The Great Village Show Read online

Seconds later, and I’m standing outside the double-fronted shop overlooking the green. It’s no longer a newly plastered shell with bubble-wrap-covered chairs piled up high in the middle. No, it’s been transformed into a palace! Outside there are several round pretty painted wooden tables, each with a gorgeous gold and white parasol above. And inside is like an Aladdin’s cave – a rich red carpet with sumptuous purple and gold wallpaper and several crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It’s amazing and magical. And makes me hold my breath as I step inside.

  A woman with shiny long black hair swept up into an elegant chignon, wearing a turquoise sari with several gold bangles on her arm, which jangle as she comes walking towards me, appears right away.

  ‘Hi, would you like a menu?’ she smiles, offering me a large square of cream and gold embossed card.

  ‘Oh, um, no … thank you. I was just passing, maybe later,’ I grin, thinking Jack is going to love this place too – now he can have a vindaloo whenever he wants one, without having to traipse all the way over to Market Briar. ‘Yes, definitely later. Your restaurant looks amazing, and the food …’ I spy a waiter pushing a trolley with a colourful collection of dishes on, ‘I can’t wait to try it all.’ I laugh, wondering whether I have enough time to squeeze in a curry. I’d love to sit outside and watch the world go by across the village green, but then I look at my watch and see that the carnival is due to start in fifteen minutes, so probably not.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like one of our takeaway menus – we’ll be doing deliveries soon as well, to the houses in and around the village. Do you live in Tindledale?’ the woman asks politely.

  ‘Yes, yes I do. I’m the acting head teacher at the village school,’ I tell her. ‘I’m Meg.’ And I offer her my hand, which she shakes enthusiastically, placing her other hand over the top of mine and giving it a hearty squeeze, making me warm to her right away.

  ‘Ooh, it’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Yasmin, and …’ she pauses to beckon a man over, ‘this is my husband Ash, and, oh, where are the children?’ she asks him, before calling out a list of names. Five seconds later, four girls and one boy appear. I want to clap my hands together in glee – they’re all primary-school age. ‘Say hello to Meg, she’s going to be your new head teacher,’ Yasmin tells them.

  ‘Um, actually, I’m only the acting head teacher and well, I should probably tell you that the school might be about to …’ But nobody’s really listening and the children are eagerly doing as they’re told, chatting and laughing as they step forward one at a time to shake my hand. I’m very impressed by their manners as I keep it in mind to make sure the inspectors know about the five new children here in Tindledale. I wonder if it would be very inappropriate to tell them today when I spot them wandering around the show? Just so I can be sure they include this wonderful fact in their report.

  *

  Later, and the mini-carnival is well under way, and the crowds have all gathered on the pavement to watch the floats go by. Brownies, Cubs, Scouts and Guides, all waving and looking smart in their uniforms, majorettes twirling their batons and doing gymnastic moves along to the marching band that’s playing right at the front of the procession. Behind them is the Tindledale Players’ float, and I’m thrilled to see that Lawrence has managed to bring an end to the bickering, as the two girls are flitting around the enchanted forest in their fairy costumes, like they’re the best of friends now. Lawrence, walking alongside the float, spots me, and ducks through the crowd to join me.

  ‘There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,’ he says over the music, ‘where have you been?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ I beam, thinking he’s going to be delighted when he hears about Tindledale’s new restaurant – he can team up with Yasmin and Ash to offer Indian cookery weekends instead!

  ‘OK, but you mustn’t move from here,’ he says, and we turn together to watch the rest of the carnival go by.

  The various local charities travel past next – the Cats Protection float has somebody dressed up in a furry cat onesie; they must be roasting as the sun is beating down on us now. It’s scorching! But right on cue, the Country Club float arrives. They have real grass on the back of their truck and a paddling pool from which five lifeguards, all looking very impressive in red swimming trunks, are filling giant water guns and spraying the crowd. We all cheer as they go by.

  And then I gasp.

  On dear, and I think I’m about to cry too.

  Proper tears. I turn to look at Lawrence.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ I clasp my hands up under my chin.

  ‘I might have had an inkling,’ he says, an amused smile dancing on his lips.

