All the Fun of the Fair

by Lynda Paige

  She knew that this was his way of offering to help her if she hadn’t. She nodded. ‘Ren came by earlier and filled up my coal and water buckets.’

  ‘She’s a good gel is Ren.’ Then he scowled darkly and said gruffly, ‘I heard what happened to her earlier. Bloody toe-rags. Good job I wasn’t around or I’d have seen ’em off with a few whacks of me stick.’

  Velda stifled a chuckle. Had it been four or five years ago it would have been with his fists, she knew. She surreptitiously glanced him over. He might be knocking seventy and somewhat debilitated by arthritis but, in her eyes, he was still a fine figure of a man. She liked men that were strong-minded, weren’t afraid to stand up for themselves and those they cared for – any underdog, in fact, faced with adversity – and that had a bit of a wicked sense of humour, but still had a compassionate, caring side to their nature. To her, Big Sam Grundy was just that kind of man. She had liked him the first time she had met him thirty years ago when she had turned up at the fair in the town they were playing in at the time, enquiring after a pitch for her fortune-telling tent. He’d told her in his gruff, matter-of-fact way that they’d never had a clairvoyant travel with them in all the fair’s history as it was more of a circus or seaside attraction and, to make matters worse for her, she was an outsider. She had done her best to persuade him that she would prove an asset to the fair and she had been kept on tenterhooks for several long moments as he had hummed and hawed over the matter. She had been overjoyed that his open-mindedness had forced him into at least giving her a try.

  From the start, her tent was the most popular, visited mainly by women. Never in all her thirty years with Grundy’s, even during lean times, had she not been able to afford her rent. The war years were hard for her, as they were for the rest of the community when fairgrounds were forced to close, but she had kept her head just about above water plying her trade in several seaside towns along the south coast. She had been as relieved and delighted as the rest when word arrived to her that Grundy’s was reuniting. Over the years, as she had gotten to know Sam well, her liking for him had grown and eventually turned to love on her part. Futile love though, as he was extremely happy married to his beloved Nell. Velda had liked Nell, a good and solid woman she thought her just like her husband, and her and Velda had got on well together. But now Nell had passed these last five years and, although Sam would never completely get over his loss, he had come to terms with it. Along with that, Velda had recently become astutely aware, by the whole way Sam acted when with her, that he was developing feelings far deeper than just friendship for her and that it was only a matter of time before he got the courage to approach her over it.

  This state of affairs should have been a dream come true for Velda, that finally the man she had secretly admired so deeply for nearly half her life could eventually be hers. That the pair of them might spend what days they had left to them together, caring for each other, sharing life’s up and downs. But, in fairness to Sam, Velda had no choice but to nip this fledging love he was developing for her in the bud before it went any further. She had to blatantly lie to him in a way that wouldn’t cause damage to their friendship, something that was very precious to her. She must pretend that she wasn’t interested in a relationship – not just with him but with any man – to save him from the pain and humiliation of her rejection.

  Velda had a secret so shocking that she could never expect any woman, let alone any man, to either understand or accept. Should it ever come to light she knew it would see her immediately expelled from the confines of the small community she had come to consider her family. She felt so safe amongst them all that to face a solitary life travelling the roads alone was, to her, a fate worse than death.

  Sam had grown quiet and she instinctively sensed that he had something on his mind that he wanted to talk over with her. Under normal circumstances she would have encouraged him, as she would anyone who seemed in need of a listening ear, to open up. And, if encouraged by them, she might offer her advice on the matter. But she greatly feared that the topic that Sam had on his mind tonight was the one she did not want him to discuss with her so, in an effort to stop him, in order to give her chance to plan how to let him know that she wasn’t interested in taking their friendship any further without hurting his feelings and damaging to their friendship, she forced a yawn and said, ‘Oh, forgive me, Sam. I think I might call it a night, if you don’t mind. I’m really tired tonight.’

