“Not that we would want to put on such a formal event,” he added. “Most of us were thinking of a few likely lads having a go at making some larky soap boxes and putting on a race or two to entertain the crowds.”
“What crowds!?” burst out Gavin. “Think big, man, think big! If we do the thing properly, we could get hundreds of spectators, and with the right extra attractions organised by me, we could make a packet.”
Derek raised his eyebrows, and passed Lois’s papers to Tony Dibson, who was sitting at the end of the row of chairs. “Have a look at these, everybody,” Derek said. “Then we shall know what we’re talking about. And while we’re doing that, perhaps Father Rodney will tell us about his plans for a flower festival in the church on the same day.”
By the time Hazel had given her preliminary report on what other groups in the village might contribute, including an art and crafts marquee on the playing fields, the papers had reached John Thornbull, the last to read them, and he handed them back to Derek.
“Thank you, Hazel,” Derek said. “Sounds very promising. Now, you’ve all had a chance to look through those details, so back to the soap box grand prix.”
Recognising that his festival was once more receding into the distance, Gavin jumped in with an offer to take the soap box project outside into a wider world, resulting in a bigger potential crowd on the day. “I could take the details on how to make the soap boxes to the local tech college. They have an engineering department, and might be pleased to make it their big practical learning project for the summer term. As far as safety goes, we just have to liaise with our friendly cops and make sure we comply with the necessary regulations.”
Talks like a politician, thought Tony Dibson. He whispered into Floss’s young and pretty ear that he bet her a shillin’ that Adstone would be MP for Tresham before long. Derek frowned at him, and politely thanked Gavin for his suggestion. Then he asked Floss what she thought would appeal to the young folk in the village.
“It’s got to be fun,” she said straightaway. “We got to get them putting their own ideas into designing the soap boxes, and have as few rules as we can. I don’t see why we have to involve anybody outside the village. For Farnden, by Farnden. That’s what I reckon, anyway.”
There was a small round of applause, with Gavin noticeably failing to join in.
“For Farnden, by Farnden!” echoed Tony Dibson. “That’s it, gel. You got it!”
TWELVE
SO HOW DID IT GO?” LOIS SAID. SHE SOMEHOW MANAGED TO concentrate on her favourite quiz show and listen to Derek at the same time. At least, he hoped she was listening, as he gave her an edited version of the meeting’s reasonably pleasant beginning, and far from pleasant end.
“So anyway,” he said, “we all more or less agreed on Floss asking if she could go down there next week and talk to the kids, fill ’em in on what we’re planning, and see what their reaction is.”
Lois nodded, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Sounds good,” she said. “And you could try one of you going down the Youth Club and asking the kids what they think.”
Derek marched across the room to the television set, stood in front of it, and told Lois that she hadn’t listened to a word he’d said, and if she wasn’t interested, he might as well save his breath.
Gran, who up to that moment had kept silent, roared with laughter. “You tell her, Derek!” she said.
Lois’s face was stony. She reached for the remote control, and with great solemnity switched off the set. She turned to Derek. “I do apologise, Mr. Chairman,” she said. “I wonder if you’d mind repeating what you just said.”
“Bollocks!” said Derek, and asked if anyone wanted a coffee, because he was parched with talking too much. He marched out of the room, and Lois hastily followed. As she went, she winked at Gran. “A little lovin’ will put it right,” she said, and shut the door behind her.
When they returned with coffee all round, Gran could see equilibrium had been restored. She decided to take up where Derek had left off, and asked why the meeting had ended unpleasantly.
“Yeah.” Lois nodded. “Did Father Rodney suggest an evenin’ of lap dancing, or what?”
Derek gave her a warning look, and said it happened after the meeting had closed and they were all walking through the village together, having agreed that a pint in the pub would be a good idea. “Then Hazel stopped dead in the middle of the road, and said she could smell smoke.”
“What, a chimney on fire?” said Gran.
Derek shook his head. “No. At first none of the rest of us could smell it, but then Floss said she could, and it smelled like petrol or something oily.”
Lois sat up straight, all attention. “So what was it? Did you investigate? We haven’t heard no fire engines, have we, Gran?”
“Guess,” Derek said flatly.
“The village hall,” Lois said. “Go on.”
“Well, we all rushed round there, and we could see smoke. Not much, but then Gavin found a bit of smoldering wood shoved in under the porch. You know that wooden roof bit, where it shelters the main door. He grabbed it out, and stamped on it. We could all smell the petrol smell then, and went round the whole building to make sure there weren’t no more places where it’d been fired.”
“So you told the police?” Lois said.
Derek shook his head. “No point in getting them this late,” he said. “We agreed I’d phone them in the morning and report it. In fact,” he added, with a look at Lois, “I thought our own village sleuth might like to talk to her cop. You can’t beat going right to the top, as I told the rest.”
There was silence for a minute or two, and then Lois said quietly that she would be pleased to give Inspector Cowgill a ring, especially as she knew the police were aware of the previous attempt on the village hall.
“Did the others have any idea who might have done it?” she asked Derek.
“Well, Gavin Adstone was full of possible suspects, mostly gypsies and passing tramps, but mainly the others seemed to think it was the kids who meet up round the back of the hall. Tony Dibson said he reckoned the new woman in Pickerings’ house has a teenage tearaway who’s been in trouble before.”
“Jack Jr.,” said Lois, with a sigh. “Young Jack Hickson. His mum, Paula, is coming to work for me. She’s joining the team. And yes, I’ve heard she’s had one or two problems with her son Jack.”
Derek groaned, and Gran nodded in sympathy. “So we’re right in it, Lois, once more,” he said.
“Trust you, Lois,” Gran added. “All the nice women there are around needing jobs, and you have to take on a single mother with four sons, living on Social Services, abandoned by a violent no-good husband who could turn up any minute. Great. Well done, Lois.”
Lois stood up. “Have you finished, both of you?” she said coldly. “Then I’m off to bed. I’ll make the call first thing in the morning, Derek. And for your information, Paula Hickson is a very good, responsible mother, desperate to earn a bit of extra and not be a total drag on the state.
“The end of a perfect day,” Derek said gloomily.
“She’ll come round. She always does.” Gran knew she was on thin ice here. Living with your daughter’s family was not always a cushy billet.
THIRTEEN
DON’T FORGET,” DEREK SAID NEXT MORNING, AS HE PULLED on his boots ready to go up to the allotment.
“I don’t need reminding,” Lois said. “I reckon something very nasty is going on, and I don’t mean gypsies and passing tramps. You go, and I’ll tell you what Cowgill says at lunchtime. He may not be in his office yet, but I can