  I turn back to the carnival and see a group of my school children walking past now, with Sybs, Dr Ben, Becky and Mary helping them to hold up three giant handmade banners made from thick black velvet material with gold edging looped around wooden poles. There are even gold tassels hanging resplendently from the top of each banner, twirling in the warm breeze. I wave and clap and then clutch Lawrence’s hand as the first banner says ‘Tindledale’, the second says ‘Village’, and the last one has ‘School. Established 1841’ on it in gold lettering, cut from brocade and stitched on by hand. The secret project! I can’t believe it. This is wonderful. And must have taken ages. And Sybs and the children can’t possibly have made the banners all by themselves – surely there wouldn’t have been enough time.

  ‘What do you think?’ A group of school mums have gathered around me.

  ‘It’s amazing!’ I say, quickly brushing away a tear that has managed to escape and trickle down my cheek.

  ‘We knew you would think so.’

  ‘Did you all help out?’ I beam, scanning their faces.

  ‘Sure did! We’re not going down without a fight. Talking of which, look over there,’ one of the women nudges me gently in the arm, and then points across the street. Two of the inspectors are standing on the pavement and it’s hard to tell for sure as there are so many people gathered in the crowd, but they seem to be smiling as they watch the Tindledale Village School banners go by. And yes, one of them is clapping now, along with the rest of the crowd. Hurrah! This surely has to be a good sign …

  The carnival over, I quickly cycle over to the juice bar to see how Molly is getting on.

  ‘Sold out!’ she says, on seeing me.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep, just flogged the last of the “snips”. Granny Elizabeth’s parsnip wine sure went down a treat – they couldn’t get enough of it. Your elderflower fizz too, especially with the cucumber twist over ice – I made it just as you said,’ she laughs.

  ‘That’s amazing,’ I say, leaning my bike against a tree before stepping inside the truck.

  ‘Sure is. And I’ve handed over all the proceeds to the parish council treasurer. She came by a few minutes ago, so if you want to potter on down to the fields with me, I think the ploughing competition is about to start soon.’ Molly unties her apron and rolls it up under her arm.

  ‘That would be lovely. I thought I might try a trip in one of the hot-air balloons,’ I grin.

  ‘Hmm, well, rather you than me – not sure I trust being in a basket all that way up in the air.’ She shakes her head.

  ‘And thanks for helping out this afternoon,’ I say, gesturing around the truck, wondering if Mum will give me a hand later to get all these empty wooden crates back to the cottage.

  ‘Ahh, no problem – least I could do. None of us wanted you to miss the kids in the carnival,’ Molly chuckles, whipping a cotton hanky from her pocket to wipe her face. ‘Blimey, it’s a hot one today …’ She puffs, pushing the hanky back away.

  ‘It sure is,’ I smile. ‘So you knew about the banners too?’ I ask, clearing away the last of the plastic cups into one of the empty crates.

  ‘Of course,’ Molly says, resting her hands on her ample hips. ‘We all did, the whole village pitched in … well, all the crafters at least – they’ve been stitching, and bitching
,’ she tilts her head and rolls her eyes, ‘about the school having to close, for ages now. Sooo, it was the least we could do.’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that,’ I quickly interject, seriously hoping that we’ve done enough to show the inspectors what a terrible mistake the council would be making, especially as we now have an additional five children, not to mention the families that are going to live in the new houses.

  ‘Hear hear. Not if we can help it. Anyway, we’ve been stitching the banners down at Hettie’s House of Haberdashery – we had to do something to show our support. That school of yours has been good to all of us, and our children. It’d be a crying shame if they close it down.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  After locking up the food truck and making sure the keys are safely stowed in my basket, Molly retrieves her bike from behind the truck, and we swing our legs over our saddles and start cycling alongside each other along the lanes, chatting as we relish the breeze on our faces and the welcome shade from the many willow trees that run the length of the Blackwood Farm Estate.

  We reach the fields on the estate, and Molly heads off to find Cooper to watch the ploughing competition with their four sons. I spot Jessie with Sam and the triplets, and stop cycling to give them a cheery wave – they all wave back with big, happy grins on their faces, the children running and skipping around with enormous pink puffs of candyfloss on sticks clutched in their hands, clearly having the time of their lives. Ahh, I’m so pleased that things have turned out well for Jessie and the children, that they seem to have found their happy-ever-after.

  I’ve just cycled on past the marquee where the dog show is going to take place, when Taylor spots me and waves me over to the fence.

  ‘Hi Meg, thank you so much for talking to Jack,’ she beams.

