‘I’m not, honest. I really, really miss you . . .’
‘Tough.’
Making for the bar, Posy twirled away through the crowds being careful to keep her toes out of the way of the stomping feet. The Pink twins were dancing together and wearing wellingtons.
‘Here I am,’ she beamed at Norrie. ‘Safe and sound and heart still intact. Have Ellis and Flynn not turned up?’
‘Nope,’ Norrie poured four champagne cocktails at the same time. ‘Rose Lusty told your mother that they were outside necking.’
‘Christ. With each other?’
‘Apparently not. With Lola and Vanessa. Posy? Posy, where are you going?’
Outside in the warm, velvet darkness, Ellis and Lola seemed to have vanished but it wasn’t difficult to spot Flynn and the glitteringly pink and silver Vanessa sitting side by side on the wall beneath the notice board. There didn’t seem to be a lot of necking going on. Posy hoped that she’d missed it.
She hitched herself up on to the wall on the other side of Flynn.
‘Hi,’ Vanessa smiled guilelessly, ‘we were just talking about you.’
‘Really? Anything I should know?’
Flynn, who already had his arm round Vanessa’s shoulders, leaned over and hugged Posy at the same time. ‘Congratulations on being chosen as a pageant princess.’
‘Carnival Queen attendant,’ she corrected him, wanting to kiss him so badly. ‘Thank you. And don’t change the subject. Why were you talking about me?’
‘Because of exactly that,’ Vanessa leaned forward exposing her splendid cleavage. ‘Flynn says you were going to crew on Queen Mab with him in the procession, but you won’t be able to now, will you? Because you’ll be on the float with Sonia and Lola as well as being the fortune teller, so I’m going to do it instead.’
Bugger. Posy shrugged. ‘Okay, but you’ll probably have to fight off my dad and Mr D and Mr B for that honour.’
‘The more guys the merrier as far as I’m concerned,’ Vanessa chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’m probably a better choice than you. Flynn says you haven’t ever been up in Queen Mab’s cab on the road, whereas I’m used to it, steering steam engines, I mean. I helped Flynn out a lot in the Rough and Tumblers.’
Posy kept the smile fixed firmly in place. ‘So everyone keeps telling me. It’ll be nice for you to keep your hand in.’ She looked at Flynn as a crowd of villagers tottered from the hall for a bit of a breather, and lit up cigarettes in the darkness. ‘Um, have you seen Lola and Ellis?’
‘They disappeared across the common about ten minutes ago,’ Flynn said quietly. ‘Not sure if it’s a swan song or a long goodbye or they’re eloping.’
‘Ellis seems to be stuffed full of principles, so I don’t think he’ll be running out on Tatty,’ Posy said sadly. My guess is that it’s the long goodbye.’
‘Mine too, honey.’ Vanessa hitched her tiny pink skirt up to groin level. ‘Mind you, it wouldn’t have worked, would it? Not with an entire generation gap between them. They’d have no shared history. Nothing to touch base on. It’d have all fizzled out in days.’
‘Really?’ Posy studied her bare feet; her toes were dusty and she thought the silver pearly nail polish looked out of place. Far too girlie. ‘You think so, do you? You don’t think that they’d have had as much chance of happiness and making it work as anyone else who enters into a relationship?’
‘No way,’ Vanessa continue to smile. ‘Relationships are tricky at the best of times, far better if you both start on a level playing field. No differences to speak of.’
‘Sounds pretty boring to me,’ Posy straightened her tiara. ‘So, you’d advocate no crossing of age, creed, colour or nationality, would you? All couples neatly sorted into matching ticky-tacky boxes, with no allowance at all for falling in love outside those confines?’
‘Hey –’ Flynn laughed. ‘This is getting a bit heavy, isn’t it?’
Posy shook her head. ‘Not at all. But then you obviously agree with Vanessa, don’t you? Each to his own. Otherwise, why would you and she be going back to Boston together as soon as the carnival is over?’
Chapter Twenty-nine
The morning of the carnival dawned as gloriously as anyone could have wished for. By nine o’clock the sky was cornflower blue, the sun spiralled across the village, and not a hint of wind ruffled the miles and miles of multicoloured flags and bunting.
Peering from the doorway of Sunny Dene, Posy blinked. Steeple Fritton had undergone an overnight transformation.
