by Hazel Holt
‘I think we’re OK. Oh, by the way, that Jenny Drummond of yours brought a tin full of the most delicious brownies round yesterday. She is a nice girl. Is Michael still going out with her?’
‘We-ell,’ I said cautiously, ‘he doesn’t seem to be going out with her exactly, not in that sense. I mean they play badminton together and they’ve been to the cinema in Taunton, she’s been for supper with us a couple of times and they’re going to the bonfire thing together, but that’s all, really. I get the feeling that Michael’s just someone from work that she gets on well with, nothing else. And, of course, Michael is his usual clam-like self, and if I asked him about it he’d just make his usual remarks about the CIA! I think he likes her as someone to go about with, but nothing serious. Actually, I’m quite glad really. She’s a nice girl and very easy to get on with. I like her a lot. But she’s very self-contained, if you know what I mean. It’s not easy to know what she’s thinking. And that’s not Michael’s way at all.’
‘Oh, children!’ Rosemary said. ‘Thank goodness Jilly’s married and settled down—though of course, that’s nothing to go by nowadays, alas! I used to think that when they were grown up it would be easier. Big joke!’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘Did you know that Fanny Burney, in her old age, had to take lodgings near her brilliant but erratic son, just to make sure he got up in time to carry out his clerical duties! And he was in his thirties!’
‘All down the ages, dear!’ Rosemary said resignedly. ‘Right from the cave!’
Chapter Thirteen
They’d already lit the huge bonfire when I got to the recreation ground and I could hear it crackling and flaring away as I went round the edge of the ground to the pavilion where the food was being assembled. Rosemary and Anthea were laying out sausage rolls on plates.
‘I wonder who first had the idea of putting bits of sausage meat into pastry,’ Rosemary said thoughtfully. ‘There really ought to be a commemorative plaque somewhere. What on earth would we do without them?’
‘I could quite easily do without Mary Reynold’s sausage rolls,’ Anthea said, holding up a plate with a dozen or so greyish rectangular objects on it. ‘Wholemeal pastry and heavy as a brick!’
‘They don’t look very appetizing,’ I agreed. ‘Still, it’s dark outside, and when the young are hungry they don’t seem to notice what they’re eating.’
‘Harben’s turned up trumps,’ Rosemary said (Harben’s one of our local butchers). ‘Pork chops and chicken drumsticks as well as sausages for the barbecue!’
‘He wants to be the next Treasurer of the Round Table,’ Anthea said sardonically. ‘He’s casting his bread upon the waters.’
‘As long as he’s casting other things as well, I for one am not going to complain!’ Rosemary laughed.
‘I don’t suppose Jilly’s been able to get along tonight?’ I asked Rosemary as I pricked baking potatoes ready for the microwave.
‘No, she’s at home with the baby. Roger’s here, though, with Delia. I think she’s far too young, but she wanted to come. They’ll only stay for a bit, just for the early session with the sparklers and those pretty fireworks that don’t have bangs: golden rain and Catherine wheels and things like that.’
‘They’re really the only ones I like,’ I said. ‘Even rockets are a bit scary and looking up at them gives me vertigo! There, there’s a couple of dishes of potatoes done. What’s in this tin?’ I opened a large cake tin. ‘Goodness! An enormous Dundee cake—it looks fabulous. Whose is it?’
Anthea looked up from sorting out plastic knives and forks into piles. ‘Oh, Carol Graham brought that in,’ she said.
‘Really?’ I exclaimed. ‘Did she make it herself, I wonder.’
‘Oh yes, she’s a marvellous cook. She made some gorgeous maids of honour for a coffee morning I did last year for the Wildlife Fund.’
‘Maids of honour?’ Rosemary said vaguely.
‘Yes, you know, those little almond tartlets. Very delicious. But of course she can’t do very much because she’s so busy in the shop. Between ourselves I don’t think Ronnie’s much use.’
Almond tartlets. All sorts of thoughts were whirling round in my head, but I didn’t seem able to put them together coherently.
‘She’s here tonight,’ Anthea went on, ‘because Ronnie can’t make it—some sort of meeting—and he was supposed to be one of the official people letting off the fireworks. Carol didn’t want to let everyone down, so she said she’d do it instead.’
