The Big Little Festival. Kellie Hailes

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СКАЧАТЬ here and there. Volunteers at all the school fundraisers…’

      ‘And thinks she’s the Queen of the Leap because one of her sons just happens to be a sporting bigwig.’ Marjorie’s lip lifted in a sneer directed at her adversary.

      ‘Well, at least he’s done something with his life. What’s your girl done? Not a lot from what I can gather. Partied a lot. Travelled the globe at someone else’s expense. Had to come home and work on the farm because of her fail—’

      ‘Which is where she belongs.’ Mrs Hunter cut her off, nostrils flaring in warning. ‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re wrong and your place is at home. Serena just took some time to come round to the idea. And she’s doing great things on the farm. She’ll be nominated in the Young Farmer category this year for sure. And she’ll win it.’

      Was it Christian’s imagination or did that last statement lack conviction? He glanced at Jody, who was shaking her head, eyes heavenward. She didn’t need a miracle to manage these two. She needed him. Lucky for her, and unfortunately for him, he had nowhere else to be.

      ‘So that’s the committee? All of them?’ he asked.

      ‘Well, we do get the odd straggler come and sit in and give us their opinion, which we take onboard. The more the merrier. It’s a democracy and all that. But we’re the core team.’

      Christian nodded. ‘I see.’ Except he didn’t. Their festival was being run as a democracy? People wandered in and gave their opinions and expected to be listened to? No wonder Jody had decided to hire an event manager. They didn’t need direction, they needed a director. And he was just that.

      He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and marched across the room to where the thrown chair had fallen, set it on its feet and straddled it. ‘So, what have you got for me so far? What’s pinned down? What needs final confirmation?’

      The women glanced at each other. Bottom lips were chomped down on. Arms folded defensively. Eyes faced any which way but his.

      ‘Well…’ The top of Jody’s foot twisted back and forth on the faded oak floors. ‘We’ve had some thoughts. We’ve contacted a couple of people.’

      ‘And we’ve got town clearance to use the entire main street,’ Mrs Harper added.

      ‘We’ve nearly got town clearance,’ Mrs Hunter interjected. ‘We’ve got one holdout. The butcher, John Thompson. He’s worried people will be too busy having a good time to bother coming in to buy his meat.’

      Mrs Harper tapped the side of her nose. ‘I could threaten to reveal to the town that he likes to wear ladies’ knickers underneath his butcher’s apron.’

      ‘He doesn’t!’ Mrs Hunter’s jaw dropped.

      Mrs Harper shrugged. ‘I did housework for him a couple of times. He asked me not to do the laundry but I had a few minutes spare and figured I may as well help the man out. Didn’t expect to see some rather large lacy numbers in there. I mean, they could’ve been his wife’s, but then he doesn’t have one…’

      ‘So, does he know you know?’ Mrs Hunter bustled over to the table and picked up her handbag.

      ‘I’m guessing so. Every time he sees me he goes red as a tomato, and he always throws in an extra pack of sausages with the weekly meat order.’ Mrs Harper shook her head. ‘Not that I’d say anything. It’s none of my business what he wears under his trou. And besides, it’s nice to know the old grump has a softer side. All that killing and processing of meat could harden a man, I’m sure. It’s nice he hasn’t let it. Now, shall we go for a cup of tea, Marj? All this planning has left me quite dry.’

      ‘A cup of tea would go down a treat, Shirl. Great idea. Maybe even a scone.’

      ‘With lashings of cream and oodles of jam.’ Mrs Harper rubbed her rounded stomach.

      Christian couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Not two minutes ago the two women had been handbags at dawn, and now they had their arms linked and were off for a spot of tea? And they called that fierce argument a discussion? Who were these people and what had he got himself into?

      ‘Want to come, Jody?’ Mrs Hunter called over her shoulder. ‘We’ll treat the boys to an ice cream.’

      ‘You go on, we’ll catch up later. I’ll finish briefing Mr Middlemore here.’ She waved goodbye to the women and then turned back to Christian. ‘So, where were we?’

      ‘We were discussing what’s been confirmed for the festival.’

      ‘Oh, yeah, that…’ Jody became very interested in the grain of the wooden floors.

      Christian’s gut twisted. Not a good thing. His gut only twisted when something very bad was going on, when failure was on the horizon. A feeling he’d only felt once as bad as this… at his most recent event, where disaster had struck due to one moment of inattention. His fault completely. And once word got out he’d be a laughing stock. Not just to those in the industry, but to those who were meant to be his nearest and dearest. This job, this festival, was a way to try and prove to himself he wasn’t washed up, that he was still the best. There was no way he was going to bugger it up. Or let anything or anyone bugger it up for him. Without his career he had nothing, was nothing.

      ‘So just how much have you got organised. What’s a definite yes?’ Jody’s face, pink with a mixture of embarrassment and shame, gave him his answer. ‘Nothing? Not a single thing?’

      ‘Well, like I said, it’s a democracy. But we couldn’t decide on anything. Except for Welly-wanging.’

      ‘Welly-wanging?’ The narrowing of Jody’s nose told Christian he could have sounded more neutral, less disparaging. But really, what the hell was Welly-wanging?

      ‘What’s wrong with Welly-wanging?’ Her tone was low, deep and dangerous.

      Shit. What he would give to wind back the last minute. Still, there was no going back. He had to stand his ground.

      ‘What’s wrong with Welly-wanging is that I don’t know what it is… but it sounds utterly provincial and I can’t imagine people coming to a festival to wang a Welly. Also, it sounds quite filthy, not family-friendly at all.’

      Jody’s brow furrowed. ‘Oh my God. What are you on? It’s not dirty, it’s throwing a Wellington and whoever throws it the furthest wins a prize.’ She shook her head, indignation radiating off her. ‘I don’t know what you folk from the city get up to so that you think something like Welly-wanging sounds filthy and, quite frankly, I don’t want to.’

      Christian adopted a calm tone, the opposite to Jody’s raised pitch. ‘Well even if it’s a sweet and innocent game, it doesn’t sound all that interesting and it really doesn’t seem all that much fun either. There are so many things we could do. Things that will attract people to come rather than repel them.’

      ‘Like what?’ Jody took a step towards him, her chin tilted, defiant. ‘What would be more fun than throwing a Wellington as far as you can?’

      ‘What wouldn’t be? Pony rides. They’d be fun. Amusement park rides. Vintage car displays go down well. What was the idea that sparked this whole festival again?’

      Jody’s СКАЧАТЬ