The Piano Man Project Page 0,38

ballistic. Beyond that she was in the dark, aside from the fact that Nell’s pink handcuffs were likely to feature too. She’d managed to grab a quick word with Old Don’s son, and he was heading down in his lunch hour with a photographer riding shotgun. Pressing her fingertips against her temples, Honey prayed that whatever they did wasn’t drastic enough to get her fired – at least not before they saved the home, anyway.

At the front of the room Christopher stood and clapped his hands for everyone’s attention, and a hush fell over the disparate gathering. Three care workers representing the care staff as a whole; two cleaners; Patrick the huge Glaswegian chef and his fresh out of school trainee; Cheryl and her mother from the office, and Honey. The fact that the gathering was so disparate did nothing to diminish Christopher’s apparent sense of self-importance as he tapped an experimental finger on the huge green felt microphone he’d just plugged in. It looked like something from a 1980s TV outside broadcasting. They’d all watched him set it up in the centre of the room, discover the lead wouldn’t reach the plug, and end up standing at the far end of the room as if he’d been sent to stand in the naughty corner.

‘One-two, one-two,’ he said like a cheesy wedding DJ, and the screech of feedback had the whole room clapping their hands over their ears as one. Christopher said something that really shouldn’t be uttered into a microphone, turned it up to full volume and kicked the stand.

‘Unless you want the whole town to hear what you’re gonnae say, I’d turn that thing off, Sonny Jim,’ Patrick said, clearly enjoying the chance to add to Christopher’s discomfort.

Christopher shot him daggers, yanked the plug out of the wall and dragged the microphone stand into the centre again.

‘Right then, to business,’ he said, both hands on the stand as if he were about to break out into karaoke.

Patrick raised his hand. ‘You probably don’t need to speak into the microphone, seeing as it’s unplugged.’

Christopher stepped in front of the mike stand, muttering, ‘I knew that,’ under his breath then cleared his throat, looking slowly around at each of them.

‘If we’re quite ready, I’ll make a start,’ he said, as if the delays had been everyone else’s fault rather than his own.

‘As you’re all aware, the home is scheduled to close in a few months’ time,’ he looked pointedly at Honey, ‘the shop too. Well, the powers that be at head office have updated me personally this morning,’ his chest puffed out, ‘that they’re looking at bringing that date forward by five weeks owing to the fact that I’ve already secured places for more than fifty per cent of the younger residents, and, taking natural wastage into account, they feel that they can reasonably expect to rehome the remaining residents within the shorter timeframe. Are you all still with me so far?’

Honey stared at him. Five less weeks to work with.

‘Are you saying that we’re going to lose five weeks’ pay?’ one of the cleaners piped up.

Honey shared their worries, but something else in Christopher’s speech had outraged her even more. She found herself raising her hand, and all eyes turned towards her.

‘“Natural wastage”?’ she repeated his phrase, getting to her feet. ‘Natural wastage? Are you saying that you’re counting on some of our older residents dying before the time comes for them to be “rehomed”, as you put it?’

Christopher had the good sense to look contrite. ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, Ms Jones, but owing to the advancing years of many of our residents, it’s not unreasonable to think …’ his voice trailed off as a commotion kicked off outside the open window. He cocked his head like a police dog and narrowed his eyes.

‘What is that racket?’ he muttered, backing into the microphone stand and sending it flying, then climbing over it to get to the window.

‘Oooh no,’ he said, wagging his finger. ‘No, no, no. Not happening. No. Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen.’ He said all of this through an almost-maniacally unpleasant smile as he took off towards the door at a Basil Fawlty half run, and everyone else in the room bolted to the windows to see what was going on out front.

Honey clapped her hand over her mouth, holding in her quiet ‘Oh my God!’ as her gaze moved along the line of residents who’d fastened themselves to the home’s railings using