Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  ‘You said they were traditional.’

  Frances laughed. ‘I suppose they are. The suggestion in the village is that they are descended from the original village elders who sat on the Parish Council in the 1700s. My husband dealt with them until he died, and then I took over, but to be honest my presence is tolerated rather than welcomed.’

  ‘They sound like a fun bunch.’

  ‘More interesting than fun I’d say. But they get the job done.’ Frances slowed the car and turned off the road onto a gravel surface. ‘Here we are. That’s the hall over there,’ she pointed at a single storey building with external beams and a pitched roof.

  Frances came to a stop outside the hall. She reached over and took a briefcase from the back seat. ‘Come on then let’s go.’

  Amy followed Frances into the gloomy and musty hall, with worn out markings of a badminton court on the floor. In the centre of the hall, several square tables had been arranged into a rectangular shape creating a larger table with six chairs around it. A small stage at one end was home to a number of large cardboard boxes and what appeared to be a set of stocks.

  ‘Are they..?’ Amy asked as she wandered over to the stage.

  ‘Props for the fair,’ Frances said before Amy could get any closer.

  Any further attempt at conversation was halted by the chiming of an unseen grandfather clock. Two deep chimes reverberated around the hall before slowly fading away.

  Frances looked at her watch. ‘Time we got started.’

  A door that Amy hadn’t previously noticed creaked open and an exceptionally tall cadaverous man with a bundle of papers tucked under his arm strode into the hall. Frances stepped forward to greet him.

  ‘Good afternoon Lancelot,’ she said.

  The man grunted at Frances, walked past both her and Amy and placed the bundle of papers on the table. Frances walked round the table until she stood opposite him.

  ‘I’ve brought along Miss Gould.’ Frances gestured at Amy. ’She’s staying at the Sanctuary and is interested in the Halloween fair. I suggested that she come long and meet you.’

  Amy stepped forward offering her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Amy.’

  The man’s gaze made Amy feel uncomfortable. Eventually and reluctantly he shook her hand. ‘Lancelot D’eath,’ he said, sat down and started sorting the papers into piles on the table.

  Amy turned to speak to Frances as the door swung open again. A short red faced man in a tweed jacket strode into the hall.

  ‘Afternoon Ms, Shilling,’ he said before his attention was drawn to Amy. ‘Brigadier Ivor Hastings,’ he said thrusting out his hand and adding, ‘retired.’ Amy shook his hand, noticing a thin scar than ran down his forehead above his right eye.

  ‘She’s with Frances,’ D’eath said without looking up from his papers.

  ‘Well I’m very pleased to meet you my dear,’ he said pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down alongside D’eath. ‘Humphrey is running late. He has a Doctor’s appointment in town. He thinks it might be serious this time.’

  D’eath handed a sheaf of papers to Hastings. ‘He always thinks it’s something serious. We’ll start and he can catch up when he gets here.’

  ‘There’s no tea or biscuits, I’m afraid. I’ve checked in all the cupboards and they’re empty.’ A shrill voice announced.

  Hastings looked up at the latest arrival, a thin mousey woman who appeared to Amy to be practically emaciated. ‘What, no tea and biscuits?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ she confirmed, taking a chair around the table.

  ‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ Hastings muttered and slumped back into his chair.

  ‘Amy, allow me to introduce Miss Craving,’ Frances said.

  ‘Call me Constance,’ she said, shaking Amy’s hand.

  ‘Amy’s a friend. She’s staying with me for a while and I thought she would like to see how the fair is arranged.’

  ‘An outsider?’ Constance said, letting go of Amy’s hand. ‘Did you bring any food?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘Sorry. I think there’s some toffees in the car though.’

  Lancelot D’eath cleared his throat. ‘Would you mind if we started, only I have an appointment after this which I can’t be late for,’

  Amy watched as silence fell and the meeting got underway. D’eath handed out an agenda to everyone present, asked Constance to take notes and began to speak.

  Amy was reassured that even in these unusual and bizarre circumstances, meetings were still boring. D’eath ran through brief introductions, thanked everyone for attending, thanked Frances for funding the event and confirmed that the event would start, as normal at 1.00pm, with the ceremonial burning of the giant Wicker Basket generously provided by the sanctuary.