Anthea, I remembered, had always been rather a friend of Carol and, as such, inclined to be disparaging of Ronnie.
‘That was good of her,’ I said. ‘It’s not the sort of job I’d care to do myself.’
‘Oh well,’ Anthea said, ‘Carol’s a very practical person, very efficient.’
Rosemary gave a little snort of imperfectly suppressed laughter. Our friend Anthea is the sort of person who always says things as they occur to her without considering whether or not they might be better phrased in order not to give offence.
‘Shall I cut up Carol’s cake?’ I asked. ‘She’s cleverly baked it in a square tin so it’ll be easier to divide up.’
‘Better leave it for a bit,’ Rosemary said. ‘People will want cake after all the other things and if you cut it now it’ll get a bit dry, especially in here with this electric heater blasting away.’
‘That was Jim Symonds,’ Anthea said with some asperity. ‘I told him that we only needed it at half strength, but he never listens and by the time I got here the place was like an oven and all those tuna fish sandwiches are beginning to get quite dry, even though I covered them with a tea cloth.’
‘I know,’ Rosemary said. ‘I had to take my cardy off it was so hot. Anyway, what about the Urn? Whose turn is it to do it?’
I groaned. The Urn, a temperamental monster that plays a prominent part in most Taviscombe social functions (being passed from one organization to another like the eye of the Granae), is my particular bête noir. It is as stubborn as a mule and as temperamental as a prima donna. It needs to be filled with immense care to exactly the right level (a millimetre more or less and disaster ensues) and even then it has a nasty habit of spitting out puffs of scalding steam or little jets of boiling water when one least expects it. Its small tap is either too loose (an uncontrollable flood of boiling water) or too tight (a few miserable drops with a long impatient queue forming behind the unhappy person manipulating it) and on one memorable occasion the whole thing tipped s th dr right over almost scalding poor Miss Webber and ruining the new parquet flooring just laid down in the Methodist church hall.
‘Oh, Lord,’ I said, ‘it’s me! Well, for the first session anyway. Liz Priory said she’d take over when she comes. She seems quite brave about it, but then she’s lived with that terrible sister of hers for twenty years so I suppose a recalcitrant urn is child’s play after that!’ Actually, Liz arrived quite early and released me to go out and have a look at the fireworks.
‘Hello, Ma.’ Michael and Jenny materialized out of the darkness.
‘Hello. Are you enjoying it?’ I asked Jenny.
‘It’s lovely!’ she said, her eyes shining with enthusiasm in the light of the bonfire. ‘Really super! And lots more fireworks to come!’
‘It was so good of you to make those lovely brownies,’ I said. ‘They were greatly appreciated.’
‘Oh, that was nothing,’ she replied. ‘I love cooking, as you know. Isn’t it lucky it’s such a nice dry evening? What would have happened if it had rained?’
‘Oh, everyone would have stood about getting wet while the fireworks were set off,’ I said, laughing. ‘Then we’d all have squashed bad-temperedly into the pavilion to eat up the cold food and someone would try to build a sort of shelter outside for the barbecue, which wouldn’t work and the children would be cross and whiney and I for one would go home!’
‘Well, aren’t we lucky it’s dry? Though it is a bit chilly.’ She rubbed her hands together and thrust
them into her pockets. ‘I think I must have left my gloves in the car.’
‘I’ll go and have a look for them,’ Michael said.
‘No,’ she protested. ‘It’s miles away, right on the other side of the car park!’
‘That’s OK,’ he said good-humouredly. ‘Won’t be long.’
‘Oh dear,’ Jenny said. ‘I didn’t mean him to go traipsing all the way back to the car and miss the fun.’
‘Oh, it’ll go on for ages yet,’ I said. ‘All the really big rockets and set pieces and things are still to come. Oh, excuse me for a moment, there’s someone I need to speak to. See you later.’
I had just intercepted Freda Braithwaite who was wandering about with piles of extra paper plates and napkins and pointed her in the direction of the pavilion, when I saw Roger with Delia perched on his shoulders.
‘Hello, Roger,’ I said, ‘nice to see you here. How’s Delia enjoying it?’
‘Bang!’ Delia said imperiously. ‘More bang bang!’