When had all this happened?
Last night, both the commons had been smothered by piles of tarpaulins, a few tents, heaps of unbuilt stalls, and an all-encompassing air of panicky excitement – but nothing else.
Now, the larger common outside the B&B, and the smaller one down the road by The Crooked Sixpence, bad both metamorphosed into full-blown fairgrounds-cum-fete-cum-tented villages, with hordes of people swarming across the sun-burnished bleached grass, and a pot pourri of fragmented noises and exotic scents filling the warm air.
Trevor and Kenneth, anticipating their usual free-range romp, sniffed dubiously at the unfamiliar landscape with tucked-in tails. However, despite various misgivings, Posy couldn’t help grinning. It was like being a child, going to sleep to rain and waking up to find everywhere blanketed by inches of unheralded snow.
‘Oh, wow!’ She shook her head, it’s awesome.’
‘And you,’ Dilys, dressed from head to toe in her favourite tangerine, said as she passed across the hallway from the dining room towards the kitchen, ‘sound exactly like Vanessa.’
Oh, ha-ha – Posy really didn’t want to hear the V-word today. The owner of the V-word had left Sunny Dene at some ridiculously early hour with Flynn. To steam-up Queen Mab ready for the procession, she’d said. Posy had a sinking feeling that Queen Mab wouldn’t be the only one getting hot and bothered. Bugger.
She shrugged. ‘Actually, I caught all my Americanisms from Flynn, not her. But, Mum, you have really got to come and look at this. And tell Lola, too. She’ll love it.’
‘Lola went down to the pub before breakfast, and I’ve already looked, love. Your dad and I have been watching it going on from first light.’ Dilys hugged the piled-high tray against her billowing chest. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? And have you noticed the other thing?’
‘Which other thing?’
‘There, at the end of the drive.’
Posy squinted then squealed with delight. ‘Oh, fantastic! I’ve never ever seen it before. Well, not hung up, I mean.’
‘Dad had to dig it out of the back of the shed.’
The ‘No Vacancies’ sign, slightly lopsided, swung on its rusty chains above the gate. It meant that Sunny Dene, for the first time in living memory, well, Posy’s anyway, had every one of its bedrooms fitted, and every one of its tables occupied by happy breakfasters.
‘God, now you’ll actually be able to turn people away and tell them they’ll have to take second best at Colworth Manor.’ Ignoring the loaded tray, Posy hugged her mother in delight. ‘But seriously, it really is brilliant. It’s all we ever wanted, isn’t it?’
‘I think that’s how this all started out, yes,’ Dilys nodded, straightening cereal bowls and cups and saucers. ‘But it’s become far more than bums on seats as far as the village is concerned. It’s made a difference to everyone’s life.’
‘It’s certainly changed mine . . .’
Posy stopped. Not the right route to travel. Not without mentioning the V-word again. Maybe today wasn’t quite the right time to be introspective, anyway. Not with so many things still left unresolved. She pushed all the doubts out of her head. Plenty of time to think about them later.
She looked at Dilys. ‘So, are you sure you’ll be able to manage? With the extra work today? I mean, Dad is already tied up and –’
‘Happy as a sandboy,’ Dilys agreed. ‘Bless him.’
Norrie, Posy knew, was out in Sunny Dene’s back garden putting the finishing touches to the
Letting Off Steam railway layout day. Dressed as an Edwardian station master, complete with stovepipe hat, frock coat, and green and red flags, he was anticipating an all-day rush from boys of all ages to play engine drivers.
‘And don’t worry about the bed-making or anything else,’ Dilys continued. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate. With Dom home for the weekend we’ll soon see to the boarders. I don’t intend to miss a minute of what’s going on today.’
‘Oh, good. I’d hate to think you wouldn’t see me in all my regal glory, not to mention my Gypsy Rose Lee outfit . . . What? Why are you laughing?’
‘I think she was a stripper, love, not a fortune teller,’ Dilys grinned. ‘And there’s no chance of me missing any of it. Dom’s got the camcorder primed so that one day you’ll be able to prove to my grandchildren that you didn’t always look like a boy. And, lovely as all this is, haven’t you got to be somewhere pretty important?’
‘Have I? Oh, yes, now you come to mention it...’
