by Debbie Young
16 In the Company of Angels
After work the following Thursday, I was due to attend the weekly meeting of the Wendlebury Players to update them on the progress of my script for their winter production.
Whatever they had been expecting, I knew it wasn’t what I was about to propose, so I ran the idea past Hector at work that morning for reassurance. He knew the members of the Players better than Ella or I did, so would be a better gauge of their likely reaction.
“So you see, it would kill two birds with one stone,” I said. “I can write a straight nativity play with the adults playing the roles the children would normally take, and choreograph the little ones into cute animal scenes.”
Hector looked dubious. “I hope you aren’t building up to a production of Jesus Christ, Superstar for Easter? Please don’t stretch our willing suspension of disbelief by asking the five women players to play twelve male disciples.”
“What about the parable of the loaves and the fishes?” Billy was enjoying his elevenses in the far corner of the tearoom, unperturbed by the aroma of wet dog arising from his gently steaming tweed jacket. “Cast Ian as Jesus, and he can make them multiply.”
“There’ll be no shortage of actors because the school staff are going to join in too,” I said. “Ella Berry has agreed to be the Innkeeper, and the Head is going to be the Angel Gabriel.”
“That ain’t right,” said Billy. “Mrs Broom’s a woman and the Angel Gabriel’s a man.”
“No, the Angel Gabriel’s a woman, though I agree it’s an odd name for a girl. Angels should be called things like Celeste.”
When I glanced at Hector for confirmation, I was surprised to see him looking as if he’d just seen a ghost.
“Hector, aren’t all angels women?”
“But not all women are angels,” said Billy.
Hector cleared his throat. “Angels are neutral. There’s no sex in heaven.”
“Then I’m not going,” said Billy.
“No change of plan there then,” said Hector. “And besides, it’s a Bible story, not a Disney film. The names weren’t chosen for glamour. Anyway, if heaven’s full of the likes of Neep, I’m not going either.”
I laughed. “You talk as if your destination after death is optional, like booking tickets at the travel agent. Doesn’t God have a say in the matter?”
“I bet if you asked the vicar to take the part of God in your play, he’d say yes,” said Billy.
“Isn’t he trying to play God already?” said Hector, detouring to the window display to give the spidery Neep a cat-and-mouse swipe.
I tried to turn the focus back on our discussion. “I don’t need a God, Billy.”
Billy snorted. “Don’t you go letting the vicar hear you say that. He thinks you’re evil enough already.”
Eventually I ascertained that they both liked my idea for the play and anticipated that the prospective cast would too. I left work that evening positively looking forward to presenting the idea to the Players.
17 Dramatic Revelations
When I breezed into the Village Hall that evening, shaking the drizzle off my umbrella, I found the cast awaiting me expectantly, sitting on chairs arranged in a circle like some kind of pow-wow.
I clicked my umbrella open and set it down on the floor to dry by the empty seat they’d saved for me, sat down, and peeled a few dead brown oak leaves off the soles of my shoes. They’d made my wet footprints across the hall floor look a very funny shape, as if I had furry feet.
“Not superstitious then, Sophie?” asked Ian, casting a disapproving glance at my umbrella. I hoped he wasn’t going to blame me for any subsequent misfortune. I offered up a silent prayer to the god I didn’t believe in that the Players would be as receptive to my proposition as Ella had been.
When I’d unveiled my plan, Ian was first to express enthusiasm. “I always wanted to be Joseph at school, and never got the chance. I bet I can get Stanley to lend us his donkey if you’d like one.”
Mary was also delighted. I could tell the other women had been hoping for the Virgin’s part, but as I explained, it would make things a lot easier for the children if someone they already knew as Mary played Mary. The three wise men were compensated by the prospect of exotic costumes and sparkly headdresses, and the shepherd happened to be very fond of small children, so was happy to herd the infants as lambs.
“At that age, it’ll be more like herding kittens,” she said brightly, “but that won’t matter as they’ll all look so sweet.”
