The Great Village Show Read online

  ‘Ha! I shall tell her you said that,’ I joke. ‘But seriously, she was an amazing mentor, very inspirational. Anyway, she encouraged me to train properly as a teacher, fitting it in around Jack, and that’s what happened.’

  ‘So you see, you got your chance to shine, and now it’s Jack’s time.’

  I nod in agreement, and glance at the brown envelope on the table.

  ‘Shall it read it myself, or do you want to tell me?’ Lawrence asks softly as he takes the envelope from me and opens the flap.

  ‘Oh Lawrence, I might as well just tell you, but please don’t breathe a word,’ I say, anxiously. ‘I don’t want the villagers – especially the children – to worry.’

  ‘I absolutely promise,’ Lawrence says earnestly.

  ‘OK. Well, put bluntly, it looks as though the village school might have to close!’ I turn away, unable to hold eye contact. Saying the words out loud seems to make it sound so much more inevitable.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Lawrence eventually says, weighing each word carefully, ‘but can they do that? Just close a school? What about the children’s education? Surely there are laws – don’t children have a legal right to an education in this country?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  ‘So how come then?’ Lawrence lifts his eyebrows. ‘I mean, it’s a bit out of the blue, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure is. A team of inspectors turned up today and are going to be assessing the viability of the school over the coming months … working out the cost of everything we do and use,’ I tell him.

  ‘I see.’ Lawrence’s calm tones are incredibly reassuring. ‘So what does that mean in real terms?’

  ‘It means, because our pupil numbers are dwindling, the council wants to see if it’s worth keeping the school open.’

  ‘But of course it is.’ His eyebrows rise. ‘It’s at the centre of everything. And didn’t most of the people here in Tindledale go to the school?’

  ‘Yes,’ I sigh, ‘but realistically it comes down to money at the end of the day. If the school …’ And it really does feel like my school, and I’m sure all the other villagers feel the same way – the school belongs to each and all of us together, Lawrence is right; we love the school, it’s just been a part of Tindledale life for ever and ever – since the mists of time, and I’m not even exaggerating. ‘… isn’t deemed affordable any more, then they’ll close us down.’

  ‘But surely it’s not just about money – what about all the extra stuff you do? The special needs support? Just last week you were telling me how well that little boy recently diagnosed with ADHD was doing.’ Lawrence now seems as shocked as I did when I first heard the news. ‘It’s about a whole community.’

  ‘I know, and you know, but from the point of view of the council, unless I can find a way to attract more children to the school, then it’ll be closed down.’

  ‘That’s too bad …’ Lawrence lets out a long whistle.

  ‘Well, it is a massive problem: there are only four children in this year’s Reception class and the nursery numbers are dropping too, so next September’s intake could be even less. We have capacity for sixty children in total, but there are currently only forty-nine, so unless we can find an additional eleven children, it’s cheaper for the council to pay for the school bus to collect my pupils and take them to the big school in Market Briar,’ I explain, having already gleaned this gem of information from the woman I spoke to on the phone at the council. I called right after I had inhaled my ham and homemade plum chutney sandwich at lunchtime, and before I went to spend the other twenty minutes of my lunch break helping Archie Armstrong with his speech therapy exercises because his mum, another single parent, is profoundly deaf so can’t really do it herself. So, firstly, I enquired as to why the council felt it necessary to send in a team, without warning, followed by a formal letter, and not just pick up the phone to chat about it first, and secondly to ask what this means in real terms, to which I was told, and quite tersely I have to say, that unless the pupil numbers pick up, the school will most likely close at the end of the next academic year, with a decision made by the end of this year’s summer holiday period. So we’ll know in September.

  ‘Hmm, well, from a purely selfish perspective, I need the village children close by for the Christmas pantomime rehearsals – how else am I going to find twenty singing children to perform “Ten Little Elves” for the grand finale? And be available to rehearse during the school day?’ Lawrence shakes his head as we sit quietly, each of us pondering, searching for a solution.

