by Penny Parkes
Elsie raised one perfectly pencilled eyebrow. ‘That’s as may be, young man, but have you actually told them that?’
‘Bugger,’ sighed Connor. ‘You mean they don’t know? I’ve been telling people that for weeks . . .’
‘I think, mate,’ said Taffy gently, ‘that when people are really fired up about something, they don’t necessarily listen to your answers. They just want you to hear their reservations.’
‘True,’ concurred Holly. ‘If my day was anything to go by, there’s an awful lot of me-me-me thinking and very little actual listening going on. Doesn’t mean it’s their fault, just that we need to find better ways to communicate our position. In my case, I should never have assumed that people would automatically understand the concept of help going to those in greatest medical need, on the basis that one day it might be them.’
‘Hardly rocket science,’ scoffed Elsie. ‘Are you sure they didn’t understand?’
Holly shrugged. ‘I think if there’s something better on offer, then it’s human nature to want a piece of the action, a few minutes of special attention. Even if it is just for dandruff, or travel sickness.’
‘To be fair,’ mused Taffy, in danger of becoming an idealist himself after quite so much wine on a school night, ‘half of these time-wasting reasons to come to The Practice are often a smokescreen for the real problem that’s worrying them, though, don’t you find? Hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, clock ticking around, “There was just one other thing, doctor . . .” You know what I mean.’
Connor nodded; after all, hadn’t he himself often done something similar? It never ceased to amaze him how interconnected all their lives, their jobs, their issues were in this small town.
‘You know,’ Holly said after a moment’s reflection, ‘if people are against your festival on principle, because they think it’s just a posh-nob’s party in their own backyard, there is something you could do about that.’
Connor mouthed mutedly, clearly aghast at having his labour of love described so cynically.
‘I’m not saying that’s what it is – I’m saying that Elsie’s right and that perception might be what’s holding you back,’ Holly clarified.
‘Well, there’s not a lot I can really do to change that, is there?’ Connor said tiredly, feeling his enthusiasm almost physically leaching away. ‘I’m already giving everyone free passes – that’s no small kick to the bottom line, you know.’
‘Ah well, there’s the problem,’ Elsie said, sitting back in her chair and sipping delicately at some sparkling water that Holly had carefully substituted for her wine glass as she’d reached for a top-up. ‘You’re already richer than Croesus. I’m guessing there’s a school of thought that believes you making a profit on this folly at all is a little distasteful.’
‘Folly? You’ll be calling it a vanity project next,’ Connor retorted crossly, taking her comments very personally indeed. Had she not got the memo that he was feeling a little fragile of late?
‘Not my words, darling boy. Just keeping my ear to the ground, you know,’ Elsie replied apologetically, her guilt making her outspoken and blunt.
‘I have to pay the acts though, Elsie. They won’t just come for the love of it, you know,’ Connor said. ‘It’s hardly as though the profit margin is a mile wide, either. Contingency funds, public liability insurance – none of that comes for free.’
‘What if they did come for free – your acts? Would there be a lot more profit then?’ Lizzie mused, having been largely silent for most of the proceedings. It was her first proper night out since the operation and, much as Connor valued her support and her presence, he worried that she was overdoing it.
Connor frowned. ‘Well, obviously. But—’
‘You know the big festivals – like Glastonbury and Bestival and what’s that other one, where it’s all hippy dippy? Down in Cornwall? Well, they make a lot of money, yes? They’re businesses in their own right,’ Lizzie continued.
‘Of course,’ said Connor. ‘They’re well established and have a loyal clientele that go back year after year. I’m just starting out, so I need to open with a bang – with some big names to act as a draw. Like they do at the movies. It says Julia Roberts on the poster and you go, right, you don’t necessarily even watch the trailer?’
‘Sure,’ interrupted Holly. ‘But is this something you want to do year after year – are you trying to build a brand? I’m only asking because, to my mind, it makes a difference,’ she said astutely.
Connor frowned as he pondered her question. Was this something he wanted to do every year – was this year simply the start of something? Or possibly even the end of something? Because, Holly was right – the answer to this question actually changed everything.
