Breaking the Ice (29 page)

‘
Gobby, what are you doing here? This is too far from the hall. It’s miles - how did you get here?’ Samantha asked him, bending down as the cat ran towards her.

Gobby licked her hand and rubbed his face against her knee, purring and nuzzling.

‘
You should go back to the hall or go wherever you sleep at night. There’s nothing for you here - there’s nothing for me here either,’ Samantha responded with a sigh.

Gobby miaowed loudly and ran up to the council offices, pawing at the front door.

‘
It’s locked, I can’t get in,’ Samantha said, cuddling her file to her body.

Gobby continued scratching and started to make an insist
ent howling type noise.

‘
Gobby, stop it,’ Samantha told him.

He mewed louder and scratched even more and Samantha wondered what she should do. Perhaps Gobby was as perceptive as she always thought he was. Maybe he knew what was going on and couldn’t face losing his favourite feeding spot. Perhaps this was his protest, or maybe it was a wake up call for her.

Jimmy wouldn’t let a locked door stop him making his voice heard. She had to make a stand. She had to try no matter what the final outcome.

She walked over to the alleyway between the offices and the wedding dress shop and found the biggest thing she could.

She charged at the glass door with the naked, armless mannequin
. The first two attempts had no effect. On the third attempt one of the legs fell off but on the fourth try the head impacted on the glass at exactly the right point and it finally shattered. She dropped the plastic woman, picked up her lever arch file and opened the door.

Once inside, she followed the trail of lights until she stood outside the room where the council meeting was being held. It was like being outside the head teacher’s office at school. She had only been there on one occasion when she had hit Mary Kennedy in the eye with a
conker
. It had been a perfectly executed
manoeuvre
, although she had never admitted to that.

She could hear the discussions, people talking in turns and then she heard laughter. Loud laughter, like a hundred clowns guffawing all at once. It set her teeth on edge, especially when she recognised it was Mrs Randall’s laughter. The posh, fake-sounding laugh she probably practiced at coffee mornings with the bridge club. Samantha felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end and a furious feeling deep in her gut propelled her forward.

She opened the door forcefully and stepped into the room, her head held high. There were fourteen people present, including Mrs Randall and Mr Radcliffe, sat in a semi-circle formation, behind desks. At the sound of the door banging open, all discussion halted and all eyes turned to face Samantha.

‘
Good evening everyone, my name’s Samantha Smith. I am the manager of Woolston Civic Hall and I was invited here tonight to tell you about my proposals for the hall’s future,’ she spoke loudly and clearly, moving towards the group and removing a sheaf of paper from her folder.

Every one of the
councillors
was staring at her, wondering what was going on.

‘
Er, Miss Smith, I was under the impression that Mr Radcliffe came to see you today to tell you we held the decision making meeting last night and that…’ Mrs Randall began.

She looked like a typical ‘retirement isn’t enough for me and I want to serve my local community’
councillor
. She had blue/grey hair carefully
rollered
into position and huge silver glasses on her face. She was wearing a tweed jacket and a set of pearls around her wrinkled neck. She looked like a cross between someone’s mad old aunt and a judge at a gymkhana.

‘
Here is a five year plan for the Civic Hall that details how we can make several fundamental changes to its operation that will increase profit. And this will be achieved with no initial outlay,’ Samantha continued.

She completely ignored the fact that Mrs Randall had spoken, and started handing out individual copies of her proposal.

‘
Miss Smith, please - I did discuss the decision with you today and I left you a letter explaining why that conclusion was reached. I think…’ Mr Radcliffe began, rising to his feet.

‘
Mrs Randall kindly invited me here,
tonight
, to tell you all a little about the improvements I’ve made at the Civic Hall, since I took on the role of manager, and to put forward my suggestions for the future. So, where do I start? Perhaps with the restaurant? Yes, let’s start with the restaurant,’ Samantha carried on, pacing up and down in front of the
councillors
, looking at her file every now and then to ensure she got her speech in the right order.

‘
Miss Smith, this is pointless. A decision has been made. I’m sorry it wasn’t in your favour, but this was a decision agreed and passed unanimously,’ Mrs Randall told her, removing her big spectacles.

‘
We have scaled the restaurant down. We are now providing fast food at reasonable prices with two healthier options, two vegetarian alternatives and children’s meals. This should ensure a quicker turnover on tables and more customers through the door. However, we are keeping traditional meals and light bites on the menu for lunchtimes when the restaurant usually does well with the senior members of the community,’ Samantha carried on her heart thumping in her chest.

‘
Mike, she needs to be removed,’ Mrs Randall spoke to one of her fellow
councillors
, putting her glasses down onto the table.

‘
On-line booking. We have introduced a comprehensive website that’s very informative and on-line booking has already proved extremely popular,’ Samantha carried on, as the largest, most burly of the male
councillors
stood up and motioned towards her.

He had a beard and a beer gut and looked like
he should play professional darts. He also looked like he could probably lift her up with one hand.

‘
It’s time to go Miss Smith. I’m sure your proposals would have been of interest, if the decision hadn’t already been made - as I keep stating,’ Mrs Randall repeated herself sternly.

‘
Don’t you dare touch me! I’m not finished and you will sit here and you will listen to what I’ve got to say!’ Samantha exclaimed as she shrugged off the advances of the bearded official.

‘
Miss Smith, I do realise how you feel, but all this is only making the situation worse,’ Mr Radcliffe spoke calmly and he gave her a creepy little smile from his grey face.

