“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Amanda Tyler, this year’s Chair and, as such, it’s my responsibility to deliver to the good people of Cherringham the very best carnival ever — for the very best price too of course! Whether we also get the best possible weather — well, that is something I shall leave to Reverend Hewitt who assures me he’s put in a good word for us with the Almighty!”
More laughter. Another weary nod from the vicar. Jack smiled politely.
“Tonight we’re going to run through the final schedule and plans for the week,” continued Amanda. “We’ve got a lot to get through, so please speak only if absolutely necessary. Not you of course, Mr Brennan. I’m sure all of us are keen to hear your views. Isn’t that right?”
Amanda leaned forward in her seat and nodded vigorously at him. Though he’d only met her briefly at the carnival last year, she seemed to have remembered him.
He heard a murmur of responses from around the room and turned reluctantly to acknowledge the audience.
As he did, his chair squeaked rudely, the sound echoing in the hall.
“Ha, well said, Jack,” said Josh, slapping him on the thigh. “Well said!”
“Hmm, yes. Well, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, here’s our Vice Chair to give you all the — how would you Americans put it, Jack? — the skinny, on this year’s Cherringham Summer Carnival and its intriguing theme!”
A round of applause, then Tony Standish stood to address the audience.
“Thank you, Amanda. Now — first — just one apology to pop in the minutes. Um, it’s from Will Goodchild who’s not going to be able to get here tonight I’m afraid. It’s that unfortunate business upriver, I do believe. Ahem …”
The committee members reacted to this, muttering to whoever was next to them. Not happy.
The discovery of a body up at the Roman dig the week before, seemed still to be occupying the imaginations of half of Cherringham.
Jack was disappointed not to be seeing Will tonight. He was Cherringham’s resident historian, and author of a number of books on local history. Over the years, he’d helped Jack and Sarah on various cases and he took a real interest in “educating” Jack about English history.
Though Will could seem a bit much sometimes, Jack respected his passion for the subject.
Tony tapped his pen against the water jug and the room quietened again. “Now then, just a reminder of the theme you’ve all been working to.”
He hit a couple of keys on his laptop, and an image on the screen behind him showed a Stars and Stripes entwined with the Union Jack and the swirling bold words, “A Special Relationship”.
Jack realised that all eyes were now on him — and belatedly he put his hands together and clapped briefly.
Almost exactly a year ago, at last year’s carnival party — and, in truth, after more than a few beers — he’d joked that an American-themed carnival would be pretty damn cool.
Never meant them to take him seriously. Just a joke, guys.
But they did.
And now here it was. And everyone was looking at him like it was his idea.
Which, I guess, it was, he thought.
“Now we’ve got a whole week of fun events to review so let’s get started. First up — the opening fête — to be held this year, courtesy of our generous Chair Mrs Tyler in the grand setting of Todwell House itself!”
Jack saw Amanda Tyler tilt her head and nod graciously. Tony continued.
“The fête committee have been hard at work on the stalls, so, to hear all about it, over to you, Jen and Joan Buckland.”
The lights dimmed in the village hall, and the Buckland sisters — the mystery-loving twins who ran the tiniest of toll bridges in Cherringham (by fiat of King Charles I, no less) — stood up from their seats in the front row and started their presentation.
This, thought Jack, is going to be interesting. And at least now, with the lights down, nobody would see his reactions. Though they might well hear them if his chair moved.
One of the Bucklands — Jen, Jack thought, since from his experience she was the more, um, forceful of the two — began speaking.
And then the Bucklands clicked through the images that — to them — represented summer and fun in the former colony of America.
“As usual we’ve got lots of stalls and games, all thoroughly researched. This one here … you pick a floating duck and win a prize.”
Jack grinned at that, certainly a staple of carnivals.
But American?
A few more images of carnival games flashed by — one with crates of vintage coke bottles where the object was to throw a wooden ring around the neck of the bottle.
Good luck with that …
“Now then. The food. Carefully researched as well — and of course as I’m sure Jack Brennan will agree — utterly authentic!”
Another click, and there was a freckle-faced kid wolfing down the biggest hot dog ever, toppings exploding from the bun. Then — next image — a family all munching corn on the cob, dripping butter.
Trays of burgers and potato chips.
Um … crisps?
“We got it right, Jack?”
Jack was aware that the other members of the audience — their faces moon-like in the half-light from the projector — had all turned expectantly towards him.
“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Can’t wait.”
A sea of nods and murmurs of approval welcomed his verdict.
“Finally,” Jen said, beaming with this last bit of information, “we have consulted with Mr Jeffries, director of the high school band. They’ll be performing Gershwin, Bernstein, and Sondheim throughout the afternoon in the grounds of the House. And, of course, they’ll be leading the motorised carnival parade through the village on the last night, where they promise the great march of John Philip Sousa … Stars and Stripes Forever!”
Presentation done, the lights in the hall flashed on, and the Bucklands were actually rewarded with a round of applause.
Jack’s the loudest.
Tony now came back to the front, the PowerPoint presentation done.
