The Great Village Show

by Alexandra Brown

  And Jessie starts crying all over again. I put both arms around her and give her a big hug, catching Sam’s eye over Jessie’s shoulder. He’s standing by his truck with a very forlorn look on his face, his shoulders dropped as if he has the weight of the world on them, and then he seems to pull himself together and rounds the children up, sitting them in a little row on the back of the truck before doing some magic tricks to keep them entertained. Or perhaps it’s to protect them from seeing their mummy feeling so sad.

  Jessie pulls away and turns too.

  ‘He’s so good with the triplets, and they adore him,’ she says, and I urge her to find a way out of this intolerable situation.

  ‘Oh Jessie, please, you can’t carry on like this,’ I whisper, ‘it’s no good for any of you …’

  Six o’clock, and the inspectors have left the school. I’m in my office having just finished off tomorrow’s lesson plans for Year Five – I’m helping out as their class teacher had to dash to the emergency dentist in Market Briar with a broken tooth after selecting an extra chewy toffee from the tin in the staffroom – when I decide to call Lawrence.

  He answers right away.

  ‘It’s Meg, how are you?’ I push a stack of exercise books away from the corner of my desk so I can rest my back – I must have jarred it, as it’s been aching ever since I slipped on the mat in the bathroom.

  ‘Exhausted,’ Lawrence starts. ‘I’ve been mopping and sweeping and putting up trellis tables all day long in the village hall ready for show day. You’re doing an inspection on Thursday evening as part of the village’s final dress rehearsal, remember?’

  ‘Am I?’ I say, leaping up and turning around to quickly flick over the page in my open desk diary. Ahh, yes! It’s right here, after school. I tap the page and sit back down to rest my back.

  ‘Don’t tell me you had forgotten … Surely not, you volunteered at the last committee meeting, in an extra-zealous moment when you were hoofing it through the agenda, keeping us all on track. You suggested the three committees come together to make sure the village square and all of the surrounding lanes, fields, station car park, Scout hut, farm buildings, Country Club, allotments, shops and anywhere else within a mile radius of Tindledale is properly organised, tidy, decorated and ready to dazzle the judges on show day,’ he laughs. ‘But I know how busy you are, so if it’s too much …’

  ‘No! I’ll be there, Lawrence. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done. And the village hall is an integral part of the show; you know we get scored specifically on the presentation of it.’

  ‘And quite rightly, too: the hall is at the heart of all great villages,’ he says brightly.

  ‘It sure is. Which reminds me, the parish council have supplied the plug-in heaters, yes?’ I ask, remembering that ‘arctic’ comment last time from the judges.

  ‘They sure have. Eight shiny new heaters, dotted around the hall, and mounted on the walls too,’ he says impressively. ‘Just in case our inclement British weather decides to turn the thermostat down on show day.’

  ‘Great.’ I make a mental note to cross ‘heaters for hall’ off my village show to-do list.

  ‘So how is it all going at the school?’ he asks. ‘The other heart of our great village.’

  ‘Hmm, well, we’re none the wiser really – I wish the inspectors would hurry up and make a decision, I just want to know now.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Lawrence sighs.

  ‘Exactly. But we’ve been told the results of the viability assessment won’t be shared before the new academic year starts in September – so that’s after the village show, and after the end of term,’ I say, and he tuts. ‘Yes, and when this was questioned at the governors’ meeting, we were told it still gives us plenty of time to “manage the outcome of the inspectors’ findings”. So, in other words, we have all summer to worry and speculate about it, and then a year to prepare for closure if that’s what they decide,’ I sigh and cross my legs, and then quickly uncross them when my back twinges.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s a long time. It must be such a worry.’

  ‘It is. I’ve been trying to stay positive, but it’s hard sometimes … But apart from showing how wonderful the school is and how mad the council would be to close us down, there really isn’t very much more I can do …’

  ‘Hang in there,’ Lawrence says kindly, making me smile; he’s always been so supportive. ‘We’ll have to make sure the inspectors see Tindledale in the Great Village Show spread in the Sunday supplement magazine.’

