Silver Linings

by Rachel Ennis

  ‘Jimmy said they’ll have a couple of groups playing there all day. Taking turns, not both the same time. Be bedlam that would. They was up there last night practising. Sounded all right, he said. Then Keith had to shift the fairground organ. The chap had parked it right alongside, silly sod. There was some uproar when Keith told’n he’d have to move. He threatened to pack up and go. Keith said they’d be sorry to lose ‘n, but if he’d like to stay, there was a lovely spot in the corner of the display field where everyone walking up to the stalls and parade ring would pass by. There he is,’ she pointed to a large maroon wagon on four wheels.

  Two full-width horizontal doors had been opened. The upper one was braced at ninety degrees to protect the elaborately decorated organ from sun and rain. The lower one folded right down to reveal gold-painted pipes and colourful figurines surrounded by a frame of fancy scrollwork. It was currently silent.

  ‘I wonder if Gill have put anything in the quilters’ display.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the one she’s making for Harry Carveth’s grandchild. Left here.’

  As they drove slowly along, Jess marvelled at the organisation. Framing the parade ring, cars, vans and 4x4s were parked behind a well-spaced row of long, folding tables. Each table had an A4 sheet of paper with a number on it taped to the front edge. Some stall holders had erected an awning. Others had left theirs open, trusting the forecast.

  At each of the stalls men and women, some helped by children, moved between vehicle and table carrying boxes and suitcases full of books, DVDs, sweets, knitting wool, toys, and car-boot bric-a-brac. Amid the bustle, only two spaces were still empty.

  ‘Where’s Elsie and Tegan?’ Viv peered round.

  ‘I expect they’re on their way. Jase is picking them up and lending them a table. This is us,’ Jess pointed. ‘And there’s Mor.’

  ‘Whatever have Ben got?’ Viv stopped the car behind the table where Ben was hauling something from a long canvas bag.

  ‘I think it’s that gazebo-thing we had down at the Summer Fair.’

  ‘Keep the sun off lovely that will,’ Viv said. ‘Save screwing our eyes up. A bit of shade will be better for the cakes too.’ They both got out.

  ‘All right?’ Mor smiled a welcome from the table where she had placed two jam-and-cream filled Victoria sponges, a chocolate sponge, and a fruit loaf, all in cellophane bags. ‘I’ve got two dozen fruit scones and a tray of flapjacks from Mavis, dear of her.’

  ‘You’re up here some early,’ Viv said. ‘You and Ben have a row did you?’

  Opening her mouth, about to deny it, Mor shut it again and relaxed, wagging a finger at Viv. ‘You’re some awful tease. Good job I know you. No, we come up early because Keith want Ben to help direct the tractors, but Ben wanted give me a hand to set up first.’

  ‘You never walked up carrying all they cakes?’ said Viv.

  Mor shook her head. ‘Fred brought us. He’ve gone back for Mavis.’

  Jess eyed Mor’s lilac round-neck jumper, triangular navy, pink and lilac scarf, and navy trousers. ‘I got to say it, Mor, you look lovely. They colours suit you.’

  ‘Took the words out of my mouth,’ Viv agreed.

  ‘Told you, didn’t I?’ Ben said, smiling fondly at his wife. ‘Pretty as a picture you are.’

  Blushing, Mor nudged him. ‘Get on.’

  ‘You’re looking rather smart yourself, Ben,’ Jess said as she reached to open the car’s back door. Fawn cords, a check shirt and mottled brown sweater had replaced his old black suit and taken years off him.

  ‘Tis all Mor’s doing, dear of her.’

  ‘I wish ‘twas,’ Mor confided. ‘But I ‘aven’t got my confidence yet so I asked Tina.’

  ‘Hours we was, going round the shops.’ Ben clicked his tongue. But his smile said he couldn’t believe his luck that Mor enjoyed caring for him.

  Catching Jess’s eye, Viv mouthed ‘Bless.’ She heaved her box off the back seat then Jess reached in for hers then closed the door with her hip.

  While Mor and Viv set out the rest of the cakes, buns, scones and biscuits, Jess helped Ben put up the gazebo and peg guy ropes so it wouldn’t blow away if the breeze strengthened.

