as casually as she could, "what are the new neighbours like?"

Celine threw her bag down on the floor and stomped out of the kitchen.

"What was that about?" said Martha, puzzled. The older her children got, the less she seemed to understand them.

Max returned from his self-imposed exile in his bedroom. He hadn’t the slightest intention of doing any study, and had quickly become bored.

His father, Benson, was sitting at the desk that had effectively turned the lounge into a study, looking through wedding photos from his last commission.

"Has that Keaton woman gone?" Max asked.

The pictures Benson were looking at were old ones, no longer of any real value, and he was actually slightly relieved to have Max distract him. Without looking up, he said, "Have you done enough of being the nosey-parker for one day?"

"I’m not from the social, poking her nose into everything."

"I wasn’t talking about us. Was it Brooke Ames you had your eye on or the family moving in at number 23?"

Not for the first time Max wondered how his father knew what was going on outside when he had the curtains drawn. "Who says I was looking at either?"

Benson looked up. "You know, I think you are right. I really ought to think about getting a digital camera and a computer. If you got yourself a part-time job, perhaps we could afford a little more."

"I’m studying for my Mocks, Dad. How could I find the time for a job too?"

"Other kids do. And a computer could help you with your homework."

Maxwell wandered around the room restlessly before fiddling with something on his father’s desk. "It looks like Brooke was right – it is a new teacher for the Hope."

"How could she have know that? And leave my filters alone or you’ll get finger marks on them."

"She’s a woman, dad. They all gossip to each other. Motor-mouths. That’s why they always know everything."

"Don’t you let you mother hear you say that."

"Ashleigh’s not my mother." He put down the filters and started to push index cards from his father’s filing system around on the desk.

"I know, but I think she likes to hear you call her that. Gives her a sense of respect."

"Yeah but she’s only ten years older than I am."

"And do you prefer it when she calls you ‘Max’ or ‘son’?"

"Dad," Max shaded his eyes with a hand as if solving a difficult problem in his head, "I really don’t care."

"Still," Benson glanced up, "respect is respect."

"And I do respect her," he said, looking towards the window as if he might see Brooke, even though the angle was impossible. Unless she was standing outside in the front garden. "But she’s your girlfriend, not mine."

Benson turned away from his desk to face Max. "I’d like to think of us more as a family." Max said nothing. "And as for girlfriends, don’t you think you might be wasting your time a little with Brooke Ames when she’s just about to go to Uni? How are you going to compete with all those college boys?"

Max folded his arms across his chest, then raised a hand to his mouth and bit a knuckle. "Who says I’m after Brooke Ames?"

"Sometimes we men know some things too." He paused. "But perhaps you could tell me something. They have computers at school these days, don’t they?"

"Gosh, I wonder," Maxie mocked, "is this the 19^th or 20^th century – I can never remember."

"Do they ever sell any old ones off."

Max, realising this was not another veiled slight from his father, changed his attitude. "Yeah, sometimes, I think they do. I could ask them about it."

"There you go. If they’re cheap enough, it would help us both out, don’t you think?"

Max nodded. "If I could download porn with it, that’d be great."

Benson sighed. What it was like having a teenage son. "And next summer you’ll be getting your exam results and turning your back on Magnolia Close." There was a hint of anticipated relief in his voice.

End of Episode 6

Magnolia Close, Episode 5. Medical Matters.

Tall and slender as her Nigerian forebears, Daisy Woods was still well capable of turning heads wherever she went, even though into her thirties and with a son just entering his teens. From men, black or white, she was more or less used to it, found it tedious from time to time and occasionally even useful. However, as she entered Maplewood Surgery, she saw an unfamiliar female face at the reception desk.

"Hello – are you new here?"

"Yes, it’s my first day. My name is Jade Sweet."

"Pleased to meet you. I’m Mrs Daisy Woods." Just at that moment, Daisy was aware that someone else had entered the surgery and had taken a place in line behind her. "I was wondering – is Tricia McAndrew about?"

"The practice nurse? I should hope so – she’s my new landlady."

"Oh – so you’re moving in to Magnolia Close too. We’ll be neighbours."

Jade looked at the computer terminal showing appointments. "She got someone in with her just now. Is there anything I could help you with?"

"It’s something and nothing – I just wanted to have a quick word with her. I don’t want to go to all the trouble of a doctor’s appointment."

Jade looked at the terminal again. "I’ll just see if she’s free before her next appointment." Jade looked Daisy up and down, and smiled. "I think I might be able to sneak you in for a minute."