  ‘Very true! And do you still think we have a chance of making the top ten?’ I ask tentatively.

  ‘Absolutely. Meg, we must polish our performance and aim high, and not let last time’s spectacular failure mar our confidence,’ he says, sounding very actorly all of a sudden, as if he’s cheering on a troupe of thespians before a big performance, which I suppose show day is – Tindledale’s chance in the spotlight.

  ‘Yes, you’re right, Lawrence. I mustn’t be all doom and gloom; it’s still all to play for …’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. Let’s try to stay positive … I think you’ll be very pleased with the way the hall looks. Sybs, Hettie and the rest of the creative committee have done a splendid job in decorating the place, having kept the overall Traditional Tindledale theme of the show in mind, with boughs of hops and pretty wild flowers decorating the tables, coupled with a selection of vintage artefacts. You know, they’ve even restored the Tindledale WI’s tea urn, the original one from the 1920s, or whenever it was they were first inaugurated.’

  ‘Great. It sounds as if you’ve all done a fantastic job, and I can’t wait to see it,’ I say, feeling excited and hopeful now for a successful village show this year. There’s definitely a buzz around the place, and the inspectors have already commented on how marvellous the school hall looks with the memorabilia wall and the mini-museum. They’ve even agreed to come along on show day to see the children in action – I mentioned the secret project and they are as intrigued as I am.

  ‘And I’m about to head back to the village hall now for a final dress rehearsal – the Tindledale Players have decided on a Midsummer Night’s Dream theme for their carnival float.’

  ‘Wonderful, and very artistic – will they be reciting lines from the play as their truck goes by?’

  ‘I doubt it. At the last meeting they were all still bickering over who was going to get to dress up as Titania, queen of the fairies,’ he puffs, ‘not to mention the dramas we’ve had with our truck driver.’

  ‘But I thought the farmers were more than happy to get involved with their flat-bed lorries?’ I ask, making another mental note to talk to Pete – he’s in charge of the local farmers’ group, so maybe he can sort out whatever the problem is.

  ‘Yes, they are. But it seems our truck driver, George, the hop farmer, is enjoying a dalliance with two of the Tindledale Players, so now both women are refusing to participate in the carnival and ride on his flat-bed float unless the other steps down, so it’s currently a stalemate … Anyway, enough of all that, how are you?’

  ‘Um, yes, fine, but curious to know what happened to Dan yesterday?’ I ask, a little apprehensively.

  ‘I was going to ask you exactly the same thing,’ he says. ‘What on earth did you do to him?’ Lawrence laughs, and my heart sinks. Dan must have said something to him.

  ‘Nothing, I don’t think,’ I say slowly, feeling my way. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Just teasing. Sorry Meg, it was a joke, that’s all. I imagine it’s something to do with his London restaurant …’

  ‘Oh, why is that then?’

  ‘Because he’s gone!’

  ‘Gone! But I don’t understand,’ I say, trying to hide the wobble from my voice. He can’t just go! My mind is whirling. ‘Is he coming back?’ I mentally cross my fingers, hardly able to listen to the answer.

  ‘I’ve no idea. There was a phone call, a woman – all gushy and urgent sounding – probably his manager,’ Lawrence
sniffs, seemingly knowledgeable about such things.

  ‘Pia?’ I ask, wondering if that’s the woman Dan was talking to, telling her he loved her, but then that doesn’t make sense – and certainly not the impression he gave me. He said she scared him.

  ‘Yes, that was never her name. How do you know?’

  ‘Dan mentioned her,’ I say quickly, wanting to cut to the chase to find out what’s going on. ‘And did you know that he wasn’t even here to open a new restaurant?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘He told me so.’