  ‘Oh, you’ve spoken to him?’ I ask tentatively.

  ‘Yep, loads of times, on Skype. And he’s promised to call me from South Africa too,’ she beams, brushing her hair away from her face.

  ‘He has?’ I ask, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow. Well, there’s a turn-up for the books.

  She glances back over her shoulder to see her mum, Amber, beckoning for her to hurry up. ‘Oops, better go,’ and she reaches over the top of the fence to kiss my cheek. ‘I need to help get the dogs ready for the show.’ And she dashes off, leaving me with a big smile on my face as I cycle on to the next field where the hot-air balloons are – I’m so pleased she seems brighter now.

  And the smile freezes on my face.

  I stop cycling and stand motionless with my feet on the ground either side of my bike. I don’t believe it!

  What’s he doing here?

  It’s Dan. Dan flaming Wright. Bold as brass, striding around with his hands in his jeans pockets and his trademark thunderous scowl set firmly in place. There’s a spindly woman running behind him, trying to catch up, swearing and muttering as she tries to stay upright on the grass in the highest and spikiest stiletto shoes I think I’ve ever seen, while struggling to balance a pile of files with an iPad perched on top. I spy a group of farm boys sniggering and nudging each other as she totters past.

  ‘Dan! Dan, please! They’re obviously not here. Come on. Let’s get back to London,’ the woman yells after him, nearly bumping into the general, who immediately steps aside and apologises in a very old school, chivalrous way.

  ‘I’m not going back. How many times do I have to tell you, Pia?’ he says, stalking off into the distance. Ahh, so this is his manager, the scary Pia. Well, she doesn’t look very scary to me. And who is Dan searching for?

  ‘Maybe I can help?’ I fling my bike down on the grass and step in front of Pia, who looks me up and down before saying, ‘No you can’t. Not unless your name is …’ She pauses to shove the files under one arm, before wrestling to free a finger with which to tap the screen of her iPad … ‘Lawrence or Meg?’ Pia stops moving and suddenly Dan turns around. He pushes a hand through his hair and walks quickly back to join us with a massive grin on his face.

  ‘See! I told you she would be here,’ he says, his eyes flashing as he looks at me. ‘I can take it from here,’ he tells Pia. ‘You can go back to London.’ And he rummages around in his pocket. ‘Here, take my car.’ He drops a bunch of keys on top of Pia’s iPad.

  ‘But Dan! Wait. What about your schedule? We need to get back!’ Pia protests.

  ‘How many times must I tell you? I’m not coming back.’ Dan shakes his head.

  ‘But—’ Pia starts, and then instantly stops talking when Dan holds out his hand to me.

  I open my mouth.

  What is he doing?

  ‘What do you say?’ Dan asks, his thunderous face softening.

  ‘Um, what do you mean?’

  ‘You and me taking a trip up there?’ And he points to a basket attached to a sunshine yellow and white striped hot-air balloon. ‘I think we need to talk.’

  ‘Do we?’ I ask, stalling for time as I race through all the possible things we might have to say to each other, starting with me asking, ‘Why did you leave without saying goodbye?’ or, ‘What about your girlfriend?’ or ‘Why are you permanently furious?’ or how about, ‘Why did you even come to Tindledale if it wasn’t to open a restaurant?’ Dan studies me for a moment before taking my basket from my arm and dumping it on the grass. ‘Hey, what are you doing? You can’t do that?’ I yell, going to pick it up, but he kicks it away, out of reach, before swinging one arm around my body and hoisting me up and over his shoulder, fireman style. ‘Stop it! Put me down at once, you idiot,’ I yell, beating my left fist on his back while desperately attempting to keep my dress from riding up over my bottom and exposing my knickers to everyone in the field with my other hand. I can hear the farm boys clapping and cheering. Oh God. I’m mortified. And I sure as hell hope that none of the inspectors are watching me making a show of myself. And, uh-oh! Oh no! I spy the reporter from the Tindledale Herald near the edge of the field with a pen poised eagerly over a notepad.

  I can see the headline already: Local acting head teacher romps in field with celebrity chef on show day … Cringe!

  ‘For crying out loud, woman!’ Dan bellows, before marching us over to the basket. ‘Now, get in there and tell me, honestly, that we don’t need to talk. That you don’t like me. Even just a little bit?’ he says, with a particularly cocky and arrogant smile on his face.