With the casting settled, we spent the rest of the evening mapping out the scenes, with the Players enjoying getting into character and improvising lines, leaving me little to do by way of scriptwriting. I used the voice recorder on my phone to make sure I didn’t miss anything.
“That was such fun, Sophie,” said Mary as we put away the chairs at the end of the meeting. “All we need now is a new Director, and we’ll be back on track.”
I stopped short of volunteering to direct, but by now I was on a roll, enjoying the post of the Players’ saviour.
“Just leave it to me, Mary. I’ll get Carol to put up a notice in the shop tomorrow, and ask Ella to give a shout-out in the next parish mag, and we’ll announce the vacancy on the bookshop website too.”
Between those three resources, I was confident we’d find at least one suitable candidate.
The moment I got home, I started drafting the advert at my desk while the detail was still fresh in my mind. “Vicars need not apply” I put at the end, just in case Mr Neep took it in to his head to do so, then reluctantly crossed it out. I thought it better not to alienate him any further.
18 The Surprise Party
After spending much of Friday at work thinking about my script, and the evening at home writing it, I slept so soundly that for once I awoke refreshed before the alarm clock went off. I could see Hector was surprised when I turned up on time at the shop on Saturday morning.
The day sped past with plenty of customers for both the tearoom and the bookshop. There’d been no chance for the children to let off steam in the village play park, so the mums were glad that we’d laid on so many free activities each day during the wet half-term to keep the children occupied. By the end of the afternoon, we’d sold not only all our Halloween stock, but also a large number of Guy Fawkes history books, and our tearoom takings had quadrupled. Hector asked me to place a new order for Monday. I almost felt bad that we would be missing the vicar’s party for our date now.
As I marched swiftly home that evening, the rain was falling like iron railings, and I was glad of the chance for a moment in the dry when Carol beckoned me into the village shop. Usually it closes later than Hector’s House, but she’d already locked the door and dimmed the lights. She lifted the latch to let me in, quickly closed the door behind me and spoke in a confidential whisper even though there were no other customers present.
Even in the dim light provided by the fire exit sign and the street light shrouded in mist outside, I could see Carol, unusually flushed, could hardly contain her excitement. “I’ve just heard the PTA Halloween Disco is back on!” she hissed triumphantly. “Good old Stanley’s said we can hold it in his barn. It starts at 7.30 tonight, finishing at midnight as usual. The vicar need never know, as it’s out of sight and earshot of the vicarage, and there’s no road access, only footpaths and dirt tracks. He’s unlikely to go past it by chance, especially after dark. I mean, he’s not going to be wandering lonely as a clown across the fields on a wet night like this, is he?”
I knew the barn she meant. It was the one where we’d prepared the Wendlebury Writers’ float for the carnival, using one of Stanley’s two spare trailers. The other one had been taken by the Wendlebury Players. Back in the summer, I’d spent several evenings there as our two groups decorated our floats at either end of the barn, designs kept secret from each other by the wooden partition that divided the barn in two.
“It’s a wonder the PTA hasn’t thought of using it before,
” said Carol. “It’ll make a great setting for a spooky disco, as there are two separate rooms. One will be used as a bar and the other as the dance floor. Plus there’ll be plenty of hay bales for seating, and if any drinks get spilled, it won’t matter, not like in the school hall.”
“Mightn’t it be a bit chilly on a night like this?” I didn’t think a barn would have central heating.
“Not if enough villagers pile down there and start dancing. We’ll soon get the place warmed up.”
I couldn’t bring myself to curb her enthusiasm.
“Sounds perfect to me, Carol. And anyway, I shouldn’t worry about Mr Neep. He only said that the disco shouldn’t take place at the school. He can’t ban Stanley from hosting a party on his own land. I take it you’re going?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Ooh, I never miss the Halloween Disco. You have to take your chances at finding romance in this village.”
I felt a pang of guilt that I’d homed in on the eligible Hector myself so soon after arriving in the village, even though Carol was closer to his mother’s age than his own.
