Our weekly meetings were getting busier. More people signing up, or people just turning up more regularly it was hard to say. Nick had invited in a few people from Morecambe over, where the initiative was trying to expand into retrofitting some of the council offices there and working with local GP and Hospital services, so it was particularly packed one night, sometime in August 2017 it must have been. Chairs were arranged in two concentric circles around the central table, a few people standing or squatting in the corners. Jay was sitting in the first row along with the rest of what we thought of as the Laundry gang. Amar was there too behind him, next to Christine. I nodded to them as they came in. We hadn’t spoken much over the past few weeks, Jay up and out early, back late, doing extra shifts I assumed, trying to make some money.
I sat in the outer row close to the door, a slightly peripheral position that befitted my status. I was attending meetings but not really directly involved in any of the projects, something of a hanger on really and I wondered whether I had anything to contribute more than some voluntary English teaching. I was a little tired and my thoughts drifted. I was struck by how large meetings made me uncomfortable, how I didn’t mind standing up in front of a class but was bad at contributing in groups and how that limited my involvement in them.
Nick kicked of the meeting. We had a presentation on green energy initiatives for the bay form the people over from Morecambe. The local anti-fracking group gave us an update on their activities.
Update on the solar and wind turbine installations? Nick asked.
Andy stood up, said something about the procurement and warehousing over on the industrial estate.
What else could I do? I had a little notebook on my lap and was tapping away on it to expend my permanently low-level nervous energy.
Update from the Laundry? Nick said.
Perhaps I could do some adult literacy classes too if I had compatible skill set, perhaps I could take on some training for that, there wouldn’t be any kind of funding though. I was about to search to see what it entailed when I realised that Christine’s update from the Laundry wasn’t happening for some reason and so I looked up to see Jay standing up at the table, piece of paper in his hand, eyes glued to the page, chewing at his bottom lip.
It‘s hard to explain the extraordinary tension that I felt. The strong, almost uncontrollable desire to intervene.
Christine leaned in behind him and said, come on, we can’t be here all night. Sat back, folded her arms, looked off to one side.
The enormous struggle that went through him as he opened his mouth, the physical difficulty of uttering that first word and the way his voice fluted up high and how he struggled to bring it back down wincing in shame.
Laundry...
My hands were fists in my lap. Jesus, don’t do this to him. Don’t do it to me, I suppose I really meant.
He took a breath. A big audible gulp at the air. Nowhere to run no easy way out of the small, hot, bright, crowded room How difficult was it to read a few lines off a piece of paper out loud? And yet the sweat was shining on his cheeks.
Come on now, Christine said brusquely. A few people shifted in their chairs, most by now were looking down or away. I tried not to, to offer a reassuring face but probably all my conflicts were evident in it and anyway Jay’s eyes were fixed on the single sheet of A4.
Laundry update, he said again. Voice still shaky but better this time. Went through the five mundane points that hardly varied week-to-week then sat down looking shell shocked. I expected something from Christine, a “well done”, some recognition of all the effort it had cost him, the difficult position she had put him in but, nothing. I was staring at her in fury and had to force myself to look away.
Last thing on the agenda, Nick Boscombe said jovially is a trip out to Morecambe. Have a look at what they are doing there. We can do it on a Saturday, make a day out of it, he said. Take the kids.
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