  A surge of disappointment filled him. Since Nell had died, weather permitting, he had fallen into a routine of calling to see Velda for a nightcap and chat before he went to bed. Until a few months ago all he had wanted to do during these visits was talk about Nell to another woman who had known her well as he’d travelled through his varying stages of grief and eventually learned to carry on without her by his side. But recently, and with great shock to himself, he had realised that although he still missed Nell and always would, these nightly visits to Velda were no longer for him to reminisce over his life with his late wife. They were to spend time with Velda herself because, quite simply, as he had come to know her more intimately as a person, he had fallen in love with her and now he wanted to be far more than just her friend. It was apparent to him that Velda liked him, enjoyed his company; she never discouraged his visits or seemed in any hurry to see him go and they shared so many likes and dislikes. He saw no reason that his proposal to her would insult her in any way. How his family would react to him taking up with another woman he wasn’t sure but, as far as he was concerned, they could like it or lump it. Nell had left a huge void in his life and if ever another woman could fill at least three-quarters of it, that woman was Velda. Although she might never have married and, as far as he knew, had never had a relationship in all the thirty years he had known her, there was still the possibility that some other man could suddenly materialise and snatch her away from him and that he didn’t want to risk. After giving himself numerous headaches trying to come up with a way to approach Velda with his proposal of stepping up their relationship in some romantic setting or other, it had hit him that there was no more romantic setting than when the both of them were sitting together late in the evening under the stars as they were now. As desperate though as he was to begin a new future with Velda, a more pressing problem needed to be resolved first, and that was the future of the fair once he died. That was what he in fact wanted to discuss with her tonight, get her wise advice on, help him decide what was best for him to do. And then, with that matter satisfactorily resolved, he would be free to concentrate all his efforts on wooing this very dear woman sitting next to him.

  He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, then looked over at her with a troubled look in his eyes. ‘Could you just spare me a few minutes? I’ve a problem, you see, a big one to me that I could really do with a bit of help on?’

  She momentarily froze. The Sam Grundys of this world were men who saw it weak to ask others for help, therefore they only seemed to when desperate. How could she call herself his friend if she turned him away, no matter how frightened she was of the subject matter he wanted to talk to her about. Subconsciously she reached over for the bottle of whiskey, poured herself a good measure of it into her empty tea cup, lifted it to her lips and took a large gulp by way of affording her some Dutch courage to help her deal with the awkward situation she feared she might be finding herself in. Then she spoke encouragingly to him. ‘Just what is it that’s so troubling for you, Sam?’ Then, filled with trepidation, she steeled herself to hear words she really didn’t want to and, at this moment, had no idea how to respond to whilst keeping intact the close friendship they shared.

  He took a drink of his own whiskey before beginning, ‘Well it’s like this, you see, Velda. I’m sure over the years you’ve been with us you’ve learned some of our showmen’s ways and traditions.’

  She had, and there were some very wise ones but also some that seemed totally mystifying to her. Still, no specific tradition over how a man a
sked a woman to become on more intimate terms with him jumped to mind. As far as she was aware, in all cultures when a man fancied a woman, he simply asked her to accompany him out for dinner or suchlike by way of making his feelings known. She said cautiously, ‘I’ve, er, learned a few, yes.’

  ‘Well I don’t know whether this is one of them but when a ringmaster dies, his eldest son inherits the business, less bequests to any younger sons and other family members and friends.’

  She was confused. What did bequests have to do with telling a woman you have romantic feelings for her? Then it hit her and tremendous relief followed. It hadn’t. At some time in the not-too-distant future she knew Sam would broach her over their relationship but not tonight, thank goodness, as it seemed a problem over his last will and testament was taking precedence. Heaving a sigh of relief she smiled at him and responded, ‘Yes, I did know that.’ She then eyed him shrewdly. ‘Are you having doubts about leaving the fair in Sonny’s hands when the good lord comes to collect you?’

  ‘That’s exactly it. You’re a very perceptive woman, Velda.’

