Outside

Chapter Thirty Eight

The Mayor brings the cart to an impressive stop at a jaunty angle by the hedge and we all climb out. By now the hubbub of voices is overwhelming and although I can’t yet see anyone it sounds as if we’ve landed in the middle of a huge crowd.

We follow the Mayor through a small wooden gate and he leads us down a steep grassy slope. We find ourselves on a wide avenue of leafy horse chestnuts, thronged with people, all chattering excitedly and heading in the same direction. They nod deferentially to the Mayor as he passes by and he tips his tall hat in acknowledgement, greeting each person by name.

Aubrey Rowbotham must be well into his seventies, but he walks like a much younger man, purposefully and upright, threading his way through the crowd. We have some difficulty keeping up with him, constantly distracted by all the sights and sounds, but we manage to keep sight of his peacock-blue hat bobbing along.

Everyone is sporting vividly-coloured, homemade clothes and equally outlandish headwear – it appears, in this town, the Mayor‘s coat and top hat are not considered an eccentricity. I wonder whether they dress like this every day, or whether it’s just some kind of fancy dress for the fair. I feel drab and underdressed by comparison.

Most people are carrying baskets or coarsely-woven picnic hampers and some have bright rugs slung over their arms. The heat of the day ensures a pervading smell of body odour, but this is offset by the scent of freshly cut grass – not too bad compared with the world-class stench of the Charminster Compound.

I realise that all the townsfolk are staring curiously at us as we pass, gawking at our clothes and nudging each other, whispering or giggling in our wake. But they appear to be friendly enough and the girls especially, seem to be very taken with Luc. I feel a new sensation – a small spurt of green jealousy – as I see him smile at a particularly pretty blonde, who’s shamelessly eying him up. She’s pulled ahead by an older man who I’m guessing is her father. He says some cross words to her and she soon stops smiling.

Up ahead, I see another unexpected sight – a wonderful creamy-coloured castle, perched on a low hill, with a solid dark grey wall around its base. The crowd suddenly comes to a stop and we finally manage to catch up with the Mayor. Without any warning, Mayor Aubrey Rowbotham takes hold of my arm and propels me forward, giving me barely enough time to grab hold of Luc’s hand, as the crowd parts to let us through. I see what’s caused our abrupt halt – a small red iron bridge that only allows for two abreast. As we cross, I look down at the almost stagnant dark green river below us, hiding beneath a mess of tangled reeds.

We step off the bridge into a huge field where the fair is being held. The stalls, rides and events are all set up here, in the shadow of the large storybook castle.

‘I must dash off to resume my judgely duties,’ says the Mayor. ‘I’ll meet you in the tea tent at four pm for afternoon tea. Enjoy yourselves. Any problems, find Marcia in the VIP tent by the show jumping arena. She knows you’re here.’

And with that, he strides off into the crowd, until all we can see is the iridescent tip of his top hat.

To our left is a fenced-off shooting range, but instead of guns, the competitors are wielding huge crossbows. The bright cloth targets are wrapped around large wooden discs propped up on stands, under five tall sycamore trees. Luc smiles at me and we wander over to watch, in something of a daze.

As far as I can tell, each competitor hands over some kind of token – a piece of fruit, a small cake, or the like – as their entrance stake which goes into a large basket. Then the person is handed a crossbow and half-a-dozen or so arrows, with which they have to try and hit the red inner ring. If they manage it, they go through to the next round, if not, they’re out of the competition. Most of the entrants hit the blue or white outer rings, prompting good-natured jeers from the onlookers. I guess the overall competition winner will receive the basket of goodies. A young boy, who’s helping his father man the stall, notices Luc and me and tries to get Luc to enter.

‘Afraid of embarrassing yourself in front of the young lady,’ says the boy’s father.

‘Something like that,’ replies Luc.

‘Come on in, I’ll show you how it’s done. Let you have a few practice goes.’

Luc climbs over the fence amidst a few rowdy cheers. He takes a silver bit out of his pocket and passes it to the man.

‘Very generous. That’ll get you a few goes.’

His first practice shots go wildly out and strike the grass in front of the target, but as he gets a feel for the crossbow, he starts hitting the cloth. He looks disappointed that he hasn’t hit the inner ring and his last shot lands just a millimetre from the red. Everyone ‘oohs’ in sympathy and Luc clambers back over to join me.

‘That’s harder than it looks. It’s good fun though. Do you want a go?’

‘Maybe later.’ Normally it’s the sort of thing I’d love to do, but we haven’t had any lunch and I’m hungry. I just want to wander around and relax, after our adrenaline-filled morning of madness.

‘Have you got any silver left?’ I ask. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Me too.’ He pulls a handful of silver bits out of his pocket. ‘We’re loaded,’ he grins.

‘Brilliant. Let’s go and find some food.’