“Marvellous stuff, Joan. Umm … I mean, Jen,” he said. “So, just a reminder of the rest of tonight’s agenda: the Fun Run, Village Treasure Hunt, Skittles Evening, the Todwell Challenge Cricket Match — always quite a larky event as we all know! — The Cherringham Players and their inimitable take on the Broadway classics …”
Tony paused — looked up for questions — then carried on.
“Um, then the Regatta. And of course the carnival procession, this year led by the Cherringham Vintage Car Association. And — wonderful idea Jack — the open-air movie in the grounds of Todwell House. Our very own drive-in! What was that film again, Jack?”
“American Graffiti,” said Jack. “Terrific soundtrack. Be a great evening, I promise.”
“I’m sure it will be,” said Tony. “Finally, on the Saturday, the big barbecue and prizegiving!”
Another big round of applause from the room.
“Now, as ever, the devil’s in the detail. I think all the different event teams are here, so let’s go through the rest of the presentations! Who’s up next? How about the carnival procession team? Yes?”
Gary Scott, one of the young men from the fire station, who Jack recognised from a case a couple of years back, stepped up to the front and opened his laptop.
He edged back in his seat, which again creaked loudly.
Up on the screen, a map of Cherringham centre appeared and Gary picked up a laser pointer and started to explain the carnival procession timings in detail.
This was going to be a very long night …
***
An hour later, the last of the volunteers had finished their speeches and Jack finally saw Amanda stand up to address the group again.
“There we have it,” she said. “A wonderful line-up — you should be very proud of yourselves. Good luck to all — and let’s give Cherringham a terrific Carnival W
eek!”
Jack joined in the applause and, relieved to be out of that chair, stood up to leave, then saw Tony step down from the podium and approach him.
“Thank you so much for coming along tonight, Jack,” he said. “What did you think of the line-up of events? The food, the stalls? Pretty authentic eh?”
“Just like carnival back home,” said Jack, doing his best to reassure the elderly lawyer.
“Wonderful!”
Jack watched him hover uncertainly.
Hmm. So now I get to find out why I really got the invite tonight, thought Jack.
“Don’t suppose you have five minutes, Jack?”
“Sure.”
“Excellent! We’ve got a little something you might be able to help us with. I think you’re just the man. Back in a second!”
Jack watched him go, and wondered what he was about to let himself in for …
5. A Small Surprise
Jack waited by one of the tall windows, as the room cleared. Outside in the dusk he could see the High Street decked with flags and bunting ready for next week.
The street was still busy with locals and tourists spilling out of restaurants and pubs in the warm evening.
Finally, Tony came over with Pete Bull in tow.
“Sorry to keep you, Jack,” said Tony. “You know Pete, I think?”
Jack nodded, and shook Pete’s hand. Pete was a good, solid plumber. Jack had used him many times to keep the pipes and pumps on his old river barge in good working order. No mean feat, with The Grey Goose sometimes seeming to be tottering towards what looked like a farewell trip to the scrap-metal yard.
“Now then,” said Tony. “Pete and I wanted your thoughts on the river festivities. You see we’ve got a bit of an issue …”
“Jack, you’ve seen the kind of thing we normally do,” said Pete. “Crew events, mini-regattas, races of all sort. Standard issue.”
Jack nodded at the two men. He didn’t have a clue where this was going.
“Normally Michael Edwards runs the whole thing, as I’m sure you know,” said Tony.
Over the years that Jack had lived in Cherringham, he’d been to many regattas run by Sarah’s father. All great fun and perfectly organised. But this summer both of Sarah’s parents were away in Australia.
“Anyway — with Michael not involved, the regatta’s been shunted round the committee a bit. Pete here has tried manfully to keep it on track, but he’s got a business to run …”
Pete looked at Tony, Jack guessing they had colluded on whatever was coming next.
Which is when Jack noticed Tim Simpson, the penitent texter from the committee, hovering nearby.
“Ah, Tim, perfect timing,” said Tony. “Meet Jack Brennan.”
Jack shook Tim’s hand. The man seemed disconnected, as if he had to be somewhere else.
“Tim Simpson,” said Tony. “He’s sorting all our insurance for the carnival — devil of a job these days I can tell you!”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Jack. “Don’t think I recognise you from the village.”
“Um, no,” said Tim. “My office is in Bourton. Still, happy to help out.”
“More than help out,” said Tony. “These days event insurance — all that liability protection — is a nightmare. Lawsuits over anything! Without Tim here signing off on everything, we wouldn’t have a carnival.”
“Do what I can, you know,” said Tim, blinking nervously. “All for a good cause.”
“Anyway, as I was saying,” said Tony, “the regatta’s not quite up to par yet. It’s the kids’ event we need some help with.”
“We’ve got the course organised — just like last year,” said Pete. “But, well, we don’t have a clue how to make it American.”
“It just doesn’t have any — how would you say it, Jack? — pizazz, oomph! You know?”
“Which is a shame,” said Pete. “I mean — the river, well, kids love a bit of fun and the theme’s perfect for them.”
“So that’s why we thought that you might be able to give the thing a bit of a polish, Jack.”