‘If you’re only doing it once, just for shits and giggles, you should really go big or go home,’ said Elsie shrewdly. It was her standard go-to advice for almost anything from weddings, to cocktails, to the size of her fancy new Emperor bed.
‘I think,‘ said Connor slowly, thinking his way forward tentatively, ‘this is my way of saying goodbye to Rachel, to the life and the plans we had together.’ He looked almost surprised by the words coming out of his mouth, as though he hadn’t actually acknowledged his own motivation until that evening. ‘I think my future involves a lot more goats and bees than chart-toppers or concerts.’
‘Crikey,’ said Taffy. ‘You’re no johnny-come-lately gentleman farmer, then? You’re really going to walk away from the whole fame thing?’
Connor nodded slowly, as though making the decision in that moment, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. ‘D’you know, Taffs, I really am done. The thought of another world tour . . . All that travel and upheaval and constant arse-kissing . . .’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ butted in Elsie. ‘Never underestimate the mood-boosting properties of a little sycophancy.’
‘Not like this,’ Connor disagreed. He looked around the table as though considering his audience. ‘After Rachel, you know? Well, I did try to throw myself back into it all – but it’s just no fun without her there taking the piss. The band all take everything so seriously – even down to how many groupies they can take back to their hotel room. It’s like competitive shagging.’ He gave a shudder. ‘The last time I dated anyone was before I became “Somebody”.’ He made air-quotes with his fingers. ‘And everything has changed. I mean, I did try to loosen up and enjoy the spoils of success but grass makes me paranoid, I’m terrified of coke, and the only one-night stand I had, it was like shagging Barbie. Seriously, this girl must have been waxed from neck to toe. Awful.’ He offered up an apologetic smile. ‘I just don’t think I’m cut out for that life anymore.’
‘So why even bother with this festival then?’ asked Taffy, clearly a little thrown by Connor’s heartfelt confession on the realities of life on tour.
‘End of an era? Go out with a bang? I honestly don’t know. It’s just something I really wanted to do – I genuinely thought people would be pleased, as well. What an egomaniac! It was something a little different too, you know? With the Solstice and everything? I really thought the people of Larkford would embrace the idea—’
‘Assuming they knew they were even invited,’ Elsie cut in.
‘Well, yes, obviously that was the first mistake in a litany of many.’
‘Do you still want to try?’ Holly asked. ‘Only, I think there’s something we could look into that might yet turn everything around.’
Taffy groaned quietly; he’d seen that look on his wife’s face before: the look that said she meant business. It was quite a pleasant change, he realised, to see it in a wider context again, rather than of late, applied at bath-time with the remit of bathing two sets of twins without casualties. Although he would never again underestimate the powers of persuasion and diplomacy that little task involved.
‘Tell me more,’ said Connor, refilling everyone’s glasses. ‘My God, this was a good idea,’ he blurted suddenly. ‘I’ve learned more
about myself and my crazy broken heart in the last two hours than in all those months of grief counselling last year. Who knew I wanted to give Rachel a better send-off than standing over a rain-sodden grave, off my face on Valium – I can barely remember it, you know? And it’s not like she was even religious – just hedging her bets, she always said. But she loved anything alternative or a bit Pagan and when I saw those stones, it was like . . . Well, fate I suppose. So maybe this festival is a testament to her – to how she actually lived. Books, food and music – all created with passion. How did I not see that? Even when that slimy little journo point-blank asked me?’
‘Grief is like wearing blinkers every day,’ Elsie said quietly. ‘It’s not always intrusive, but it narrows your field of vision so you’re only living half a life.’ She reached for his hand, both their beringed fingers entwining. ‘It doesn’t stay that way, darling boy. This too shall pass.’
‘Does the guilt fade too?’ Connor murmured, focusing on their hands entwined. ‘When your life continues, and theirs doesn’t? When maybe you start having feelings for someone new? Does it get any easier?’
Elsie nodded. ‘It does, but it takes time. Anyone worth loving, might be worth waiting for. Just so they get the whole you, not the fragmented pieces left over from your marriage.’