“Anyway, if Mr Neep’s not the sort of person who would enjoy a Halloween Disco, maybe he’s not the man for you?” I tried to sound encouraging. “Perhaps some tall, dark, handsome stranger will come in and sweep you off your feet.”
She still looked crestfallen, so I moved the conversation on to a more positive vein. “So, what costume will you wear, Carol?”
Brightening, she tapped the side of her nose with her finger. “Ah, that would be telling! You’ll have to wait and find out!”
I looked forward to the big reveal.
19 The Lion in Autumn
It wasn’t until I got home that I remembered my own costume. I’d left it on a hanger in the stockroom at Hector’s House, ready to change in to it on Monday morning for the day of Halloween itself. It was handy that Halloween fell at the start of the new term, as our themed day in the shop would give the children something to look forward to after their first day back at school.
I texted Hector to tell him the disco was back on and to ask him if he’d mind dropping my costume down to me, as I’d left my spare keys to the shop in the tearoom. I wondered whether disco music held much appeal for him. Although I knew from all the tracks he played in the shop to match his customers’ tastes that his knowledge of music was extensive and eclectic, I had no idea what he liked to listen to for his own pleasure.
While I waited for Hector to respond, I fixed myself a quick sandwich for tea, as I wasn’t sure what food would be on offer at the disco. Although I didn’t want to admit the vicar might be on to something with his call for abstinence, far more alcohol than I was used to flowed in this village, and I didn’t want to risk drinking on an empty stomach.
While I was eating, a flurry of knocks on the door heralded a series of small groups of children in Halloween costumes, trick-or-treating and wishing me a happy Halloween. I was slightly taken aback.
“It’s not Halloween till Monday,” I observed to the first group.
“We thought if we did our trick-or-treating today during half-term, rather than on actual Halloween during term-time, the vicar wouldn’t count it, so we’d still be allowed to go to his fireworks party,” said a pint-sized Incredible Hulk. “And anyway, Mum always says it’s better not to trick-or-treat on a school night, because if we’re sick from eating too many sweets, we’re not allowed to go to school for two days because of the bloody forty-eight hour rule.”
I suppressed a grin at his impression of his mother. I wasn’t sure a tummy full of sweets was the best preparation for a disco either, but doled them out by the handful anyway.
“After we’ve finished trick-or-treating, we’ve got to keep our costumes on for the PTA Halloween Disco. Did you know it’s back on?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you there.”
A few moments later, I heard the children singing outside Joshua’s front door. Considering he disliked Halloween, I had to admire the way he had applied his own standards to the festival, but in a kindly way, unlike the vicar. I hoped he was enjoying his serenade.
After the flurry of callers had slowed down, I dashed upstairs to put on some fresh make-up and was just brushing my hair when there was one more knock at the door. I opened it to find a tall, slender lion on my doorstep with a bulging carrier-bag in one hand.
“You shall go to the ball,” said a familiar voice.
“Good evening, Hector.” I smiled, admiring how well his Beast costume fitted him, even the splendid maned mask. I pulled my ballgown out of the bag and hung it over the bannisters for any creases to drop out, while he wiped his feet dry on the doormat.
I forgot for a moment that he’d never visited me at home before. He surprised me by striding in as confidently as if he owned the place, taking a seat in the armchair nearest the fireplace, removing his Beast mask and white evening gloves and resting them on the hearthrug. I’d not been home long enough to light the fire, which always takes me a while, but he stretched out his legs to put his feet on the fender as comfortably as if the wood-burning stove was blazing merrily.
“Ah, I’d forgotten just how comfortable this seat was!”
“What do you mean?” Had he been sneaking into my cottage in my absence and testing the furniture like a latter-day Goldilocks? Surely he wasn’t a Peeping Tom? Perhaps that was the guilty secret he wanted to confess on our Guy Fawkes’ Night date. Could that be why the vicar remembered him? Had Mr Neep once been a magistrate in Hector’s university town, and he’d tried him for some awful misdemeanour back in his student days? I was reminded of Bertie Wooster on trial for stealing a policeman’s helmet. I hoped Hector’s crime was nothing more serious than that.
