The Choir

What chance did their friendship have if Stella couldn’t support her when it mattered the most?

- Carolyn Lewis

When Stella said, ‘What harm can it do?’ I smiled and nodded, making it look as if I was agreeing with her.

What harm could it do? Quite a bit, actually.

I mean, for a start, the choirmaster might say that I sounded like a foghorn and there was no way he or she would let me join the choir!

They might think I was too old or I didn’t look right. A lot of choirs these days look as if they’ve all won the lottery when they sing. Huge grins on their faces, all smiley and happy.

It had been Stella’s idea.

These things usually are. I simply said I’d like to do something new, something different now that the pottery class had finished.

We’d been sitting in the café of the adult-education centre. I like it in there. Always someone to talk to, to drink coffee with.

I don’t mind admitting that since Terry died, I’ve looked for company. I’ve done a lot of classes over the years – tai chi, Pilates, French conversation – and I’ve enjoyed them all.

To be honest, I wasn’t totally convinced about pottery. But I must admit the class was full and we had a good time.

When our tutor said she was leaving the area and the class was finishing, I felt saddened.

Stella hadn’t joined the pottery class. She said it was too mucky for her. She went for cake decorating. I didn’t say a word, but you should have seen the state of her apron…

I’ve known Stella for years – we were neighbours when our children were small and although she moved, we’ve kept in touch and we’ve been students at the adult-education centre for a long time.

It was Stella who found the leaflet for the choir. ‘Look at this,’ she exclaimed, holding the flyer out towards me.

I laughed. ‘Are you mad? Neither of us can sing.’