  ‘Did you bring your camera?’ Jess asked him as they returned to the front.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Get some pictures of Mor and the table while it’s still full.’

  He pulled his camera from a rucksack from under the table and snapped several shots of his protesting wife. Jess took a couple of Mor and Ben. Then Ben took some of Mor, Viv and Jess behind the table, laughing.

  ‘I could murder a cup of tea,’ Viv said.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind checking out the loos,’ Jess said. ‘Mor, are you and Ben are all right here for a while?’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Ben put his arm around Mor’s shoulders.

  ‘Put her down,’ Viv said. ‘Both milk no sugar? Don’t bother about that,’ she said as Ben reached into his pocket for money. ‘You can get them next time.’

  As they set off along the grass Viv tripped. Catching her before she fell, Jess looked down at Viv’s gold and silver strapped platform sandals. ‘Got any flats in the car?’

  Viv reared back. ‘Flats?’ Her voice rose to a horrified squeak. ‘Spend the whole day eye-level with other women’s bosoms? I don’t think so.’

  Jess laughed. ‘Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re –’

  ‘A short-arse?’

  ‘Vertically challenged.’

  ‘A short-arse.’ Viv sighed, then lifted her chin, pushed back her shoulders and beamed. ‘But I got a very tall personality.’

  Jess laughed. ‘You certainly have.’ She glanced round. ‘Sean really thought this out.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Look at all the space between the front of the tables and the ring.’ She indicated the barrier of posts and orange tape enclosing a vast empty square. Oblong bales of straw in twos and threes had been placed all round the edge as seating. ‘People can sit or stand to watch the parades, yet there’s still plenty of room for walking past the stalls without bumping into anyone who might want to spend time browsing.’

  ‘How do you know it was Sean planned it?’

  Jess smiled. ‘Val told me. She said the past two weeks have been manic. Keith has hardly been off the phone. People wanting to bring an extra vehicle, asking for more passes, saying they’ve lost their exhibitor number, or complaining their vehicle isn’t listed in the programme.’ They reached one of the mobile catering vans just as two men walked away clutching cardboard mugs and square polystyrene containers. Jess breathed in the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee.

  ‘Three teas to go, milk, no sugar,’ Viv said to the nearer of two girls. Both wore navy butcher’s aprons over pink sweatshirts. The girl frying bacon and flipping burgers also wore thin blue gloves. The tea girl didn’t. ‘I love your nails,’ Viv told her.

  The girl splayed her hand, proudly admiring long nails painted different pearlised colours and decorated with tiny flowers and jewels in contrasting shades. ‘Amy Terrell done them for me. She’s got a stand up near one of the jewellery stalls offering a free make-up or nail decoration.’

  If Amy was here, would Colin be here as well? Jess hoped not. For herself she couldn’t care less. But she had a flashback to Sean’s broad shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow, and that glimpse of Colin laughing with Sean’s wife, Gaynor, outside the partially-completed conversion. So much work and effort had gone into organising the rally. She couldn’t bear to think of anything spoiling it.

  The girl pressed lids onto the cardboard cups. ‘Like them in a bag would you?’

  ‘Thanks, bird.’ Viv handed over the money and took the small brown carrier. As they moved away she turned to Jess. ‘I’ll take these back. You have a look round while you got the chance. In an hour the place’ll be heaving.’

  ‘Sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘I do really. That’s why I said it.’ Viv rolled her eye
s.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Bright blue and spotlessly clean, the loo cubicles stood in pairs set back near the hedge. Jess emerged, rubbing her hands with sanitising foam and walked up towards the next field where vintage cars, already gleaming, were being given a final polish by proud owners.

  A row of small stationary engines chuffed and popped, two pumped water while a third operated a scale model of tin stamps. She walked along a row of tractors. There were little grey Fergies and a bright orange Allis-Chalmers. The tyres on one green and yellow John Deere were taller than she was. There were three-wheeled tractors, slim ones with narrow wheels used in vineyards, and a dark green Field Marshall whose heavy rounded shape reminded her of a bull.

  She stopped to watch the owner slot a cartridge into a holder on one side of the engine. He lit a paper wick on the end of a holder and pushed it in at the bottom then he hit the cartridge with a hammer. The tractor gave a loud grunt and smoke puffed from the upright exhaust as the engine settled into a steady thump-thump-thump.