He puts his arm around me and we head towards an impressive striped marquee. There are wooden tables and chairs outside the tent, with a spit roast, a barbeque, a salad bar and a covered stall piled high with various wrapped sandwiches, cakes and fruit. Inside the marquee, are more tables and chairs but there isn’t a spare seat to be had. In the corner, a long curved bar sells alcohol, juices and smoothies. In the opposite corner, an Irish fiddle band is pumping out energetic tunes and loads of people are dancing.

‘Luc, if you want a few beers, go ahead. I’ll drive later if you like.’

‘Riley, do you know what I’m thinking? What if we spend the whole day here. Maybe even see if we can stay the night somewhere. I think we need a break before we head back on the road. What do you think?’

‘That would be amazing.’ I smile at the thought of being able to really enjoy Luc’s company and not at having to venture outside straightaway. It’s so exhausting and unpredictable out there. It would be good to not have to worry for a while. The only niggle of concern is that our parents will still be worrying about us, but I push it selfishly to the back of my mind. ‘Shall we go and find that Marcia woman and see if she knows if there’s somewhere we can stay?’

‘Yeah, let’s go now then we can come back, eat and relax.’

We head off to find the show jumping arena, caught up in the festive mood and excited at the thought of an indulgent, relaxing afternoon, free from the worries of the road. We pass Shetland pony rides, craft stalls and a beautiful red and white striped helter skelter slide that I decide to have a go on later.

We stop for a few moments to watch the birds of prey and their handlers. There are falcons, hawks, buzzards and a magnificent eagle owl. They are fascinating, beautiful creatures and we both agree we could easily watch them all day, with their intelligent yellow eyes and haughty expressions. Finally, we spy the VIP tent with a couple of burly bouncers outside.

‘Hello,’ I say to one of them. ‘Is Marcia here? The Mayor told us it would be okay for us to see her.’

‘Wait there,’ he says and disappears inside the tent. He returns moments later with a large round lady, dressed from head to toe in royal blue silk. She has an unflattering blue bonnet perched on her shiny bowl haircut and a row of green bangles jangle on her arm. She’s drains the contents of her pint glass as she strides towards us.

‘Hello, hello. I’m Marcia Rowbotham. You must be our visitors. Care for a drink? I’m on the Old Ozzlehorn, it’s a great tipple.’

She shakes our hands and we follow her into the tent. The interior sparkles like a glamorous five-star hotel in a scene from a movie. We have to take our footwear off at the entrance and put on a pair of silken embroidered Turkish slippers. I can see why, as I step from grass into deep cream shag-pile carpet.

Great long sofas and ornate armchairs have been arranged in cosy groups around low dark wood tables. Dining tables are laid out in elegant rows. Crystal chandeliers glitter from the ceiling and a string quartet plays soothing sounds, blending with soft chatter and the gentle clink of glasses and silver cutlery. You would never guess we were in the middle of a field on a hot summer’s day.

Next to the bar, a sumptuous buffet is laid out on white cloth-covered trestles and the VIPs are digging in with barely-concealed abandon, all as outlandishly dressed as Marcia Rowbotham. It’s a strange sight and these eccentric people look completely at odds with their formal surroundings.

‘What can I do for you young ‘uns?’ she says, handing us each a half pint of beer and motioning for us all to sit on one of the sofas.

‘We were just wondering if it would be possible to stay here overnight and then carry on with our journey in the morning?’ I ask.

‘Course it would. Not a problem. You can stay with us at the Lodge. Aubs and I will meet you for afternoon tea at four, we’ll talk then. Now I must get back to meeting and greeting. You go off and enjoy yourselves. We’ll see you later. Leave the glasses in the tent, when you’ve finished.’

She heaves her huge bulk off the soft armchair and is gone. My stomach is rumbling with disappointment that she didn’t offer us any of the delicious-looking food from the buffet, and the beer’s making me light-headed. But on second thoughts, I’m relieved we don’t have to stay and make small talk with strangers. I want Luc all to myself.

We spend a glorious three-and-a-half hours, eating, drinking and dozing in the sunshine. We also have a good wander around the fair, exclaiming at the exceptionally gorgeous farm animals – shaggy coated cattle, llamas, plumptious poultry, curly horned rams, comical ducks, spotted pigs, yellow-eyed goats and all their adorable offspring. We watch the show jumping, the pony and trap display and the tractor racing.

As much as I’m enjoying all the sights, my breath is shallow and my senses are heightened. Each time Luc touches my hand or my arm, it’s like I’m on fire. When we kiss lightly, I want the world to melt away so we can kiss deeply. But now isn’t the time and I have to tell myself that we’ve got all the time in the world. That we can enjoy having fun this afternoon, because the rest can come later.

The highlight of the afternoon’s entertainment is Penny Purvis, a drunken goose shepherdess, trying to herd her flock through a tricky course, in front of a highly amused audience. She’s wearing a microphone and swearing like a trooper to her oblivious birds, prompting howls of laughter and outraged gasps, before being forcibly removed from the arena. Time whizzes by in a contented blur and soon four o’clock rolls around – time for tea.