  ‘Like you? You must be joking,’ I protest, doing my scary teacher face as Dan gently lowers me over the side of the basket before hurdling over himself.

  ‘Take us up,’ he commands, in his uniquely rude way, to the pilot – a fifty-something man who, on instantly recognising Dan Wright, celebrity chef and culinary bad boy, immediately does as he’s told, giving the signal for the guys on the ground to release the basket from the holding strings.

  ‘Say please!’ I can’t resist telling Dan, as the balloon starts to rise and my tummy flips.

  ‘Please!’ Dan pouts over his shoulder to the pilot, before grabbing both of my hands and drawing them in close to his chest. ‘Now, will you please drop the scary teacher act and just tell me … admit it!’

  ‘Admit what?’ I say, trying not to look into his raging eyes.

  ‘You know what! That you like me?’ And he stares intently, and I can’t be sure, as it’s brief, but a flicker of something darts across his face. Doubt, maybe? Uncertainty? Is he nervous again? I can’t be sure. ‘There’s something there, isn’t there?’

  ‘Stop it!’ I say, determined not to get caught out again. I pull my hands free and take a step back.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asks, moving towards me.

  ‘Look, Dan, I don’t know what I feel, to be honest. But you can’t just turn up here after leaving me, and Tindledale, with no idea about what was happening with the juice bar, the food trucks – you didn’t even say goodbye! And what about your girlfriend? The woman you rang from my house? The woman who means everything to you? The woman you love! What does she think about you turning
up here again out of the blue demanding to know if I like you?’

  I turn to look away, drawing in the intoxicating view, the people and fields and trees below us, growing smaller and smaller as our balloon drifts up into the air, giving way to a picture-perfect cloudless blue sky. I can’t bear to look back at him, but suddenly I feel his arm on my shoulder. He turns me around towards him, and is grinning like some kind of crazy looper.

  ‘What?’ I ask him, crossly. ‘What is it now?’

  ‘You really are the most infuriating person I have ever met!’

  ‘Meeeee?’ I retort, unable to believe his flaming brazenness. ‘You are, more like!’ I go to move away from him, but Dan pulls me closer.

  ‘My sister,’ he smiles. ‘My gorgeous, sad, useless-in-love sister, Anna, who had just had yet another bust-up with her equally useless boyfriend. That’s who I was talking to. And I’m really sorry that I left in such a hurry, I truly am, but Anna needed me; she can get very low, and, well …’ He stops talking and looks away.

  ‘Oh,’ I mumble, feeling like an utter idiot. A short silence follows. ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away, I guess, and, um …’ I pause. ‘Is Anna OK?’ I quickly ask.

  ‘Yes, she’s fine now.’ Dan looks into my eyes. ‘Thank you. You do understand, don’t you? I’m all she has, since our parents went; there’s nobody else to keep an eye on her,’ he explains quietly, and I nod before reaching a hand out to touch his, as suddenly he seems weary, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  We’re heading south now towards Tindledale, to the High Street, I can see the village square with the commemorative stone, and is that Fern? Yes it is! Wow, she’s laughing and chatting to Lawrence and a group of people with clipboards. One even has a camera; maybe she’s giving an interview to the village show judges! I sure hope so, as that will really boost our chances of a top ten place. I can see the war memorial now and I spot the tiny flicker of a candle in the lantern that Kitty lights for Ed on special occasions – yes, of course, I remember, it’s his birthday! And I gasp. It’s so emotive – the whole village scene is spectacular, magical and special. We float on down the hill until we reach Hettie’s House of Haberdashery, where Hettie, Sybs and Dr Ben are standing outside on the path waving up at us – I give them a big wave back as we travel on. I can see the duck pond on the village green now, and the bandstand that’s been erected especially for show day, the white marquees and all the people sitting in their stripy deckchairs. I wonder if Mum is still there, getting sozzled on Pimm’s, no doubt. And I can’t help smiling, as she may be an acquired taste, my mother, but I’ve actually enjoyed having her around. I feel my spirits lifting as we fly higher again, relishing enjoying the fruits of all our hard work from this unique viewpoint. I can’t stop smiling, suddenly feeling all the weight of expectation and worry lifting from my shoulders. We’re drifting over the Duck & Puddle pub now and I can see people in the garden, children and dogs darting around, having fun in the sun on the grass.