  She laughed, one of her deep, throaty chuckles. ‘Couldn’t do my job if I wasn’t, Sam.’

  He laughed along with her. ‘No, course not.’ He then grew serious again. ‘I am very worried about handing the business over to Sonny when it’s my time to go.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s up to the job?’

  He shook his head, sadly. ‘I don’t think he’s got the right way about him.’ He sighed. ‘I love my son, can’t fault that he does his bit as much as the rest of us towards keeping the business running, but he’s very…’ He paused, trying to find the right words. ‘It’s hard for me to describe… but… well… he doesn’t get on with people in the way a ringmaster should, in my book. The people who work for us look to you as their leader, someone who’ll keep them safe, there to turn to to help sort their problems out. You have to be fair but tough and that’s not easy to be sometimes when someone is crying on your shoulder after you to help them out of a terrible predicament when, deep down, you suspect they’re exaggerating their situation or just blatantly lying about it and taking you for a mug. When I was younger and had just two stalls which I rented pitches for at other travelling fairs, I worked for some decent types but also some downright bullies. It was their way or no way. If you had a problem, you sorted it out yourself. They weren’t interested. All they cared about was you paying their rent. I fear Sonny is very much like those ringmasters. He never used to be like he is now though.’ He looked at her enquiringly. ‘You must remember, Velda, when you first joined us, that Sonny was such a different young man then?’

  She nodded. ‘I do. Very helpful and pleasant he was, the same as Solly. Both asked you if you needed any help with anything before you had to ask them. Always getting up to a bit of mischief, weren’t they, only silly pranks though. It was never anything at all malicious. Yes, Sonny was a lovely lad back then, there’s no denying that.’

  Sam was smiling at the happy memories of his eldest son that Velda was conjuring up in him but then his smile faded and he sighed again. ‘But then, for God knows what reason me or Nell could ever get to the bottom of, he changed.’

  She nodded again. ‘I remember. All of a sudden it was, wasn’t it. Like someone had flicked a switch. Nell talked to me about it often. The change in him was so drastic and it worried her sick. She couldn’t understand it and neither could I. I did the cards for her, read her palm, consulted my crystal ball, but all they came up with was that she had trouble with a child. It wasn’t her cards or palms I needed to read though to get to the bottom of it, it was Sonny’s himself but there was no approaching him for a sitting, the mood he was in. And, after a while, Nell gave up asking him because she knew what the answer would be.’

  Sam sighed. ‘It came as such a relief to me and Nell when Sonny announced he wanted his own van which we gladly helped him buy. Well, we paid for all of it, same as we had for Joshua and Solly when the time came for them to leave home. That way he could mooch around inside like a bear with a sore head and we’d no longer have to put up with it. Him and Solly used to be such good friends but they became like strangers to each other and it was all Sonny’s doing. It was like he suddenly deeply resented his brother, but for what, we could never work out. We thought… hoped… he’d grow out of it, go back to being the old Sonny we all loved and missed, but he never did.’

  ‘And your worry is that Grundy’s will fall apart when Sonny becomes ringmaster.’ It wasn’t a question but a statement.

  He slowly nodded, his face screwed up with worry. ‘It certainly won’t be the happy community it is now, that I am sure of. Part of a ringmaster’s job is to keep the council officials, landowners and local police on our side… there’s a diplomatic way of dealing and negotiating with them or they have the power to refuse us opening in their town or village despite our age-old charter rights. Sonny hasn’t got a diplomatic bone in his body, whereas…’ His voice trailed off and he lifted his glass and took a large swallow.

  Thoughtfully Velda watched him then take out his pipe, tap out the old ash in the barrel, refill it then light it with a tarnished silver petrol lighter, a present from his late wife on their first wedding anniversary. Once he was puffing on it she said to him knowingly, ‘You were going to say… whereas Solly is everything a ringmaster should be in your eyes.’

  He looked at her for a moment before he admitted, ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘You could leave it between them in equal shares?’