  Frances turned to Amy and whispered. ‘The church at Limpend complained when they discovered that the villagers were burning a wicker man, so my husband suggested the change to a basket.’ Amy nodded her understanding before Frances leaned back over and whispered. ‘It’s a man shaped basket though.’

  D’eath continued. ‘The stocks will again be on the village green, and we have a number of villagers who will be locked in and have rotten fruit hurled at them.’ He nodded at Frances. ‘The fruit is once again kindly provided by the Sanctuary.’

  Amy giggled. ‘That sounds like fun. Is it for charity?’

  ‘Charity?’ Hastings blustered, ‘whatever gave you that idea? It’s where we put the troublemakers.’

  ‘Oh…OK.’ Amy wasn’t sure exactly what constituted a trouble maker, but decided against enquiring further.

  ‘Speaking of which,’ D’eath said stiffly, answering Amy’s unspoken question, ‘there will be no bouncing baby competition this year as a result of last year’s scandal. The perpetrator of which,’ he looked at the notes, ‘Mrs Finchingbottom, will be in the stocks at 2pm for an hour.’

  ‘Baby scandal?’ Amy asked.

  ‘It was very serious,’ Frances told her. ‘After the competition, it transpired that Mrs Finchingbottom’s prize winning little Sebastian was actually a twenty six year old dwarf called Kevin.’

  ‘She would have got away with it too if Kevin hadn’t been in the pub that night buying everyone drinks,’ Hastings explained.

  ‘Shorts were they?’ Amy quipped.

  D’eath, Hastings and Constance stared at Amy, who blushed and stared at the table.

  ‘I’m sorry about my friend,’ Frances explained, putting her hand on Amy’s arm. ’She’s coming out of a very bad relationship. Flippant remarks are her coping mechanism.’

  Amy was prevented from replying by the sound of a hacking cough from outside the hall.

  ‘Sounds like Humphrey’s here,’ Hastings said.

  The door opened and the owner of the hacking cough entered the hall.

  ‘Afternoon everyone. Sorry I’m late. Doctor’s appointment.’ The newcomer collapsed into a coughing fit as if to emphasise the point.

  ‘There’s no tea or biscuits,’ Constance told him while helping him to a chair.

  ‘That’s a disgrace. How am I ever going to get better if I can’t get enough to eat?’ He said while mopping his brow with a handkerchief. ‘Oh hello,’ he said noticing Amy at the table. ‘I’m Humphrey, Humphrey Mumpz.’

  Amy stifled a giggle and offered Humphrey her hand.

  ‘Best not,’ he said. ‘I’ve sneezed quite a few times today and I’m not sure it’s all ended up in the handkerchief.’

  ‘She’s an outsider,’ Constance told him. ’From outside the village.’

  ‘Anyway, if we can get on, D’eath interrupted, attracting the attention of everyone in the hall. ‘We have a number of confirmed attractions for the fair; the children’s Punch & Judy show at 3.00pm, the adult’s Punch & Judy show at 4.00pm. Can we make sure that no children get into the adult show this time? Two children sneaked in last year and I understand that they are still receiving treatment for shock.’ Another pause while he turned to another page of notes. ‘I will ag
ain be judging the marrow contest.’

  ‘Is Walthamstow-Potts still the favourite?’ Hastings asked.

  ‘I understand that there will be stiff competition this year, but if Walthamstow-Potts does win it will be his third successive Golden Marrow. If it happens it’s likely that the elders will be expected to erect some kind of monument to his achievement,’ D’eath said.

  ‘Sorry, what’s a Golden Marrow?’ Amy asked.

  ‘The Golden Marrow is the award given each year to the owner of the biggest marrow,’ Constance said as though this was obvious. ‘It’s the highest award that can be awarded to marrow growers.’ Noticing Amy’s blank face, she explained further. ‘They all get their marrows out on the table and Lancelot measures them. The biggest one wins the prize. We need an independent adjudicator because men have a tendency to add an inch or two to the measurements.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Amy said, giggling. Frances gave her a small kick under the table.

  ‘Will Miss Hardmount’s school choir be singing this year?’ Frances said quickly, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, they will,’ Constance said. ‘I’ve seen the rehearsals and they’re in fine form.’