Hector interrupted my thoughts. “I used to come here quite often to visit May. We’d talk for hours about books and things.”
I wondered what else he knew about my house. I thought I’d better change the subject.
“Carol’s terribly excited about the disco, you know.”
Hector pursed his lips. “Yes, she always is. I suppose I’ll be in trouble tonight when she sees me dancing with you.”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry, you’re old news. She’s got her eye on Mr Neep now, remember. Not that he’ll be there.”
Hector covered his eyes with one hand in horror. “Good Lord, these small village populations do have their disadvantages. There are never enough single men to go around. Never mind, she’ll still have a good time. She’s always the life and soul of the dance floor, and she’ll enjoy seeing all her costumes put to good use. People make a real fuss of her at the disco out of gratitude for their outfits. She’s highly regarded in the village all year round, of course, but I expect you’ve noticed that already.”
I nodded. “And so she should be. But sometimes regards are not enough.”
When Hector looked at me sharply, I realised he might be taking my comment as criticism of the slow progress of our relationship.
“Damian,” I said quickly. “I was thinking of Damian.” Which was true. Then I realised I was digging an even deeper hole by mentioning the ex-boyfriend who had cited every reason I shouldn’t leave him except the one I wanted to hear: that he loved me.
I created a diversion by taking my Beauty ballgown from the bannisters and holding it up against my body. “I’d better go and put this on, then.”
Hector nodded approval. “You’ll need something to wear over it, by the way. The rain’s easing off a bit, but it’ll be quite nippy walking down through the fields to the barn. I’ve got my mask and mane to keep me warm, not to mention my frockcoat. You’ll need a coat, or at least a shawl.”
He stood up to pull down from the shelf above the desk one of May’s books, and he settled down to read it while I changed into my costume. I was grateful to leave him engrossed in something that might take his mind off my failed relationship with Damian.
Appraising myself in the long mirror on Auntie May’s wardrobe door, I fel
t like a child playing at dressing up. With the bedroom curtains closed against the night, I was illuminated only by the dim bedside light. I felt like a fairy tale princess.
I scooped up my hair and secured it into a French pleat with Auntie May’s mother-of-pearl combs, and added a pair of pearl drop earrings. Then I swept down the narrow staircase as regally as I could, remembering for once not to bang my head on the low beam, returning to my handsome prince as the clock struck a quarter past seven.
Hector had already put the book back on the shelf and replaced his lion’s mask in preparation to head out of the door as soon as I was ready.
“Sophie, you look stunning.” At least, I think that’s what he said. His voice was rather muffled by the mask, and I didn’t like to ask him to repeat it.
Whisking a red pashmina from the hallstand and wrapping it around my shoulders, I allowed him to lead me out into the night. Pulling the door closed behind me, I dropped my key into the pocket of his frock coat, my own costume being pocketless. As we turned off from the High Street to walk down unlit footpaths, I hoped it was not reckless to stray through dark, silent fields in the company of a lion, even if it was wearing evening dress.
20 The Belle of the Ball
Hand in hand, we crept down through the muddy fields to Stanley’s barn. With the moon obscured by cloud, it looked as if glow-worms of all shapes and sizes were quietly descending the hill – or a host of the undead converging on their prey. Illuminated only by the lights they carried, from old-fashioned lanterns to torch apps on mobile phones, the partygoers progressed to the foot of the valley. In the shadow of a small deciduous woodland lay the barn, surrounded by a circle of dirt beaten down by constant tractor traffic, now carpeted with fallen leaves.
The walk down had been slippery, so our splashy progress, interjected by shrieks as I slid about in my red leather ballet flats, had disturbed the nocturnal wildlife. From the woodland below us, a barn owl swooped up the hill towards the churchyard. From behind the barn a fox came leaping, turning to gaze just long enough for us to remark on it, before rushing purposefully off into the woods. Then something sped across the footpath in front of me so fast that I couldn’t tell what it was. Although it was tiny, it startled me enough to make me shriek again.