  ‘Right. Well, that’s a shame,’ Lawrence says, sounding disappointed. ‘Maybe that’s why he left in such a hurry, if it’s fallen through or whatever and he’s annoyed about it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, wondering why he didn’t just say so … and why he denied it when I asked him. It doesn’t add up.

  ‘Anyway, so Pia called and said she needed to talk to Dan immediately so could I please pass on a message and make sure he called her back; and then rattled on about how on earth do we actually function out here in the sticks, and in this day and age, without even basic mobile coverage.’ He pauses.

  ‘Rude,’ we both say in unison.

  ‘He threw his phone away, so that’s hardly Tindledale’s fault,’ I then jump in protectively.

  ‘Well, quite. But she wasn’t listening to any of that. And then she hung up, leaving me to relay the message to him.’

  ‘Wow!’ I say, wondering whether to be impressed or petrified.

  ‘So I called your house phone and a woman answered,’ Lawrence tells me.

  ‘My mother arrived yesterday.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Lawrence knows Mum, or to be more precise, he knows what she’s like. ‘Ahh, yes, I thought I recognised the voice, but I wasn’t sure as she was slurring slightly so I didn’t like to ask. Is she OK? Not ill or anything?’

  ‘If you mean, was my mother slurring because she’s had a stroke or something, then no, there’s no excuse. She was tipsy on champagne in the middle of the afternoon.’

  ‘Ahh, well, jolly good, that’s the best kind of tipsy, if you ask me,’ Lawrence laughs again. ‘So, to cut a long story short, I passed on the message to Dan and then he appeared back here a short while later. Soon after which, a car arrived, he got in, with a face like thunder – even more so than his usual thunderous look, if that’s possible, and he was gone.’

  ‘Oh. So now what?’ I ask, flatly, and feeling ever so slightly panicky.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘But he can’t just disappear, Lawrence. Our Great Village Show is only a week away! What about the food trucks, the juice bar? Is any of that still happening? Not to mention my kitchen table, which is about to collapse under the sheer weight of all the wine we had set aside for show day … He had promised to sort out a proper drinks list, to pair all the wines and cordials with the most appropriate item on the street food menu.’ I inhale sharply and rack my brains to come up with a workable solution with less than a week’s notice. ‘And what about Kitty, and the Tindledale bakery, Sonny and Cher in the Duck & Puddle – we are all relying on Dan and his food trucks.’

  ‘Sorry Meg, I just don’t know. Let’s just hope he gets in touch, and soon.’

  ‘I don’t want to bank on it. No, we can’t leave it to the last minute. We need properly organised refreshments for all the visitors, dotted around the whole village as planned. The street food that Dan planned was supposed to set us apart from all the other village shows, and with a celebrity chef to boot; it was going to be a proper kudos thing. The school mums have even said that they know of people from Market Briar and beyond who are coming to the show just to try to catch a glimpse of Dan.’ I make a note on my diary page to call an emergency meeting with all the caterers in the village, so we can come up with a back-up plan: we have to. I underline it five times. I feel so let down, what on earth is Dan thinking? I knew he couldn’t be trusted; I should have gone with my first impression of him. Rude. A maverick. And he hates village life; he more or less said so in that YouTube clip. I bet it was all just for show, to impress us at the meeting: offering to supply food trucks and cover the cost, it’s a very extravagant gesture – his PR people in action again, and most likely told him to do it, just as they wanted to orchestrate his visit to my school. I take a massive breath and stand up, desperate to calm down and get a grip. And I was right; Tindledale can certainly do without the likes of Dan Wright. I tuck the phone into the crook of my neck and push up my sleeves – a symbolic gesture making me feel in control. I’m determined to put on a Great Village Show, no matter what it takes.

  ‘But, I do have some other news,’ Lawrence says, punctuating my thoughts. ‘Something that might cheer you up, and could very well still help to put Tindledale on the map. And ensure our place in the Sunday supplement magazine.’

  ‘Oh, go on,’ I say slowly.