  ‘I hope they know more than one hymn this time. Last year we had to put up with an hour of Kumbaya,’ Hastings pointed out.

  ‘That’s still the only hymn they know, but now they know all the words,’ Constance replied.

  Amy sat back in her chair and let the meeting play out in front of her. D’eath stuck rigidly to the agenda, whilst the other Elders would punctuate the discussion on various points of order.

  ‘So we will finish, as usual, at 6.00pm with the crowning of the Maiden’s Dribble Virgin Queen, who will then lead the parade through the village,’ Lancelot said.

  ‘Who is it this year?’ Frances asked.

  ‘I understand that it will be Mrs Enid Downing.’

  ‘Wasn’t she the Virgin Queen last year?’ Frances asked.

  Lancelot nodded. ‘I believe that she’s held the title for eight years.’

  ‘How old are her twins now?’ Humphrey asked.

  ‘I think they’re two,’ Constance said. ‘Look, I’ve got a picture of them.’ She handed a small black and white photograph to Amy.

  Amy looked at the two children, who looked absolutely nothing alike. With a hint of sarcasm, she said, ‘I’m surprised she can tell the difference. They’re like two peas in a pod.’

  ‘I know, it’s uncanny isn’t it? ’Constance agreed. ‘She makes them wear labels to help her tell them apart. Big Stephen and Little Steven.’

  ‘Which one’s which?’ Amy asked.

  Constance frowned at the picture. ‘I’m not sure, they haven’t got their labels on.’

  *

  Thirty minutes later, Amy sat in the Range Rover while Frances finished saying her goodbyes to Village Elders. She watched as they finished an intense conversation and Frances made her way back to the car.

  ‘Well, what did you think of that?’ She asked as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Did we just visit the Twilight Zone?’

  ‘Amy,’ Frances began, adopting a tone that reminded Amy of many a university lecture. ‘You’re an outsider. Your mind has become conditioned to living in a city. These people are simple folk, they lead simple lives and live in a simple village. If you’re going to stay here, you’ll need to adapt accordingly.’

  ‘Who said anything about staying here?’

  ‘I think it’s a possibility you might have to consider,’ Frances said, as she pulled out of the car park. ‘We have a village school and you could teach there. Miss Hardmount is eighty this year and she can’t go on forever. You could replace her.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

  ‘I wouldn’t rule anything out yet,’ Frances said. ‘There may be other opportunities here that may interest you.’

  ‘I really don’t think so,’ Amy said and turned to look out of the window.

  As they drove along the lane to the Sanctuary, Amy’s attention was drawn to the field on her left. ‘Oh look, there’s horses galloping across that field.’

  ‘Four of them?’ Frances asked without taking her eyes away from the lane.

  ‘Err, yes, four. Why?’

  ‘That’ll be the Elders going home.’

  *

  The gentle aroma of Italian cooking wafted gently into the living room from the kitchen. Alan used the remote to flick through the channels of the TV until he found the football.

  ‘It smells lovely, what are you having?’ Frankie asked, putting his feet on the coffee table.

  ‘I dunno. Something fancy. Italian, maybe. Hang on, I didn’t know you could smell,’ Alan said, putting the remote on the coffee table.

  ‘I’ll have you know the ladies used to love my aroma.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘I know,’ Frankie took his feet off the table. ‘But yes, I can smell. And it’s making me hungry. Which is much weirder if you ask me.’ He groaned as he lifted himself off the chair and peeked into the kitchen, where Rosie, barefoot and wearing a little black dress was leaning over the cooker sampling a sauce from a wooden spoon. ‘Your Rosie looks lovely tonight, even you scrub up OK. What’s the occasion?’

  ‘We’re having a small dinner party. Just us, James and Harry. It was Rosie’s idea.’ Alan didn’t really understand what all the fuss was about. He certainly didn’t know why he had to wear a shirt and shoes. His idea of a dinner party consisted of sitting on the sofa with James, drinking beer and an Indian takeout on the table, whilst watching the football.

  ‘Harry’s coming? I’ll have to stick around then. That bloke is hilarious.’

