Page 53 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘History? Art? Music? How about the natural world? Physics?’ Mrs Moxley was leaning forward, her hands on the table as she grilled him.

‘Let’s just see how he gets on,’ Pen said. ‘If he’s useless, we don’t have to have him next week.’

‘Agreed!’ Mrs Moxley cried. ‘Now get the drinks in. Dee, it’s your turn. I bought the final round last week.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Do we ask him—’ she jerked a thumb at Owen ‘—if he wants one, only he looks like he’s not got two pennies to rub together.’

Owen hastily got to his feet. ‘Ladies, let me get these.’

Mrs Moxley puffed out her lined cheeks. ‘Go on then, if you can afford it. But don’t think this means you’ll be part of our team next week. You’ve got to earn your place.’

Owen laughed. ‘Understood.’

‘Dee, go with him. You know what everyone wants.’

Dee shot him a pained look. ‘Sorry,’ she said, when they were out of earshot. ‘Mrs Moxley can be a bit too forthright for her own good, and Pen is nearly as bad.’

‘Does she have a first name?’ he asked, as they waited to be served.

‘It’s Pen, short for Penny.’ Dee pulled a face.

‘Mrs Moxley,’ he clarified.

Dai butted in, ‘I’ve only ever known her as Mrs Moxley. I think “missus” mightbeher first name. What can I get you, Dee? The usual, is it?’ The landlord looked over at Owen’s table. ‘I did warn you,’ he said to Owen.

‘I honestly don’t mind.’ The more time he spent in Foxmore, and in The Jolly Fox in particular, the more enamoured of the village he was becoming. There was such an eclectic mix of characters and quirky personalities that there was never a dull moment. And although he found it disconcerting everyone knowing everyone else’s business, it was also comforting.

As Dee helped him carry the drinks back, she whispered in his ear, ‘Mrs Moxley’s first name is June, but don’t let on that I’ve told you.’

He sat down and had only just taken a sip of his drink when Dai announced that the quiz was starting.

‘We call ourselves “Team Macbeth”,’ Mrs Moxley stated, getting a pen out of her handbag.

‘Am I Duncan?’ Owen asked.

Mrs Moxley let out a loud cackle. ‘There’s hope for him yet,’ she chortled. ‘I had to explain it to Dai.’

‘I would never have thought you were in any way witch-like,’ Owen said, gallantly.

Mrs Moxley eyed him. ‘I can see why Harriet likes him. He’s not just a pretty face, is he?’

Owen could feel heat stealing into his cheeks.

‘Aw, you’ve made him blush.’ Pen giggled.

‘Can we have silence, please!’ Dai yelled. ‘We’ll be here until last orders at this rate.’

Gradually, the bar fell silent and Dai cleared his throat. ‘Question one. Which sport uses a ball that weighs between five and six ounces?’

Mutterings travelled through the room as the various teams put their heads together.

‘I know this,’ Mrs Moxley said in a low voice. ‘It’s cricket.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Definitely. Owen, would you agree?’ Mrs Moxley jabbed the pen at him.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Owen admitted. ‘I told you, I’m no good at sport.’

‘We’ll stick with cricket, then,’ the old lady decided, and she wrote the answer down.

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