Half an hour later, astride the BMW, Posy chugged her way slowly along Steeple Fritton’s lanes. There was too much going on to hurry, and there was far too much traffic anyway. Cars were approaching from every direction, and the parking areas were already filled with rows of vehicles shimmering beneath the heat of the sun.
Overhead, the roads were crisscrossed with flags and the trees hung with fairy lights; there was activity buzzing everywhere, and already dozens of people were scrambling across the bleached grass of the common. It was almost impossible to think that this had all come about from that cold and depressing Saturday night in The Crooked Sixpence with Ellis.
Oh, wow!
The Bradley-Morland Memory Lane Fair had built up like magic, bringing Wonderland to Steeple Fritton. Posy felt another tingle of childlike excitement as the sun glinted in rainbow prisms from the maroon and gold paintwork of the old-fashioned living wagons, and the many ornate rides, and especially from the brass and mirrors sprinkled across the huge magnificence of Petronella Bradley’s Golden Galloping Horses.
It was as spectacular as Nell and Jack had promised it would be. And it could have been Flynn’s future if bloody Vanessa – oops, there was the V-word again – hadn’t turned up and changed everything.
Still, there was no point in dwelling on it. Vanessa was definitely returning to Boston in August, and Flynn was supposed to be going with her. He’d said little to confirm or deny the rumour that night outside the village hall, and because she hadn’t wanted to know the answer, Posy hadn’t pressed him since. She was simply living for the moment, and if that meant flirting and teasing when Vanessa wasn’t around rather than nothing at all, then that’s what she’d take.
Did that make her weak and cheap? She wasn’t sure, but didn’t think so. She didn’t really care. She was in love with Flynn, and as with Lola and Ellis, she still believed a miracle might just happen.
The village children were already scampering around between the silent fairground attractions with ill-concealed glee. There had never been a fair in Steeple Fritton before. There had never been anything like this in the village, ever.
Posy rode on, grinning at everyone who waved at her. It was impossible to feel any sadness today. Today seemed filled with magic – who knew what might happen. And if it didn’t, well there’d be plenty of time for sadness later. Nothing – nothing at all – was going to spoil today.
Oh, wow – again.
Posy braked hard and slid her feet to the ground. Maybe she was sounding like damn Vanessa, but she didn’t care. This was definitely an oh, wow moment.
Outside The Crooked Sixpence, taking up almost all of one side of the shingled car park, was a large dark red lorry. The side was lifted up to form a canopy, revealing a massive and amazing ornately decorated fairground organ. This must be the – oh, what had Jack called it? Funny name . . . Lemonade? She peered closer at the curlicued golden lettering.
Limonaire! That was it.
It was set into the entire body of the lorry, surrounded by lights, and was a mass of drums and pipes and cy mbals and amazingly carved Harlequin and Columbine figures.
Oh, wow – again.
Tonight, when the village was enveloped in musky darkness, this would come into its own – powered by the splendour of Queen Mab rocking and hissing alongside, blaring toe-tapping music into the sky, all ablaze with lights and colour . . .
‘Isn’t it divine?’ Tatty, full infant entourage in tow, stopped beside her. ‘The kiddies are really looking forward to seeing it in action.’
The kiddies were clearly all ready for the fancy dress competition. To a sprog, they were kitted out as nursery rhyme characters and looked far better dressed than they did in their normal clothes.
Surprisingly, Tatty had pulled out all the party stops, too, and was wearing elegant billowing lilac lace layers to conceal her bump. Her ringlets cascaded over her shoulders and she appeared to be bedecked in the full contents of Claire’s Accessories. She looked lovely, Posy thought, and immediately wished that Ellis hadn’t thought so, too. It was going to be so awful in Steeple Fritton without Lola.
The Crooked Sixpence was closed and shuttered. Tonight, with the Stars In Their Eyes karaoke special and filled with the Letting Off Steam-goers, it would be thrumming with life and noise and laughter. But as soon as Hogarth returned then Lola would leave – and it would be back to giving Spit and Sawdust a bad name in the blinking of an eye.
Apparently the Ellis-Lola affair was really over and going to remain so. Lola had said that they’d walked and talked on the night of the Carnival Queen contest, but there had been no kissing and no pretence. Ellis had fathered Tatty’s baby and because of that Lola would leave the village. It was a decision neither of them wanted to come to, but they had scruples and what other solution was there?