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted Alan’s thoughts. ‘I’ll get it,’ he shouted to Rosie as he got up and moved in to the hallway. He opened the door to James, who greeted him with a grin and a carrier bag full of bottled beer. ‘Alright mate? Nice one,’ Alan said as he moved to let James in.

  Rosie poked her head around the hallway. ‘Hi, James. Nice of you to dress up.’

  James looked down at his grey Bruce Springsteen T shirt. ‘It’s my best shirt. It’s the Boss. The only Boss I listen to.’ Rosie sighed and went back to the kitchen.

  ‘Come on through,’ Alan said to James’ back, the big man having already wandered into the living room.

  James placed the bag of beers on the coffee table and thought about sitting on the end of the sofa, thought better of it, and moved to the other side. ‘I take it…’ he nodded to the empty space.

  ‘Yep. And he’s hungry.’

  ‘How is that even possible?’ James said to the empty chair.

  ‘How the bloody hell would I know? Silly sod,’ Frankie replied.

  ‘He said, it’s quite normal,’ Alan said, giving Frankie a hard stare.

  ‘Fair enough,’ James said. ‘I’ve been doing some research into this Sanctuary of the Bee place. It’s definitely a cult. There are photos of people dressed like The Polyphonic Spree. Without the instruments, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously. Look mate, we’ll get her back. We just need a plan of action. Maybe we throw some tambourines at them or something. Distract them with a couple of Cliff Richard hits.’

  ‘Ha, that might just work,’ James grinned. ‘So, have you told Rosie about the redundancy yet?’

  ‘Keep it down, mate. No, I haven’t. I need to find the right time. First thing’s first. I need to help you get Amy back.’

  ‘Thanks mate. But it sounds like an excuse,’ James said.

  ‘Of course it’s an excuse. Rosie will tear me a new one when she finds out. I plan on keeping my testicles exactly where they are for the time being, thank you very much.’

  Frankie laughed.

  ‘And you can shut up as well!’

  ‘Frankie,’ James said to the empty chair, ‘is this bloke a complete coward, or what?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ve seen braver Frenchmen when the tanks started rolling in
.’

  ‘He says I’m being very sensible,’ Alan said.

  ‘No I didn’t,’ Frankie said.

  ‘I bet he didn’t. To be fair, I don’t blame you,’ James admitted.

  ‘Don’t blame him for what?’ Rosie asked as she wandered into the room holding a bottle of wine and some glasses.

  ‘Nothing!’ Alan and James said together. Frankie laughed. The doorbell rang again.

  ‘Children,’ Rosie said and went to open the door. She came back a moment later with Harry in tow, dressed in a crumpled dark brown suit. Everyone said their hellos before Harry said, ‘you’re looking lovely tonight, Rosie.’

  Rosie blushed slightly. ‘What, this old thing?’ She gave a twirl.

  ‘Is there anything I can help with in the kitchen?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Well at least someone is a gentlemen,’ Rosie said. ‘But no, thanks. Take a seat. Dinner will be served shortly.’

  ‘So, what’s happening?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Nothing much,’ Alan said.

  ‘Amy’s left me,’ James added.

  ‘Well, yes, there is that,’ Alan admitted.

  ‘I’m really sorry to hear that James. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Thanks Harry, I appreciate it. But no, I don’t think so,’ James handed Harry a bottle of beer. Harry looked at it for a moment and put it down on the table.

  ‘What about his magic tricks?’ Frankie laughed. ‘He could throw a couple of his little smoke bomb things and cause a diversion.’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Alan said to the empty chair.

  ‘Is he alright?’ Harry asked James.

  ‘Oh yes, he’s just in a creative mode. He gets like that sometimes.’

  Harry looked suspiciously at Alan who appeared to be nodding into empty space.

  ‘Listen, Harry,’ Alan turned to look at the older man, ‘Amy has been kidnapped by a mad cult and we’re going to rescue her. You might be able to help, you know, with your magic and stuff.’

  Harry frowned. ‘Are you sure he’s alright?’ he asked James again.

  ‘No, it’s true,’ James admitted. ‘She’s been kidnapped. No doubt to be used in breeding pens. She’ll basically be barefoot and pregnant for the rest of her life, unless we save her.’