The Piano Man Project Page 0,72

jeans and a t-shirt that declared ‘Old boys do it better!’ and when the twins removed their Pac-a-Macs they revealed matching white t-shirts handpainted with ‘We Love You Auntie Tit!’ across the front. It was unfortunate – or fortunate, depending on how you wanted to look at it – that both women were extremely well endowed, because their ample cleavages had eaten several words from the slogan, leaving them proudly announcing ‘We Love Tit!’ across their busts. They smiled serenely, and Billy nodded and threw a theatrical wink towards the press, who’d gathered as on most days in the hope of action.

‘Quite right too, ladies. Don’t we all!’

Light bulbs flashed, and Honey knew that thanks to the sisters’ t-shirts, the campaign would once again be flashed across the front of the papers. It had made the local TV news for the first time last week too, which had sent Billy into a Brylcreemed spin of excitement. Surely it must be having some effect up at head office by now? They might say that no press is bad press, but surely being made to look heartless was bad PR for a company who made their money on retirement homes?

‘I think it’s amazing what they’re all doing here,’ a passer-by said, pausing next to her on the footpath while the press took their shots. Honey smiled at the woman with the buggy laden down with two young children and shopping.

‘Thank you. It means so much to everyone to stay here,’ Honey said. She was fast becoming accustomed to her role as public spokesperson. ‘I just can’t imagine what would happen to them all if the home closes.’

‘If I didn’t have these pair with me I’d have joined in.’ The woman grinned and gestured to the kids, and then smiled and went on her way. Honey stood and looked down the length of the railings, her mind whirring with ideas. How many people could they fit along there, she wondered? The railings wrapped around the street corner and carried on, so actually, quite a few. Thirty? Forty? More? As she turned to head back to the shop she met an anxious-looking Skinny Steve coming in the other direction laden down with warm tea for the protesters.

‘You’re doing a great job, Steve,’ she said, patting his shoulder as she walked by.

‘Don’t go!’ he whispered loudly to her retreating back, and she stopped and turned slowly, unnerved by the desperate edge to his already thin voice.

‘You okay?’ she asked, carefully.

He shook his head, wide eyed. ‘The agency chef is going crazy in there, Honey. He won’t listen to a word I say.’

Honey frowned. ‘I heard there might be a few problems.’

Steve huffed and picked nervously at a spot on his chin. ‘Problems? Even I know better than to give this lot a prawn vindaloo.’ Steve spoke urgently, as if it were a relief to get it off his chest. ‘The staff have been going crazy because everyone wants the loo all the time. Old Don shat on Elsie’s slippers this morning because they couldn’t get him there quick enough.’ He shook his head and pulled a face that indicated he’d probably witnessed the incident. ‘It’s bad, Honey. Really bad.’ He shook his head.

‘He’s in there right now making a chilli hot enough to take the skin off the roof of your mouth. I know, because he made me try it.’ Steve swallowed painfully. ‘I don’t think he likes old people very much. In fact …’ He looked at Honey fearfully, as if she were a police officer taking his statement. ‘I think he might be trying to kill them all with spicy food.’

Honey almost laughed, but held it in because actually, it wasn’t at all funny. It was highly unlikely that the agency had sent them a chef who harboured homicidal tendencies towards the elderly, but this was clearly a problem that was too big for Skinny Steve’s skinny shoulders. There was little to no point in suggesting he take the matter up with Christopher; in fact there was every chance Christopher had handpicked the worst chef he could find himself.

‘I’ll nip over there and have a word with him when I get a chance, Steve,’ she said, smiling encouragingly. ‘In the meantime, just try to steer lunch in the right direction, okay?’

Steve nodded, a vigorous duck of his head that almost spilt the tea on his tray.

Thirty thousand feet above ground level, Tash was also serving tea, and as the plane hit a pocket