Connor looked up and saw that Taffy was about to leap in with questions, his lips almost already forming the shape of the word ‘who’, even as Holly shook her head gently. Connor had already shared so much this evening – he felt utterly spent – and he shot Holly a grateful glance. This at least could wait; he would tell them about his feelings for Kitty when he was ready.
‘So,’ Holly said, giving him a supportive smile, seemingly determined to steer the conversation onto safer ground, ‘do you want to hear my fabulous idea, or not?’
Chapter 43
Holly and Alice wound in and out of the various stalls in the Market Place, sipping their coffees and browsing the sudden influx of all things ‘Christmas’ the next day. Fifteen minutes. That was all they could wrangle for their lunch hour, but staying inside and eating had never been an option. Not with the recent thaw bringing blue skies and fresh, crisp air.
‘. . . and so, as I explained to Connor, if we rebrand his festival as a charity event, then not only can we actually make a fundamental difference, but he might not face so much opposition. What do you think?’ Holly asked, running her fingers over a particularly soft knitted wrap on one of the displays and wondering whether Taffy’s mum would deem it too decadent a gift.
Alice shrugged. ‘Makes sense, I suppose. I mean, if he can get the acts to take a reduced fee or donate their time?’ She looked a little confused. ‘But, Holly, what’s all this got to do with me?’
‘Ah, yes, well I was just getting to that bit,’ said Holly, well used to Alice’s finely honed, Scottish, get-to-the-point sensibilities. ‘Connor feels that to make the whole thing about Rachel is a little, well, self-indulgent – his words, not mine – so we’re putting together a couple of local charities to run alongside the Air Ambulance, that might really resonate with the residents of Larkford. Matthew Giles’s Young Carers’ Drop-In Centre is already confirmed and . . .’
Holly paused, wanting to frame the suggestion in the most convincing way possible. ‘Well, I also told him about your new role at The Practice, about all the commitments you were currently juggling, but that you’d taken it on because you felt so strongly about the importance of assistance animals.’
‘We all feel strongly about it—’ Alice interrupted.
‘Exactly,’ said Holly. ‘In fact, can you think of a more unifying issue – think about it: Air Ambulance and Assistance Animals . . . The other AAs. Well, and Matthew.’
‘Crikey,’ breathed Alice. ‘That could make all the difference, really. A little bit of operating capital.’
Holly nodded, an impish grin lighting up her face; she really was becoming a meddler of the highest order, Elsie’s years of tuition having taught her well. ‘And I had a thought about what you could spend some of it on.’
Alice merely waited, never one to supplicate.
‘You’d have to register as an official charity, of course, but then you would need to hire a trainer,’ suggested Holly. ‘Maybe a dog trainer, who’s in the market for local, yet meaningful employment? Maybe somebody who could really get the best out of the animals that we place and who you might be comfortable liaising with on a daily basis?’
‘Oh!’ managed Alice, one hand hovering over her mouth as she blinked to process the very thought. ‘Bring Jamie home? Is that what you’re suggesting? That’s hardly charity.’
‘Not for you, you daft muppet. For the project. You’ll need some expertise if you’re going to make a proper go of it. And, I was just thinking, it would dovetail nicely with that part-time position he was offered.’
‘Well, he reckons he couldn’t move back just for part-time work, although he’s tempted just to hand in his resignation over there right now,’ Alice mused. ‘But then two halves do make a whole.’ She swallowed hard and pulled Holly into such a rib-cracking hug that she gasped, still unclear whether the two halves in question were of the personal or professional variety.
Alice held on tight, clearly using their embrace to try and compose herself before she was spotted sobbing in the market. Again.
‘More lesbians,’ sniffed Gladys Jones as she walked by and gave them an appraising glance. ‘Do you think we’re missing a trick, Doreen? Based on the calibre of the menfolk around here, maybe they’re on to something?’
Holly and Alice pulled apart and tried not to laugh, especially as Gladys tried to hold Doreen’s hand and Doreen swatted her away with her straw shopper. ‘I shall have to tell Plum and Tilly that one. They’re clearly inspirational.’
