Page 27 of The Fete of Summer

“Yes, that could prove challenging,” said Jenny. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Get him flat on his back in a pair of stirrups. Give the bastard a taste of his own medicine,” said Polly, which had everyone except Arlene laughing, with Doris coughing uncontrollably and Father Mulligan wheezing.

“Can we please let Jenny finish?” said Arlene.

“Actually, I think that’s a marvellous idea, Polly,” said Jenny, still chuckling at Polly’s suggestion. “Maybe you could help me with ideas for others in the team. Anyway, I have three full days set aside for the shoot this month and will arrange time slots. We’ll be using my private studio in Mayfield for some of the pictures, as well as the changing room and showers at the football team clubhouse. I’ll let each of the players know when and where they’ll be needed.”

Nathan closed his eyes. His stomach cramped every time he thought about the shoot. Jaymes had offered to accompany him to his session. He’d declined, of course, telling him he didn’t want someone he considered a friend seeing him in the buff. Not that his reasoning made any sense. Once the calendar had been published, everyone would see him in the buff. Jaymes had simply been offering moral support and had shrugged off Nathan’s snub.

“I’ve agreed with the local police to close off Church Lane again,” came Arlene’s voice. “And this year, having all produce and food stalls on either side down towards St Mary’s—”

“Whoah. Hang on a minute. We’re not having village stalls on the green?” interrupted Mikey. “We’ve always had local shop owners’ booths on the village green. I rely on that spot to showcase my specialist produce. Sausages, cold cuts, meat pies and the like.”

At Mikey’s words, Nathan’s attention swung back to the room. One of his father’s stipulations about being on the committee had been on the understanding that the Fresher stall would be set up at the entrance on the village green to greet people as they arrived.

“I agree with Mike,” said Nathan. “Local stalls have always been offered pride of place. Vendors from out of town get to set up along Church Lane. Are we being asked to compete with everyone else now?”

“I plan to reserve the prime village green space for more fun and crowd-drawing attractions such as the cake-baking competition. Isn’t fun the point of the summer fête?” said Arlene. Nathan noticed that when she became defensive, she crossed her legs at the ankles and forced them beneath her seat.

“Complete rubbish,” said Polly, sitting up straight. “You could set the cake competition up here in the village hall. Even some of the fun stalls could line the road and encourage visitors to circulate. One of the key reasons for the summer fête is to support and promote local merchants. It’s not called the Crumbington Fête for nothing.”

“Hear, hear,” said Father Mulligan, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Maybe we should take a vote,” said Mikey.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Michael. I can see everyone feels the same way. I’ll take your comments into consideration. Anyway, that’s all for tonight,” said Arlene. “By the next meeting, we should have the final layout plan and hopefully a mocked-up calendar. At which point I’ll present my marketing strategy. If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you in March. Jenny, follow me, please.”

Arlene had made a point of hanging around at the end of the last meeting and socialising with everyone. That night, she packed her bag promptly and headed for the door with Jenny trailing behind. Had she been irritated by their disapproval? Nathan watched her go and turned to find Doris had moved over to sit in the empty seat beside him.

“Are you well, Nathan, dear?” she asked, lightly touching his forearm with her frail hand.

Doris rarely spoke for any length to anyone except Father Mulligan. Nathan felt surprised and honoured. When he peered around the room, Polly and Mikey had busied themselves folding chairs away and clearing them into the storeroom. Father Mulligan stood at the door of the hall with his arms folded, waiting patiently for Doris. The two always left together. Polly often giggled about religious Father Mulligan being best friends—maybe more—with polytheist, tea-leaf reading, computer whiz Doris Watts.

“I’m fine, Doris. Why do you ask?”

“Ever since you sat down tonight, I’ve noticed a change in your aura. Streaks of orangey-red in amongst your usual grey.”

“Oh. I see,” said Nathan, even though he didn’t. “What does that mean?”

“I believe our auras draw energies from things going on around us, predicting them long before we realise ourselves. Combined orange and red auras relate to ambition and passion. Maybe someone has developed strong feelings for you. How’s your love life at the moment?”

Nathan coughed into his fist and glanced around nervously to see if anyone had heard. He would be lying if he said Clifton’s return hadn’t dredged up old feelings.

“Absolutely nothing happening on that front, Doris.”

“Maybe not yet, but brace yourself. Something’s coming. At least that’s what a flickering aura like yours usually indicates.”

“Let’s just hope it’s something good,” said Nathan with a grin.

“I agree,” she said. “If anyone deserves a bit of cheer, it’s you. And some advice from an old lady. Remember that happiness is a choice, Nathan. We choose whether to be happy. There are always going to be difficulties in our lives, but it’s our choice whether we let negativity control us. And there are a lot of people quietly cheering for you. Wishing only the best for you.”

In the years he had known Doris, those were probably the most words she had ever spoken to him. And on that cryptic note, she gave his forearm a final squeeze and a pat before joining Father Mulligan.

“What did Doris want?” asked Polly, leaving Mikey to clear the last of the chairs away.

“Heaven only knows. Something about my aura.”

“Your what?”

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