  ‘That’s a possibility I have thought of but that could cause problems if they can’t come to an agreement over decisions needing making and the fair could suffer as a result.’

  She leaned over and patted his hand. ‘So then that’s your answer. Leave the business in Solly’s capable hands.’

  His face screwed in anguish. ‘But tradition dictates I leave it to my eldest son.’

  She shrugged her meaty shoulders. ‘Traditions can be broken if they aren’t right for the occasion. It’s tradition for outsiders like me to eat turkey on Christmas Day but when I was little my mam couldn’t afford one, chicken neither, so we had sausages. Several years in a row, in fact, until our finances improved and nothing bad happened; we never had a worse year than the one previous or any of us struck down with the plague and died.’

  ‘I can appreciate what you’re saying, Velda, but expecting turkey for dinner and getting sausages can’t be compared to expecting to inherit a fair but actually getting a ride, along with the blow that his father favoured his younger brother over him.’

  She shrugged. ‘I grant you it can’t be compared but I was still terribly disappointed and it’s one I had to get over, same as Sonny will if you decide to favour Solly over him as your heir. Look, Sam, he won’t like it, that’s for certain, but he’ll have to appreciate the reasons why you decided to do what you did and accept it. No court of law will overturn a will unless there’s a damned good reason, like there’s a doubt you were sound of mind when you wrote it. If Sonny tried that then everyone here, including me, will vouch that you might be getting old and crotchety but there’s nothing wrong with that sharp mind of yours.’ She paused to think for a moment before she offered, ‘If you do decide to leave the fair to Solly then you could always write Sonny a letter of explanation as to why you have done what you have.’

  He thought about that for a moment. ‘Yes, I could. Coward’s way out though it would be.’ Then the red of embarrassment tinged his aged face. ‘But, er…’

  She immediately realised what he was going to say and cut him short. ‘I would be delighted to help you write it.’ Sam, like many showmen, had never had any schooling as such so could not read and write well enough to compose a letter.

  He shot her a quick smile of gratitude.

  ‘Anyway, there’s no rush over this, Sam. I mean, it’s not like you’ve been given a death sentence by the doctor, told you’ve only days to live. It’s my opinion that you’ve still got
a good twenty years left in you yet. So take your time and think carefully how you want to leave matters when your time finally comes and, if you still want me to help you write that letter, I’m always happy to oblige.’

  He didn’t want to take his time over this matter, wanted it resolved so he could concentrate all his efforts on getting his personal life in a much happier state. He looked at her searchingly. ‘You’re a wonderful woman, Velda.’

  She waved a dismissive hand at him. ‘Ged away with yer. Just being a good friend to a good friend, that’s all.’ Then fearing Sam might just decide now was the time to divulge his feelings for her, she downed the remains of the whiskey in her teacup, shuddering as the fiery liquid hit the back of her throat, then eased her comely body out of her chair. ‘I really need my beauty sleep now, Sam.’

  He then also downed the remains of his drink in his own glass, grabbed his walking stick and stood up, saying, ‘Fine weather permitting, I’ll see you tomorrow night, then, eh?’

  She smiled and nodded. ‘I’ll have your nightcap ready for you.’ And by then hopefully the right words ready to tactfully refuse your advances towards me.

  * * *

  A mile or so away from the fair site, standing at the bar of one of the town’s better class of hotels, Sonny, looking forward to an evening of the sort he liked to enjoy, took a sip of his large gin and tonic. His preferred drink was best bitter but that was what Sonny the fairground worker drank and tonight he was Raymond Goodman, successful businessman, who wouldn’t dream of partaking of such a common working man’s beverage and especially in such surroundings as he was in at the moment. He was surreptitiously looking around for a likely candidate to aid him in making his evening a successful one for him, funded by the amount he had creamed off the top of the ride money and his share of the gaff lads’ tapping of the punters. Plus what was also left from his winnings from an illegal game of poker he’d managed to get himself a seat at.