  ‘I’ve arranged for Fern to visit us on show day!’

  ‘Fern?’

  ‘Yes, Meg, you know … the lovely Fern Britton – do keep up,’ he laughs. ‘She stayed here with me at the B&B that time, when she was filming in Market Briar.’

  ‘Oh yes! Of course, I remember now. Wow! She’s famous, off the telly as Mary would say …’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Lawrence agrees, and I feel brighter already. ‘And she loved her stay in Tindledale, so with her allotment TV programme, I thought she’d be perfect to pop along to our Great Village Show … The local radio station are sending someone along too, and a TV reporter, so one way or another, Tindledale is going to get some great media coverage on show day,’ Lawrence rallies.

  ‘Indeed,’ I say, greatly buoyed by the news of Fern coming to our Great Village Show and trying to keep my disappointment about Dan at bay. ‘So how did you manage to swing it?’

  ‘Well, we kept in touch and I thought there was no harm in asking; as luck would have it, Fern is free on that day and is delighted to help out …’ There’s a short silence. ‘Oh, Meg, I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to go, a guest needs me.’

  ‘OK, lovely to chat. See you later.’

  We end the call, and I hang up, basking in the news of Fern Britton being here on show day, but then the feeling soon subsides and I suddenly feel deflated all over again. I sink back into my desk chair. For some unfathomable reason, my eyes are all filmy and my back is constricting – a full-on tight spasm. I breathe deeply and lean forward in my chair, but I still feel … crushed! So disappointed. Dan has gone. So much for his ‘don’t ever change’ comment. And what kind of a fool am I, for thinking it was possibly something more than it was, after his long, hard, passionate kiss? And actually wanting him to do it again! I must be mad. Was it really all just a big joke to him, after all? And, on top of all these feelings, and just to compound things further, I’m convinced of it, I’m truly shocked at my reaction to the news of his sudden departure. Especially as I have no idea if I will ever get to see him again … and to think that I thought I didn’t even like him. A rude, mercurial maverick, a troglodyte, and I still thought all these things about him just a few minutes ago – in fact, I still do right now! He is all of these things, and now I can add unreliable to his battery of unattractive traits.

  So why then do I feel so upset? It doesn’t make any sense. Clearly, I’m going mad, because in spite of all of this, I think it’s fair to say that I may well actually like Dan Wright very much indeed. But I don’t want to like him, I really don’t. He has a girlfriend – I would never do that. So why would I feel attracted to someone like him? It goes against everything that I think is important, and besides, I’m not even looking to meet a man, I’m fine as I am. Not that Dan is interested in me, that much is obvious, because a man that is interested in a woman doesn’t just up and leave without any warning, without so much as a pleasant cheerio and a wave goodbye. And not only did Dan leave my house, he’s left Tindledale too … he’s got as far away as he can from me. But none of this matters anyway
, or makes any difference; my feelings are irrelevant, because there’s nothing I can do about any of them. Dan has gone. I’ve missed my chance, if there was even a chance of anything happening between us. Not that I even know if I wanted something to happen, and certainly not when he has a girlfriend. Oh God, it’s so confusing. But either way, I’ll never know, because it’s too late now …

  The village hall looks every inch as good as Lawrence told me it did. Better in fact, as the civic committee has had an enormous laminated map of Tindledale made with numbered marker points, showing where each of the attractions are going to be located on show day. It’s mounted on the wall outside, nice and central to the village, and is the perfect place for our guests, plus the villagers of course, to find their way around. It’s like the kind of maps that zoos and theme parks have at their entrances; I remember from last year when we took the nursery and KS1 children to the petting zoo near the seaside.

  ‘So what do you reckon?’ Lawrence asks, appearing behind me with a broad grin on his face.

  ‘The hall looks amazing, and I especially love this map,’ I say.

  ‘Me too, isn’t it genius? Rumour has it that it was the general’s idea, and he personally funded it, too, when the parish council balked at the price of having it custom made.’