  ‘Well, you won’t. And I can hardly see the head teacher at the big school in Market Briar agreeing to let you use the school hall for rehearsals because the village hall’s heating has packed up again,’ I puff, and it’s a very good point, one I must remember to bring up at the village show meeting, as last time the judges commented on how it was extremely chilly in the village hall – and that was in summer time, so they ‘dreaded to think how arctic it might be in winter’. We don’t want to get marked down again for making the same mistake – perhaps we could get some plug-in radiators or something, if the parish council can be persuaded to part with some funding.

  ‘So what are we going to do then?’ Lawrence looks concerned.

  ‘Well, short of asking if any of the villagers plan on adopting lots of school-age children in the next few months, I have no idea! But one thing I do know, Lawrence,’ I pause to take a breath, ‘is that I’m not going to stand by and let the inspectors close down my school. Certainly not!’ I say, getting into my stride.

  ‘Good! That’s the spirit,’ Lawrence rallies. ‘We need to attract new blood to the village – young families, young couples to have lots of babies – yes, and how about Sybs and Dr Ben? I wonder if they’ve talked about having a family yet. A BIG one.’

  ‘Hmm. Funnily enough, Sybs didn’t mention it when I saw her yesterday,’ I joke.

  ‘Then you must ask her right away!’ Lawrence turns to face me with a very serious look on his face. ‘There’s no time to waste. And she’s a twin! And they say that twins run in families, so if she and Dr Ben get cracking now, you could have two more pupils lined up for the nursery in nine months’ time. Surely if we can show the demand is there, babies that will be five and ready to start school in the blink of an eye, then the council will have to change its mind.’ His voice trails off.

  ‘But I can’t do that!’ I say, horrified. ‘We are friends, but not that close – can you imagine? “Oh Sybs, I was just wondering if you and Ben were getting it on, frequently, as in making babies any time soon, because I’m now touting for business!” I could do a poster perhaps – WANTED! Children to fill my school. What on earth would she think?’ I shake my head.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Sybs isn’t one to take offence,’ Lawrence says gently, and I soften, knowing that he’s just trying to help. I quickly reconsider – maybe he has a point, and what other options do I have right now? It could be my best chance.

  ‘Hmm, maybe I should go a step further and open up Tindledale’s very first fertility clinic, just to be on the safe side.’ I laugh.

  ‘Good idea,’ Lawrence says, not missing a beat.

  ‘Or perhaps you could ask Sybs – you’re closer to her than I am,’ I smile.

  ‘Yes, I might just do that!’

  ‘But, joking aside, Lawrence, we do need to come up with some serious ideas to boost business for you and to make sure the school stays open,’ I say, pointing an index finger in the air, as if marshalling a rescue package for a major conglomerate.

  ‘What about coffee mornings? Parent and toddler groups where you can show off the school and its facilities to prospective parents? Do you do stuff like that already?’ Lawrence asks.

  ‘Um, no, not really. But I know St Cuthbert’s does,’ I say enthusiastically, my mind going into an overdrive full of taster sessions and newsletters, spring festivals and teddy bears’ picnics in the Tindledale woods. That would be fairly easy to organis
e too … Hmm, I’m going to get on to that right away. ‘And how about a crafting circle? Children love making things – I could ask Hettie or Sybs to show the older children how to knit, crochet, quilt and cross-stitch – broaden the curriculum, because it’s not all just about numeracy and literacy and league tables. We could even set up a mini petting farm. I’m sure I could round up enough rabbits, guinea pigs, chickens, goats and lambs – the possibilities are endless.’

  ‘They sure are. But tell me about St Cuthbert’s – is this the big school they’d bus your children to?’ Lawrence asks.

  ‘Oh no, it’s the private school on the old Market Briar Road – their numbers are flourishing, so I know there are lots of children in the area. Mostly families that have relocated from larger towns where the schools aren’t performing so well, but then St Cuthbert’s has far better facilities than we do – Olympic-size swimming pool, all-weather sports arena and a proper arts theatre with a sound deck and professional lighting and all of that, somebody said. My little village school – with its patch of tarmac for a playground and regular rounds of begging letters to parents for donations of kitchen roll and shaving cream for messy play – really can’t compete.’ I shake my head.

  ‘Ahh, but your school is ranked Outstanding on the government thingamajig.’