  She knew from the typing she had done for Keith that some of these tractors dated back to the late 1940s. The only weather protection a farmer had back then was a sack around his shoulders. The tractors Josh and Ben drove had air-conditioned cabs with electric start, radio, CD player, phone dock and sat-nav. She wondered what Grampy would have made of that.

  ‘Don’t know they’re born, maid,’ She could hear him saying it, and see the gleam of laughter in his eye.

  As she reached the working section the breeze carried smells of trampled grass, oily rags, coal smoke and newly-cut wood. A massive circular saw driven by a broad leather belt powered by a huge steam engine screamed though a length of oak trunk like a hot knife through butter.

  In the centre an area of wheat had been left uncut. Two black shire horses with hooves the size of dinner plates fringed with snowy white hair stood patiently outside a horse box while a slim girl wearing a polo shirt and grubby jodhpurs, her hair in a braid, moved around them fitting their harness. A reaper and binder on metal wheels stood alongside ready for the demonstration later.

  On the right-hand side two long narrow areas had been roped off at right-angles to each other. The one running across the field had a brightly-painted archery target at one end. Access to the other, pointing towards woods over the brow of the hill beyond the rally field, was blocked by an open-sided hut and a waist-high wooden barrier with several pairs of ear-protectors hanging over it. A painted black and white board announced this was the clay-pigeon shoot.

  Though he had his back to her, she recognised Matt Stevens beside another man in a flat cap, ancient Barbour jacket, and tobacco-coloured cords. Wearing green overalls and red ear-defenders, Matt took a half-step forward, raised the shotgun to his shoulder and sighted. Stopping to watch, she heard him shout, ‘Pull.’ There was a loud snap and a black disc flew up in an arc. Matt fired twice, the sound echoing, and the black disc exploded.

  ‘Not bad,’ said the man beside him. As Matt reloaded, Jess turned and walked back down the field. As she passed the Women’s Guild Tea, Val rushed out, bumping into her.

  ‘Oh! Sorry, bird.’

  Jess steadied her. ‘Where’s the fire?’

  ‘Tis the milk. Got a head like a sieve I have. I bought extra yesterday. But I come out in such a rush this morning it’s sitting home on the kitchen table. I tried phoning Gaynor – she made scones to bring down – but she didn’t pick up so she could be on her way. Keith’s doing his opening speech in a minute and want me there.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Up five o’clock he was, in some fluster. Didn’t want no breakfast. I told ‘n he wasn’t going out on an empty stomach and I’d tie ‘n to the chair if I had to. He settled down then.’

  ‘I bet he did.’

  ‘I made ‘n a fry-up and toast. He was a different man by time he’d finished. He went off whistling, but I was all behind.’

  ‘You go back in, Val. I’ll fetch the milk.’

  ‘Would you, bird? Sure you don’t mind? We still got one bottle left. But soon as Keith declare the rally open they’ll be in the tent like gannets.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘You didn’t hear that.’

  ‘Hear what? Go and get ready for the crowd.’

  ‘A gem, you are.’

  ‘Deep breaths, Val. Think calm.’

  ‘Maybe tonight when ‘tis all over.’ Drawing a deep breath she disappeared into the tent.

  Jess started up the field and saw Tom coming towards her.

  ‘Hello, my lover.’ He caught hold of her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Knowing he was shy of showing affection in public, she was touched by the gesture. ‘I been over the stall looking for you. Half the cakes have gone already.’

  ‘They always do. Val just caught me. Keith is about to give his opening speech and wants her with him but she forgot the milk. I said I’d fetch it.’

  ‘All right if I walk up with you?’

  She leaned into him, laughing. ‘I’d love you to. You can tell me –’ she broke off as someone called his name and they both looked round.

  He raised a hand in acknowledgement then turned to her, trying not very successfully to hide his frustration. ‘It’s Roger Prowse. He’ve just inherited his father’s old workboat. I say his father’s, but it’s been in the family four generations. I know it need a lot of work –’

  ‘And you want it in your yard.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Go and talk to him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jess.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. We’ll catch up later. As soon as I’ve delivered the milk I’ll go back to the stall and grovel to Viv and Mor for being away so long.’