“I know it’s dreadfully last minute, but—”
Tony Standish couldn’t contain himself, and flung up his arms dramatically, a big grin on his face, their plot about to be launched.
“We’re just desperate for something truly American! On the venerable Thames. A traditional American twist!”
Jack nodded and decided to play dumb for a bit.
Then he said: “Hmm, well, maybe …”
“Something that you’d do back in the good old United States of America.”
And at that, Jack laughed.
“Kind of thing we’d do on the water, on the 4th of July?”
Tony and Pete’s heads bobbed hopefully.
“Exactly!” said Tony. “Just the ticket!”
And Jack looked away.
“Well. I’m afraid there may not be something that I’d describe as ‘traditionally American’ as fireworks and an apple pie. I mean, I don’t know what they do on the great rivers like the Mississippi, or out west, the coastal towns.”
He immediately saw a look of disappointment on their faces.
All — he noticed — save for Tim Simpson who, with his face passive, could have easily been in another room.
But the last thing Jack wanted to do was disappoint these two friends who were working so hard on such a great summer event.
After a few moments he had an idea.
“But tell you what …”
Disappointed looks lightened a bit …
“I grew up near Sheepshead Bay. Big fishing place, lot of day boats. Small sailboats, and people with their eighteen-foot boats with smoky Evinrude outboard motors. And they did have this, well, competition they ran. Right on the 4th of July.”
Smiles all around.
“Tell you what. Let me know exactly what you got lined up, Pete, and I’ll see what I can think of to juice it up a bit.”
“Bravo!” said Tony.
Then he looked at Tim.
“What do you think, Tim? You want to meet up with Jack and run through his ideas? Give it the okay for the insurance?”
Jack watched Tim pause for a few seconds, as if catching up with the conversation.
“Um, yes, of course,” said Tim. “When would you like to meet?”
Jack realised he was going to have to put some serious thought into this — it would need at least the whole weekend.
“How about Monday?” he said. “Come down to the Goose for a spot of lunch? Easy enough to find, I’m moored just upriver from the bridge. Meet you there first?”
“Hmm. Jolly good, let me see,” said Tim.
Jack watched as Tim took out a pocket diary from his jacket pocket, slid a tiny gold pen from within and carefully leafed through the days.
“Hmm,” he said. “Rather busy Monday. But, um, how about 12.15?”
“Great,” said Jack, “we can take the boat out, run through how the event’s going to work and you can do whatever it is you need to do.”
“Um, risk assessment, yes,” said Tim, writing the appointment into his diary, then slipping the delicate pen back in its holder and the diary back in his pocket.
Jack saw Tony breathe a sigh of relief.
“Excellent stuff!” he said. “You have your chat with Pete and Tim, and I’ll leave it in your capable hands. Report back to me in the week, eh?”
“Will do,” said Jack, shaking hands with the others.
Then, with a nod and a wave to the other knots of late-goers, all getting ready to head home, Jack turned and left the meeting room, the old wooden floors creaking in a reassuring way as he made his way out to the street.
Outside, he took a breath, glad to be out of the meeting.
Beautiful night out. Glad he had decided to walk here and back from the boat. When summer came to Cherringham, for however a brief time, it was indeed something.
He headed off down Cherringham Bridge Road past the Ploughma
n’s; the local pub still busy, the outside tables spilling over with a noisy crowd.
Then, as he carried on walking down towards the river, he left the sounds and lights of the busy village behind.
***
When he reached the bridge and dropped down onto the towpath that led to the part of the river where he, and others, had their barges tied up, he had an idea.
Sure, he had told Tony and Pete about the odd race they held right in Sheepshead Bay each year.
But, truth was, he had only ever seen it, watched it as a kid, then later with his own family. Took his daughter on those summer days so long ago, when the “race” was simply one more event on a 4th of July full of events, leading up to the splash of blazing fireworks exploding in the sky above the dark waters of the bay.
But to make it work here?
For that, he could maybe use some help.
And as he neared his own boat, he passed Ray Stroud’s Magnolia. Tatty old barge — always looked like an intruder from a slightly less desirable neighbourhood
Ray.
Jack liked him. Knew such guys back in Brooklyn. Their lives never quite working out the way they wanted them to. Not above doing a bit of this, bit of that. Trying to make those ends meet.
Every now and then, maybe something a bit, er, dodgy.
But essentially … okay.
And sometimes those guys needed some help.
Jack hadn’t seen much of Ray lately. He probably didn’t feel very much part of the big family events of the Cherringham Carnival.
So … Jack thought … if I need some help, why not ask Ray?
Knows the river. A natural with boats of all sorts and sizes.
And if Jack suggested there would be some payment ….
Not really true. But Jack wouldn’t mind slipping Ray a few notes — if it was approved by the committee.
Yeah …
The more Jack thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea.
But Ray’s lights were out. Probably sinking a last pint even now up at the Ploughman’s.
He made a note to drop in on Ray next morning and enlist him. He carried on walking until he reached his own barge, The Grey Goose. Riley, his spaniel, probably snoozing inside, would be more than ready for his last walk of the day.
The Body in the Woods Page 3