The mid-session ‘tea break’ at the Circle usually marked the point at which ‘first half’ acrimony gave way to magnanimous disinterest and, more often than not, childish giggling.  The small tables in the Steam Hammer snug were not capable of accommodating even a semi-circle and so the room generally resolved itself into a selection of ragged little arcs which pocked the room with secret laughter, earnest conversation and hushed plotting.  Certain segments of the group had become almost inviolate: Phil, Frankie, Elizabeth and Louise were unbreakable; their little table adjacent to the giant plastic yucca plant was always an oasis of laughter, whatever rancour had bristled about the group in the first session of the evening.  These four souls understood that the occasional spells of acrimony and discord that erupted during literary discussions were nothing but the kind of familial spats that commonly erupted amongst a group of people who, although disparate in temperament and background, fundamentally cared for one another, even if none of them were prepared to admit it.  Phil and Frankie in particular enjoyed the ‘banter’ with other members but always, thanks largely to the calming influence of Elizabeth and Louise, managed to steer themselves away from outright confrontation or abuse.

Everyone in the group was aware that despite a relationship that was more bristly than a partially shaved Big Foot, Deidre and Frankie were fond of one another in a ‘just about able to tolerate you’ kind of a way.  Frankie had risen to the challenge of responding to Deidre’s recent ‘troubles’ and neither could forget it – although both of them would have liked to have done so.  Studiously they avoided sharing a table in the lounge bar.  Deidre shared her mid-point table with Vanessa, who really would have much rather been with Phil and Frankie, but understood that when faced with randomly dotted small round tables, each of them surrounded by no more than four faux-leather topped stools, five is most definitely a crowd.  Intellectually she was the sharpest mind in the group, well capable of matching Frankie for sly humour, and universally liked.  She was Deidre’s prize and always beckoned to sit alongside her.  Joining them were the two newest members of the club, Jeff and Tom who, since they had ‘found’ one another had become something of a group ‘item’, although both remained so protective of their personal lives that none of the other members had any clue whether their friendship extended beyond the once weekly 7.30 to 10.30pm.  The talk on this table was always more reserved, more bookish and featured less gin and more sweet sherry than that at the yucca.

The third regular group featured Jane Herbert who, true to her word, was devoting much of her time to helping Terry as he grappled with the complexities of plotting his first novel.  Terry’s redemption was almost complete – as far as the Circle was concerned – fuelled partly by unseen kindnesses shown to Penny, who had left Deidre’s side to join him at his table, ostensibly allowing the two newer club members to fall, like stricken satellites, within Deidre’s orbit.  Struggle as they might, they would not be released until Deidre chose to release them.  New members were their only hope.  Penny was not foolish enough to believe that she meant anything to Terry, but she recognised something of a kindred spirit in him: a person struggling to fit in.  This little table was completed by Billy Hunt, who drank beer (but only in halves because he didn’t really like it) and who, to date, had neither found nor sought any type of redemption within the group.  He was disliked simply because he went out of his way to be so.  His opinions lasted only as long as they as they could antagonise everybody else.  When they ceased to annoy, they were quickly dropped and an alternative ‘alienation’ found.  He would have been friendless, but for Terry who was blithe enough to ignore all the bluster and smart enough to know that the only person Billy was really rebelling against was Billy.

Unusually, all the three groups were, on this occasion, fixed on finding a solution to the same problem: attracting new blood.  The Circle needed new members.  Some kind of an ‘Open Day’ seemed to be the preferred option, but how to persuade new writers to attend remained the overriding problem.
“What about a guest speaker?” said Phil.  “Surely Deidre must know somebody.  What about Richard Madeley?”
“She wasn’t taken with him,” said Frankie.  “No class apparently: black belt and brown shoes; striped socks, bitten fingernails and milk in his Earl Grey.  He ate his cake with a spoon instead of a fork…”
“But she must have met somebody else in the Green Room.”
“Nobody she recognized.  She thought that the floor manager was Paul Daniels until she remembered he was dead.  Everybody else appeared via Zoom.  The nearest she came to meeting anybody famous was when the cloakroom attendant gave her Andi Peters cap by mistake.”
“Well what about you, Frankie,” said Phil, “you must know a comedian or two that’s at a loose end?  What about one of them?”
“I don’t think that Deidre would countenance the kind of people I write jokes for,” said Frankie.  “They’re a pretty humourless bunch without a script to follow.  Besides, none of them do anything for free…”

On the table near the Gents the conversation was proceeding along similar lines.  “Surely after all your years in the business, Terry, you must know somebody who would make a personal appearance…” said Billy.
“I’ve closed the door on all of that,” said Terry.  “Or more precisely it has closed the door on me.  I’ve no desire to reopen it.  I’ve got other things to do.”  He grinned at Jane who managed a thin, weak smile in response.
“We could always ask Deidre to do it,” suggested Penny, quietly prepared for the mass intake of breath she knew it would cause.  “She is quite well known… in certain circles.  She would definitely bring a good few people in.”
“Spinster pensioners,” spat Billy, for once echoing the unspoken thoughts of the rest of the group.  “We want new blood, don’t we?  We want some younger members, some new life.  Look around this room: it’s like a funeral wake in search of a corpse.”
“It’s a bit harsh to suggest that all of Deidre’s readers are spinster pensioners,” said Penny with more than a hint of half-heartedness about it.
Billy raised his eyebrows (un-trimmed in order to look more like a ‘working man’s’) and pulled a face that he fondly thought of as ‘bemused’ but which, in fact, looked more like he had just had an accident in his trousers.  “Really,” he said.  “Can you name one?”

At the third table (or as she, doubtless, would have referred to it ‘the first table’) Deidre was shuffling a sheaf of papers back into shape and preparing to rise.  Curiously, she was probably the only member of the Circle who did not, secretly, hope that she would take up the baton to speak at the Open Day.  Vanessa, Tom and Jeff had all made their opinions perfectly clear to Deidre and they were confident that, after some feigned objections, the other members would agree that she was the only person for the job.  Deidre, for her part, was inclined to agree with them, but she would not, on this occasion, be persuaded by kind words and supplication.  She knew how the Press worked – and if the Open Day was to be a worthwhile exercise, they would have to be involved – if she was to speak in public at such an occasion they would somehow get to hear of her recent chastening experience and no amount of vanity was going to allow that to happen.  As much as the opportunity to be implored to become the centre of attention appealed to her, she would not, this time, be swayed.  She had an alternative plan that she knew would meet with universal approval: free wine and canapés (paid for from club funds, boosted by more than she chose to reveal from her latest retainer) would always pull the newbies in.  It’s all that any aspiring writer ever wants.

“Perhaps we could reconvene upstairs,” said Deidre, “and consider the alternatives there.”  She climbed the stairs at the head of her little ‘tribe’, happy for once that, as the only alternative to food and alcohol, she was bound to be overlooked…