‘
I don’t think you understand - any of you. The situation couldn’t get any worse, not just for me, but for the all the other Civic Hall employees too. I have to tell them all about this, I have to tell them they are going to be out of a job. Jane with her dependent mother, Karen whose husband got made redundant last year, Felicity with her string of useless, weird boyfriends, I’m asking you, I am
begging
you to reconsider. Look at my proposal, go onto the website, come down and visit the hall - you’ll see how much it’s changed in only a week - just imagine what could change in a month or two,’ Samantha said hurriedly, rattling the words out as fast as she could as Mike descended on her.

‘
I say again, I am sure the proposal is excellent but the provision will be given to the Presbook Centre. Go home Miss Smith, there’s nothing more you can do here,’ Mrs Randall spoke, narrowing her eyes at Samantha.

‘
I don’t believe that’s true! I
won’t
believe that’s true! Read my proposal, change your mind. You have the power to change the decision,’ Samantha told them.

‘
Mike! Will you please remove her! We’ve wasted too much time on this already, she needs to go now!’ Mrs Randall yelled, rising to her feet.

‘
I’ve told you, I’m not going anywhere! Not until you’ve read my proposal. No decision is so etched in stone that you can’t go back on it! Please, give the hall a chance, give
me
a chance!’ Samantha exclaimed, backing towards the door as the burly
councillor
again attempted to close in on her.

‘
Miss Smith, if you do not leave we will have you removed! I won’t have this behaviour at a council meeting!’ Mrs Randall barked.

‘
How many times do I have to say this?! I am not going anywhere - and if it’s really come to this, you’re not going anywhere either,’ Samantha announced as she got to the door, holding off Mike with her left arm.

In one quick move, Samantha turned around, locked the door, took out the key and theatrically put it into her mouth and swallowed.

‘
Now, are you all sitting comfortably? Has everyone got a copy of the proposal?’ Samantha asked, looking at the councillors calmly and trying to ignore the feeling of hard metal slithering down her throat.

‘
Oh good God! Call the police! Someone call the police!’ Mrs Randall screamed hysterically.

Twenty

Strangely
, it wasn’t the first time Samantha had been in a police car. In year eight her class had been shown around the local police station, locked in a cell and been allowed to sit in a patrol car with the siren on. It had made such a terrible noise it had made her sick.

There was no siren tonight, just Samantha, Gobby and P.C.s Dunbar and Davis. Samantha didn’t feel quite herself. It hadn’t really gone to plan. Perhaps naively she had thought they would listen to her and realise their error. Swallowing the door key hadn’t really been on her agenda either and it meant she now had two repair bills to settle - thanks to CCTV outside the offices that caught her determined entrance, and the police battering ram on the door inside. Still, the good news was she hadn’t been formally arrested, just removed from the council offices and given a ride.

Gobby was purring contentedly on her lap. He had been waiting outside the offices when the officers had escorted Samantha to the patrol car. He had hissed and howled and snagged P.C
. Davis’ trousers.

‘
Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home Miss Smith?’ P.C. Dunbar asked her as the patrol car pulled up outside the Civic Hall.

‘
No, thank you - this is kind of home for me. At least it was,’ Samantha remarked with a sigh.

‘
Cheer up, the councillor said they wouldn’t press charges providing the damage is paid for,’ P.C. Dunbar reminded her.

‘
That’ll be two new doors and keys I guess,’ Samantha spoke her stomach contracting as if it could feel the alien metal swimming around.

‘
I would have thought so,’ P.C. Davis remarked.

‘
Well, sorry about all the trouble and everything. And your trousers - Gobby isn’t usually like that. He’s just been under a lot of stress lately,’ Samantha spoke, opening the door of the car with one hand and cradling Gobby with the other.

‘
Goodnight,’ P.C. Dunbar called as Samantha left the car.

She stood outside the hall, Gobby in her arms and looked up at the sign, the coat of arms on either side of the lettering. What cruel irony that while she and Jimmy were sharing their first kiss in the place she loved so much, the council had been putting the final nail in its coffin.

She put Gobby down and ruffled the fur on top of his head.

‘
Thanks for trying to help Gobby. I’m sorry I couldn’t save the it,’ Samantha spoke, tears welling in her eyes as the cat looked back at her with his large eyes and all knowing expression.

‘
But you promise me you’ll go and hang out at Charlotte’s Bistro now. She has fish on the menu, three different types and all the other things you like,’ Samantha said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

Gobby let out a mew of appreciation and licked his lips.

She took a deep breath and
pushed open the front doors. The bar and restaurant were virtually empty. She checked her watch and realised the ice show must still be going on, well into its second half. She entered the auditorium and saw Felicity by the nearest fire exit. She hurried over to join her.

‘
Hello, is everything OK? Any problems?’ Samantha asked her in whispered tones.

‘
No, everything’s fine, sold out of Berry Fruits tonight so we must be under the thousand mark. Things not so good on the ice though,’ Felicity remarked.

‘
Oh no, not another fall! Who was it? Not Dana,’ Samantha enquired.

‘
No, no fall - more like a falling out. Your Jimmy has quit the show, minutes before curtain up,’ Felicity informed her.

‘
What? No, that can’t be right. I mean I saw him, tonight, right before I left. He was in costume and everything,’ Samantha spoke hurriedly, panic in her chest as she tried to digest the information.

‘
Mmm, he was in costume when he was shouting and bawling at the show director that Nigel Fancy Pants or whatever his name is - the one who walks around thinking he owns the place, wearing cashmere cardigans. I was taking the refreshments to the dressing rooms when it all kicked off,’ Felicity carried on.

‘
Well what was said? What was the argument about? And where is he? Is he really not skating? Who’s dancing with Dana?’ Samantha babbled desperate for answers to all her questions.