Victorian house, which was the main HQ of the Sunshine Trust. It was a gothic, grim-looking building – but as she went across the threshold and was introduced to Kim Majors, the centre’s director, Cat quickly realised that appearances could be deceptive.
‘Thank you so much for coming, Mrs Tinsall,’ Kim said, holding out her hand. She was a small round, cheerful kind of person, bubbling with goodwill. Cat warmed to her instantly. ‘We’re so grateful to you for letting us tell our story.’
‘Call me Cat, please,’ said Cat. ‘And it’s my pleasure. Pippa Holliday is always singing your praises, and I know what a difference the respite care makes for her and Dan. I’m pleased to be able to help, if I can.’
‘Let me show you around,’ said Kim.
The house was huge, but felt comfortable and homely. The rooms were brightly lit and cheerful, and Cat was amazed at the general air of fun. There was a games room, where two boys in wheelchairs whizzed back and forth playing table tennis, a soft play area, with younger children enthusiastically hurling themselves about, and several lounges, in which children, some in wheelchairs, some not, were lounging about, chatting or watching TV.
‘These are our chillout zones,’ said Kim, ‘the kids can come and relax here on their own, or when their families come, they have plenty of space for private time. During the week we often arrange recreational pursuits, like games evenings. For a lot of our children, it’s about being heard – people look at them as if they are stupid, when it’s their bodies which don’t work so well, not their minds. That’s not true for all of them of course, but it is for the vast majority.’
The tour of the home took over an hour, including showing Cat round some of the more modern buildings where the children who lived here permanently stayed, and an impressive hydrotherapy pool, where Cat witnessed a child with severe muscular dystrophy getting the chance to stretch her muscles and just enjoy the water. Cat was impressed by the range of activities available to the children and could see what a vital resource it was. Kim was an informative guide, who clearly found her job rewarding. She explained that the respite care service had only been in place for a few years.
‘You remember the good old days, when the government had so much money sloshing around they could pay for it? Now of course that’s no longer the case. And as we’re a charity, we’re having to work harder and harder for donations. We could really do with a generous benefactor. Unfortunately, as things stand we won’t be able to keep the service going if our funding is withdrawn.’
‘That would be terrible,’ said Cat. ‘I’ll do my best to drum up interest. I know one or two documentary film makers who might be interested in this kind of thing. I’ll sound them out, see if any of them are interested in doing something about this issue.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ said Kim.
‘I can only try,’ said Cat. ‘I’m so impressed by everything you do here. And really humbled too.’
It was true, Cat reflected, as she got in the car to go home. She did feel humble. Watching the dedicated staff, treating a child with muscular dystrophy in the state-of-the-art hydrotherapy pool; observing a teacher communicate with her class purely through sign language; seeing a nurse gently turn a child who was on permanent ventilation. This place was incredible, and helped so many people. Cat had always been aware how incredibly fortunate she was to have four bright, healthy children, but today she sent a silent prayer of gratitude for her good fortune. Those families, like Pippa’s, who needed the Sunshine Trust’s help so badly, had so much to contend with. Cat had very little to complain about by comparison. Even with a stroppy teen.
‘Hi Pippa. You’ve been busy again.’ Vera opened the door of the village shop with a cheerful smile, as Pippa came in with her latest supply of cakes.
‘Well, you know,’ said Pippa, grinning. ‘I have to do something to keep me out of mischief.’
After a fractious start to the day, involving lost football boots (Nathan), a sudden meltdown about ‘forgotten’ Maths homework (George) and an unusual strop from Lucy about what she was going to wear that day, Pippa had spent the morning baking. As usual, having the delicious smell of cakes and muffins wafting through the kitchen calmed her nerves, and by the time she had put the finishing touches to her cupcakes, Pippa was in a much better frame of mind.
Her mood was further improved by a couple of emails from interested local businesses whom she’d tentatively approached to see if they would be interested in getting involved in helping Sunshine Trust in some way. It was a small start, but it was something. As she was getting the cakes ready to take to Vera’s, Cat rang up to see if she wanted to go for a coffee, as she had some news about a possible TV programme.
‘I’m just off to take some cakes to Vera’s,’ said Pippa, ‘meet you in ten.’
Having deposited her wares, Pippa bought a large latte and a toasted teacake and went to sit in a cosy corner of the café, near to the fireplace. A cold miserable February day was made much brighter by coffee and cake, she decided, while she waited for Cat to arrive. The coffee shop was packed with mums and toddlers, and as usual the place gave off a noisy happy vibe. Remembering how close Vera had come to losing her livelihood only a few years before, and how the community had come together to create such a brilliant and lively hub, gave Pippa renewed hope. Nothing was impossible if she put her mind to it.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Cat came in shaking rain out of her umbrella. ‘I got stuck on a long phone call with my editor.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Pippa, ‘I’ve been having an enjoyable time sitting still and watching the world go by for once. So, what’s the score?’
‘Well, I’ve been putting some feelers out, and it’s possible the Beeb may be commissioning a series of programmes about cuts in social services and how they affect real people. And they may be looking at one on families who have special needs children. I’m sure they’d love to hear about you and Lucy.’
‘I don’t want it to be just about me,’ protested Pippa. ‘There are lots of other families affected too.’
‘Yes, but your story is an emotional one,’ argued Cat, ‘and if it helped get your campaign on the map, it would be worth doing.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Pippa reluctantly, not quite sure she could see herself as a TV star in the making. ‘So long as they concentrate on how we’re trying to save the respite services, I don’t see what harm it can do.’
‘You never know, you might even enjoy it,’ said Cat. ‘And I bet Lucy would.’
‘She’d certainly play up to the cameras,’ said Pippa. Lucy was a natural show-off, and Pippa could see her having a ball. ‘Thanks so much for doing this for me, Cat. I’m beginning to feel this isn’t quite such an uphill task.’
‘Have you thought about organising some fundraisers?’ said Cat. ‘When we were in London, some friends of ours used to organise an annual ball, with a charity auction for a local hospice. It made tons of money.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ said Pippa. ‘Perhaps we could do something coming up to Christmas.’
‘You could call it a Snow Ball,’ said Cat. ‘People could have fun while raising money. It’s a win-win situation.’
‘And I do love an opportunity to get glammed up,’ said Pippa, ruefully looking at the battered old Barbour, ragged jumper, jeans and wellies which was her default costume most days. ‘Being a farmer’s wife means you don’t often get the chance to. That’s a great idea, Cat.’
Cat smiled. ‘Pleased to help,’ she said. ‘Where would be a good venue do you think?’
‘We could let you have Hopesay Manor for free, if you like.’ A figure dressed in black leathers who’d been sitting on the other side of the fireplace got up, holding out his hand. Pippa recognised him instantly as the handsome dark stranger who’d offered her advice the last time she’d been in here with Marianne. Suddenly the