‘They always have been,’ Alice supplied. ‘Just for different reasons. I mean, have you ever stopped to look at how stunningly stylish your nanny is? It’s enough to send me back to my shopping addiction, just to try and emulate her natural chic.’
‘True,’ replied Holly. ‘I try not to focus on that too much or I’d never get dressed and leave the house. She’s been rather disparaging about my leggings, to be honest. She and Elsie ganged up and chucked my favourite pair on the fire, can you believe it?’
‘Were they the grey ones with the Smurf knees?’ asked Alice. ‘Because if so, I should jot them a note of thanks.’ She grinned, an undeniable lift to her step that had not been put there by talk of leggings. ‘Do you really think Connor could pull this off? Not just bringing Jamie home, obviously, I’m not that self-centred.’ She gave a small self-deprecating laugh. ‘But to change the focus of his festival so completely? I mean, he must have so many things already organised?’
‘Ah, therein lies the key,’ Holly replied, dropping her voice. ‘Connor, I fear, is more of a thinker than a doer. He’s got all the licences and things in place, and a few top-notch acts signed up, but it’s like he ran out of steam when half of Larkford seemed against him. There’s so much to do, it’s almost mental. But thankfully, we have in our midst a very bored, very frustrated diva with a clipboard who has volunteered to step up as coordinator.’
‘Lizzie,’ they both said at the same time. It was the obvious solution and the perfect match, but for one thing.
‘You don’t think she’s got the tiniest inappropriate crush on him though, do you?’ Alice checked quietly, having borne witness to several episodes of Connor And Lizzie Go Mad In Larkford over the last few months.
‘Nah, it’s all good,’ said Holly, with confidence. Lizzie was already rising to the challenge with this festival – even if still wearing pyjamas – all of her pent-up creative energies having finally found an appropriate outlet.
They continued to walk, occasionally stopping to buy a delicious pear, or a bunch of flowers. Each stall looked so inviting; the aroma of mulled wine, the promise of ‘shopping local’ for Christmas and the welcome sunshine had brought the residents of Lark
ford out in droves.
‘You know,’ said Alice, ‘when I was up at Blackleigh Farm last night talking to Charlotte about Banana, I bumped into Kitty. And it occurred to me that she and Connor seem to be spending an awful lot of time together these days, what with the goats, and our mad dash down to Dorset and everything,’ Alice said, fishing for the inside line from a different perspective.
‘Ah well, he has just taken on Jamieson,’ Holly pointed out equably, not giving too much away. Not that Connor had exactly confided his feelings for their lovely young vet, but Holly had noticed that mention of Kitty’s name was the only thing guaranteed to bring a sparkle to his eye. ‘And that has to be a labour of love – that poor dog is held together by fur and pharmaceuticals.’
‘They’d make a gorgeous couple, don’t you think? Can you imagine anything more romantic?’ Alice looked rather taken by the notion. ‘Falling in love over a new venture, setting up the farm together and nursing old Jamieson through his twilight years . . .’
‘Dicky bladder and all,’ said Holly drily.
‘God, I hope you mean the wolfhound and not Connor,’ Alice snorted. There was something about these illicit lunchtime liaisons – all in the name of work conversations – that made both women feel a little demob happy. Of course, it could have been the sheer volume of coffee they downed on their way around town. But they had both long since decided that multi-tasking was the way forward – Coco got her walk, they could have an uninterrupted conversation and a little fresh air to boot.
‘Do you not have patients to get to, ladies?’ asked the Major, tugging Grover’s lead, before he attempted to devour the contents of Alice’s shopping bag. Again.
‘We do, we do, Major. But would you begrudge us a little merriment on such a lovely, festive day?’ Holly said, holding up her newly purchased mistletoe and planting a kiss on his whiskery cheek, making him blush.
‘I’ll have what he’s having,’ catcalled Arnold the butcher from under his stripy awning and shocking Alice. Not that it took very much to shock Alice these days. Finding out her oldest, bestest friend was batting for the other team had quite thrown her equilibrium.