  ‘Ofsted!’ I offer, and he’s right, and we’re very proud of this fact.

  ‘And what about Blue? Didn’t you take him into school when you were doing the Beatrix Potter project? A real live Peter Rabbit. Surely the inspectors will be impressed by that initiative. And I bet they don’t bring nature into the classroom at the big school in town,’ Lawrence says hopefully, eyeing Blue, who is now snuggling on my lap, his little paws perpetually moving as he cleans his face.

  ‘That’s right, I did. And I’ll be making sure he comes to school with me again so the inspectors can see how much the children love playing with Blue, and learning how to be gentle, how to care for him, how to take turns – all that emotional development is very important; it’s a huge part of the whole child approach that I try to apply in my school. But what I really need is more pupils. That’s what will make all the difference. We can have the best curriculum for miles around, but it doesn’t mean very much if the children aren’t coming to my school.’

  ‘And if the school were to close, where would it leave you?’

  ‘I’m really not sure,’ I reply. ‘I might get a teaching job at another school somewhere. But it could mean I’ll be travelling miles away too.’

  ‘OK, but on a positive note, Meg, this could be an opportunity for you! You’re a great teacher, we all know that, so you’re certain to get something else, even if the worst happens. Or maybe you could do private tutoring for children with special needs. I know you really enjoy that aspect of your job. You could even set up a children’s therapy centre … yes, the possibilities are endless.’

  There’s a short silence as I ponder on his suggestions.

  ‘Hmm, yes, you’re right, Lawrence.’ Buoyed on the wave of his enthusiasm, I begin to see the possibilities. I was thrown off course this morning by the inspectors’ visit but, as ever, Lawrence has helped clarify my thoughts. ‘I am not going to sit here moping and worrying about what might never happen. I’m going to take advantage of the spare time I’ve got – now Jack’s off doing his own thing – and right now I’m going to get stuck in to helping out with this year’s village show. There’ll be plenty that needs doing. Have you heard about it? Dr Ben is keen for us to have another go.’ I smile.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Lawrence grins. ‘Sybs popped by with one of her leaflets. I’m planning on getting involved too – do my bit for the community; and it sure would be helpful for my business if Tindledale were to get a mention in a national newspaper.’

  Suddenly I realise how introspective I’ve been recently. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Lawrence.’ I look at him with a furrowed brow. ‘I thought things were going really well for you,’ I say slowly, feeling remorseful. I’ve been so wrapped up in missing Jack, when Lawrence has obviously been worrying about his B&B business. And since his partner, Jason, died, he no longer has him for support.

  ‘Let’s just say that they could be better. Surely you’ve noticed a dip in the number of people in and around the village, the High Street, the Duck & Puddle, Kitty’s tearoom? I was chatting to the vicar just a few days ago, and he said that even the congregation at his Sunday service is dwindling …’ His voice trails off.

  ‘Well, I hadn’t,’ I admit, ‘but now that you mention it, yes … it did seem quiet last time I popped into Kitty’s for a scone and a mug of hot chocolate. Why is that?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but I guess it’s inevitable with us having such a high number of elderly villagers – they pass on. And I reckon it’s also something to do with the new retail park that’s opened up on the other side of the valley, just past Market Briar. They have it all there – designer outlet shops, multiplex cinema, bowling, coffee chains, big-name restaurants; there’s even a hotel with a swimming pool and spa – my cosy little six-bedroom home-from-home B&B just can’t compete. And my guest numbers have definitely dipped since it opened.’

  ‘But not everyone wants all that high-tech, bells-and-whistles stuff. Surely there are lots of people who still love the cosy quirkiness of a traditional village, the personal touch that you offer at the B&B – not forgetting your award-winning breakfasts,’ I say, counting out the benefits on my fingers. Lawrence smiles. ‘And there must be lots of people who want to amble along our little High Street and watch the world go by through the mullioned windows of Kitty’s café, or thumb through some of the rare books in Adam’s bookstore. I know I do.’

  ‘I’m sure there are, but if they don’t know about Tindledale and all that we have to offer, then they can’t visit. A feature in a national newspaper is just what my B&B needs. And it’s about time you had some fun too.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I nod in agreement. ‘It’ll do me good to get involved in the village show and keep myself busy.’