Posy glared at Tatty, and at the baby-bump under the lilac lace, and wished there was another answer.
The Crooked Sixpence would open at lunch time with Ellis and Ritchie doing the business until Lola escaped from her carnival princess duties. It had been decided to open the shops, too, to capitalize on all the visitors who may well have oodles of money to spend. Malvina, the shaven-headed treasure from the Cressbeds Estate, had produced three matching sisters, Imelda, Sancha and Astrid, who were busily helping out wherever they were needed along the row.
‘By the way, have you met Baz?’ Tatty interrupted Posy’s thoughts. ‘I told him all about Letting Off Steam and he came over especially. He’s staying at Colworth Manor, couldn’t get in at Sunny Dene, and he’s heard all about everyone and is dying to meet them.’
‘Baz?’ Posy shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Is he a, um, friend of yours?’
‘A supplier.’
‘Oh, right. Christ, Tatty, you’re not into serious drugs, are you? Not with the kiddies and being pregnant and everything? I mean, I know you were never averse to the odd spliff but even so –’
‘Goodness! Nothing like that! Baz makes and blends oils.’
‘What? Like a BP refinery?’
‘Of course not!’ Tatty jangled as she laughed. ‘Aromatherapy oils. He’s been supplying me for several months.’
‘Oh, yes. I vaguely remember you mentioning him. Baz from Basingstoke. Sounded like a Blind Date contestant.’
Tatty laughed again. ‘He’s over there somewhere with Zebedee and Orlando and Tallulah showing them how the organ works.’
Posy squinted against the growing intensity of the sun. Having assumed that Baz from Basingstoke would be a shiny-suited rep with a toupee, she grinned. A Jimi Hendrix lookalike was hunkered down beneath the Limonaire, pointing up at the intricate musical instruments to the obvious delight of Humpty Dumpty, Wee Willie Winkie and Little Bo Peep.
‘He looks, um, nice . . .’ Posy said quickly. After all, what else could you say about someone skinny and swarthy and wispy-bearded, and wearing a leather waistcoat and trilby and obscenely tight trousers?
‘Oh, he is,’ Tatty beamed. ‘And he’s
going to be wonderful at the karaoke tonight.’
Posy nodded. ‘Red hot on Voodoo Chile and Foxy Lady, is he?’
‘Tommy Steele, actually. He’s older than he looks.’
‘Oh, right, I’ll look forward to it.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Crikey, I must be going. The vicar will be having a fit. See you later . . .’
The vicar was, as predicted, pacing up and down the vicarage’s drive.
‘Where on earth have you been? We’ve got less than an hour!’
‘Sorry, got delayed.’ Posy eased the BMW on to its stand and shook her curls free from the crash helmet. ‘Heavens!’
Mainly because the vicar and his wife had spearheaded the carnival committee, the vicarage garden was the designated meeting place for floats, and the spot from where the procession would start. Hoping that from chaos would come calm, Posy blinked at the mayhem. It looked like there had been a multiple pile-up on the M25.
Every lorry, tractor and van known to Steeple Fritton was pulled up under the vicarage windows. Flatbed farm trailers, unrecognizable with their various themed scenes in luminescent polystyrene and plastic and paper, were hooked up behind each vehicle. Balloons, streamers, banners, and yet more flags, adorned headlights, rear lights, mirrors, bumpers and radiators.
‘Crikey, is that a shrine? And what’s that supposed to be? Is it a beehive? Oh, I know that one! It’s –’
‘There’s no time to stop and stare,’ the vicar said testily. ‘Ms Wentworth is in the changing room, er, the orangery, with my wife, waiting for you. You’re the last to arrive. Have you got the frocks?’
‘Mine and Lola’s, yes. And my fortune-telling outfit.’ Posy scrabbled in the motorbike’s top box and produced two Tesco carriers. ‘Here they are. Mum finished them last night. God, I wasn’t supposed to provide bloody Sonia with one as well, was I?’
The vicar shook his head. ‘Your language, Posy, leaves much to be desired. And no, as our Letting Off Steam Carnival Queen, Sonia has provided her own.’
‘Christ! Er, sorry, I mean, oh!’ Posy gawped as Sonia undulated out from the vicarage’s spectacular orangery. ‘So she has. Bugger me!’
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