  ‘’Bye, my lovely.’ He strode away and she made her way up the field.

  The walk ways were busy with more people arriving all the time. The fairground organ had been switched on and was blasting out pop songs from the 1960s. Older couples strolled arm in arm or stood chatting in groups. Fathers carried young children on their shoulders. Toddlers sat or slept in buggies. Teenage girls in skinny jeans or short skirts shrieked and giggled as they passed groups of boys admiring the motorbikes.

  The sun was warm, the atmosphere relaxed and cheerful, everyone out to enjoy the occasion and the weather. She hadn’t seen a single child crying.

  Opening the field gate into a tree-lined footpath that joined the lane leading to the farmhouse she walked through and closed it again, pushing the hook down into the steel loop. The mingled sounds of people, music and engines faded. A breeze whispered through leaves that were just beginning to turn. Enjoying the peace as she approached the house she heard a man shout then a woman screamed.

  Without stopping to think she ran towards the sound. She turned into the drive, raced around the corner and stopped abruptly as her heart leaped like a salmon in her chest then hammered against her ribs.

  Sean Stevens sat in his wheelchair in the middle of the concreted yard that separated the rear of the farmhouse and his office from the newly renovated farm buildings, pointing a shotgun at Colin Terrell who was a short distance from the converted cowshed. Sean’s wife, Gaynor, must have come out of the back door and stood midway between them, the third point of the triangle, one hand extended towards her husband.

  ‘No, Sean, don’t. Please –’

  ‘It isn’t me you should be pointing that gun at,’ Colin yelled. ‘It was her who led me on.’

  ‘Is that so? Then why did you come up here this morning?’ As Colin’s gaze darted from side to side seeking escape, Sean continued. ‘Get a text did you?’

  Jess saw Colin flinch then give a careless shrug, full of bluster and bravado. ‘Dunno what you’re talking about. I came up to tell her to back off. Like I said, it was she who came on to me.’

  Jess couldn’t see Sean’s face as he looked at his wife.

  ‘I didn’t, Sean.’ Gaynor said. ‘I swear. But I listened. I know I shouldn’t have. I ought to have stopped him.

  ‘She’s lying,’ Colin yelled.

  ‘
No, she isn’t.’ Jess walked forward. Her throat was dry and her legs felt like jelly. ‘Colin tried to chat me up when he worked on my roof. He’s had a lot of practice, Sean. I wasn’t the first. Probably not even the twenty-first. He was over-familiar, saying things that made me uncomfortable. But he was crafty because he did it in such a way that I could see if I picked him up on it he would claim he was simply being pleasant, or having a joke, and didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it –’

  ‘Shut up,’ Sean snapped.

  Jess moistened her lips. ‘The evening after he finished the job and I’d paid him he arrived on my doorstep all scrubbed up asking if there was anything else he could do for me. After all, living on my own,’ her voice was harsh with contempt, ‘I must be lonely.

  Gaynor’s shoulders sagged and she wrapped her arms across her body, tears of relief and guilt spilling down her cheeks as she gazed at her husband. ‘He paid me compliments and made me laugh. I was flattered.

  You had shut me out, Sean. You wouldn’t talk and I –’ she swallowed. ‘I was lonely.’

  A spasm of pain tightened Sean’s features.

  Jess heard footsteps. Tom came round the corner, saw the tableau and stopped dead, ‘What the –? Jess? You all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She tipped her head fractionally towards Gaynor who was visibly trembling.

  ‘You never bleddy learn, do you, Terrell?’ Tom said.

  ‘Stay out of it, Tom.’ Sean said. ‘I’ll deal with this toe-rag.’

  Colin flinched and angry colour darkened his face. ‘If you was man enough for your hot-arse wife, she wouldn’t be giving the come-on to blokes like me who just want to get on with their work.’

  Gaynor gasped as if he’d slapped her. Jess was torn between fury and hysterical laughter at his twisting of the truth.

  ‘Shut your mouth, Terrell,’ Tom snarled.

  ‘Or what?’ Colin jeered. ‘Full of it you are, the both of you.’

  ‘You think?’ Calmly Sean raised the gun and cocked it.

  ‘Sean, don’t.’ Alarm roughened Tom’s voice. ‘He’s not worth going to jail for.’