"Thank you, that’s very kind of you." Daisy turned away and took a seat in the waiting area.

Jade watched her as she walked away from the reception counter before turning to the next visitor. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. My name’s Nasreen Siddiqi – well, it is for the moment – um, until I get married that is – I want to register myself and my husband – I mean, my fiancé – with a doctor."

"Are you new to the area?"

"Yes. We’ve just moved from the Midlands."

"Snap! Well, not the Midlands bit. I mean I’m new here too. Were you both registered with the same doctor before?"

"In the same practice. We were at college together."

"Ah, how romantic." Jade was apt to get dewy-eyed at the thought of going away to college and meeting up with their true love. She had studied to be a medical receptionist while still living with her parents. All that was changing now though. She searched around under the counter until she found what she wanted. She hated being the newcomer, not knowing where everything was kept, but was determined to ask for help from her fellow receptionists as little as possible. "Here we are. You’ll both need to fill in one of these forms and sign them, then drop them off back here. If you specially want a female doctor you’ll have to say."

"No, that’s no problem," said Nasreen, though in the back of the mind she had a slight niggle of doubt. The doubt being what her relatives might have had to say on the matter, given the chance. "We’ve all got nearly all the same parts, and I don’t think diseases make much of a distinction."

"No," Jade hesitated. "There’s just… the odd thing, though, isn’t there?"

"All doctors study the same thing, don’t they?" Again Nasreen didn’t feel as confident as she was trying to sound.

"You don’t need to see a doctor straight away, do you?"

"Good heavens, no. At least, not quite. Ask me again when we’ve finished unpacking!"

"And let us know when you change your name. When you get married, that is. Have you picked the happy day?"

"Soon." Nasreen looked at Jade. They were about the same age, but there was something about Jade that made Nasreen want to keep her at a distance. She turned to leave. "Thanks a lot."

Just at that moment, Jade spotted a patient come out of the treatment room, where Tricia McAndrew worked. She slipped from behind the desk and poked her head around the door. "Tricia, can you spare a minute to have a word with a Mrs Woods?"

Tricia, prim in her nurse’s outfit, a little older than Jade, looked round from her desk, cluttered with various medical bric-à-brac. "Daisy? Yes, send her in."

Jade beckoned Daisy over. "Thank you," Daisy said. Jade wanted to say something in return but could think of nothing, the moment passed, and the door closed.

Tricia got up from her desk. "Hello, Daisy. First of all, I’ve just got to thank you for that cat-food you recommended. Moxie loves it. He’s not looking so skinny now."

"I’m glad. I’ll tell Foster – he’s being trying to sell that stuff in the shop for a while now but I think the price has been putting people off."

"How can I help?"

"It’s about our son, Luther. I don’t want to go bothering the doctor over something and nothing, so I was hoping you could let me have some advice."

"I’ll try. If there’s something worrying you, you should really let the doctor see him, but I’ll do my best to put your mind at ease."

"You know what they’re like at twelve – they say it’s the new fourteen! I’d have to bring him in here kicking and screaming."

"Is he ill in any way?"

"That’s just it," Daisy shrugged. "He seems OK, but there’s a couple of things I’ve noticed. I mean, it might just be that he’s growing up. They all do, in time."

"What sort of things?"

"Well… the main thing is he seems to be drinking a lot just lately."

"Alcohol?"

"Lord, no! Foster would tan his behind if he caught him on booze at his age. No, I mean just soft drinks – squash, pop – he’s never without a can of cola – even just tap water. Then he’s going to the loo every five minutes. Can’t even sit through The Simpsons sometimes. He never used to be like that."

"I see," Tricia said. Her earlier levity was now replaced by her professional voice. "Anything else?"

"He seems tired all the time. He still eats OK, but I can’t help thinking he’s loosing weight. Of course, he’s getting taller so it’s hard to judge."

"Do you know his weight?"

"No. I’ve been thinking of getting a set of scales from the chemist’s but they’re a bit pricey."

"But worth it. You can get cheap, trendy ones from those big furniture shops, but the chemist scales are a lot more accurate."

"What do you think it might be?"

"It’s not for me to say. Above my pay-grade, as they call it. But I would recommend you get him an appointment with the doctor right away. And maybe get those scales too."

"Really?" Daisy didn’t like the sound of this.

"Really. After all, you can’t put a price on peace-of-mind, can you?"

End of Episode 5