  ‘Sure will. And broaden your horizons,’ Lawrence says slowly, as if gauging my reaction to a plan that he’s cooking up.

  ‘What is it?’ Silence follows. ‘Come on, what are you up to?’ I laugh, giving him a gentle dig in the ribs.

  ‘Later,’ Lawrence does a cryptic smile. ‘Let’s have some cake first,’ he adds, carefully lifting a scrumptious-looking individual lemon drizzle cake from the bag.

  I retrieve two bird-patterned tea plates from the dishwasher. Grabbing a couple of forks, too, I place them on the kitchen table and we sit adjacent to each other on the long padded window seat in the sun, arranging the assortment of homemade cushions behind us, plumping and patting until we’re both comfortable. Suddenly I feel lighter and more optimistic than I have in ages. ‘So, what’s new, Lawrence?’ I ask him, conspiratorially. ‘Any interesting guests at the B&B?’ I take a bite of the cake, which tastes divine – citrusy and sweet, but with just the right amount of sharpness too; Kitty sure is a cake-making queen. And Lawrence has been like a fairy godfather to me since he came to Tindledale twenty or so years ago – so, still a relative newcomer, compared to most of the other villagers whose families have been here for generations – and opened Tindledale’s first bed and breakfast, which has proved to be very popular with tourists, and a welcome boost to Tindledale’s economy. You’d be surprised how many pints of cider visitors can get through in the Duck & Puddle, and then there’s the locally sourced produce they all go mad for in the butcher’s and the fruit & veg shops in the High Street. And not forgetting Kitty’s tearoom – tourists can’t get enough of her afternoon teas with melt-in-the-mouth fruit scones, strawberry jam and deliciously thick cream, churned by Pete on his cattle farm down in the valley near Cherry Tree Orchard.

  Lawrence takes another mouthful of wine before doing a furtive left-then-right glance.

  ‘What is it? Or, should I say, who is it? Why are you looking so sheepish?’ I ask, my interest instantl
y piqued. I bet it’s someone famous – it must be; I’ve only ever seen Lawrence behave like this once before, and that was when the novelist Fern Britton checked in. They were doing some filming for a TV programme nearby in Market Briar, but she wanted to stay somewhere quieter. Lawrence said she was a true professional, very gracious and down-to-earth.

  ‘OK, but you must promise not to tell a soul.’

  ‘I promise,’ I say right away, now dying to know who the famous guest is.

  ‘Okaaaaaay,’ Lawrence pauses. ‘It’s Dan Wright!’ he announces impressively, as if I’m bound to know who Dan Wright is. Lawrence’s face drops when he realises that I’m struggling to place him. ‘Come on, you must know him, Meg.’

  I lick my fingers before jumping up and running down the hall to retrieve my laptop. After lifting the screen into place, I go to type Dan Wright into Google and I get as far as the W.

  ‘Look,’ I tap the screen to show Lawrence. ‘Google has found him right away. And he has a Wiki page,’ I add, gradually piecing together a jumble of half-remembered facts and images.

  Dan Wright, celebrity chef and owner of The Fatted Calf, three-Michelin-starred restaurant in London’s Mayfair …

  ‘Of course it has. He’s famous. So, do you recognise him now?’ Lawrence says, standing up and joining me at the end of the table.

  ‘Yes, I think so … but when do I ever go to fancy restaurants in London?’ I shrug, remembering the last time I went out for dinner – at the Oriental Palace, a Chinese restaurant and takeaway in Market Briar. Jack chose it, citing a desire for a lovely last chicken chow mein with his mum before heading to uni – it was such a fun evening, us and four of his friends, all laughing and being silly with our chopsticks.

  ‘Fair point! You must have seen him on TV – he had his own show for a bit; though not for a while now, to be fair.’ Lawrence swivels the laptop towards him, pulling up another chair and clicking on to YouTube. He does a quick search. ‘Here.’ There’s a short silence while we both sit with our buffer faces on, waiting for the film to start. ‘Isn’t he handsome? In a filthy, Kit Harington about to do battle in Game of Thrones kind of way …’