She grasped Roger’s head with both her tiny hands to keep her balance and twisted round on his shoulder to see what was happening on the far side of the field.
‘Oh well,’ I said, ‘she’s not nervous, then. Rosemary thought she might be.’
‘No way!’ Roger said laughing. ‘The louder the better! So I thought she could stay for a bit longer.’
A rocket soared up into the sky and Delia gave a little crow of laughter. ‘Whoo!’ she cried. ‘Bang?’ she asked hopefully as the bright stars fell to earth.
I left them to contemplate the new batch of fireworks just going off and started to make my way round the field. As I passed a small trestle table where Carol was laying out a splendid lot of rockets, I paused to have a word.
‘I do think it’s brave of you to set these things off,’ I said.
‘Well, Ronnie made a muddle with the dates and he’s got a CPRE meeting tonight, so I said I’d do it instead. I don’t mind really. They’re quite safe if you treat them carefully.’ She took another rocket from the box lying on the ground behind her and put it with the others.
‘There, that’s the lot now. I’m a bit behind because when I’d just got started with these I had to go and borrow some of those special tapers to light them with—Ronnie was going to get some from Dawson’s, but of course he forgot. Fortunately Dick Mabey had some he could lend me.’
There was the usual irritable note in her voice that I always heard when she was speaking of her husband.
‘Well,’ I said hastily, ‘it’s certainly an impressive array. When do you set them off?’
‘In about five minutes, when Dick’s finished his lot.’
‘Oh good,’ I replied. ‘I’ll wait around and see them before I go back and relieve Liz on the urn.’
I moved a short distance away to chat to Muriel Mabey, who was standing by Dick’s table while he was in the roped-off area where the fireworks were actually lit.
‘It’s a really good turn-out this year,’ Muriel said. ‘We should clear £800 at least.’
‘And everyone seems to be enjoying themselves in a reasonably peaceful manner,’ I said.
‘There were a couple of lads letting off fire-crackers over the other side,’ Muriel said, ‘but Dick and Ken sorted them out.’
‘Oh well, I suppose you always get a bit of that sort of thing. Oh, look! Wasn’t that one gorgeous!’
Dick, having shot his bolt, as it were, with a particularly spectacular rocket, stepped back over the rope and joined us.
‘That was really super, Dick’ I said.
‘Not bad, was it? I think Carol’s next. It was very good of her to step in when Ronnie couldn’t make it. Mind you, I offered to do their lot as well—it wouldn’t have been any trouble—but Carol said she wanted to do it, so ...’
Carol let off a trio of rockets in swift succession and the air was full of brightness, gold and red and green, lighting up Carol’s face, intent on her task, as she reached back over the table to select another firework. One after the other the graceful arcs of light shattered into a thousand stars.
‘Oh dear,’ I said to Muriel. ‘I really ought to be getting back to help with the food. There’s always a rush just after the fireworks are finished. Well, I’ll just watch one more.’
Carol picked up another rocket from the table, set it on the frame and applied the taper. There was a tremendous bang and a violent explosion. Suddenly the air was full of acrid smoke, and debris seemed to be scattered in the air: earth, wood, bits of metal. Beside me Muriel Mabey gave a cry and clutched her shoulder. Everything was in confusion. People were rushing in all directions, children were crying and a woman was screaming. I was knocked to the ground and for a moment I was afraid I was going to be trampled as people rushed past me in a panic. But I was so stunned by the noise and confusion that I simply lay there. My arm was hurting where I’d fallen on it. In a vague way I hoped I hadn’t broken anything, but it seemed too difficult to move, let alone get to my feet.
‘Ma! Are you all right?’ Michael was standing over me, Jenny by his side. He hauled me to my feet and I clung to him.
‘No,’ I said after a moment, ‘I’m fine, just a bit bruised and shaken.’ I tried to pull myself together. ‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘There was a terrific bang,’ Jenny said. ‘We were just going over to the pavilion to get something to eat ...’
She looked upset and confused and Michael drew us both towards the side of the pavilion away from the worst of the crowd. People were quieter now, huddled in groups, uncertain and frightened. In the light from the pavilion windows I could see that several people were bleeding from head wounds. Somewhere I could hear a woman sobbing, loud and uncontrolled. The smoke still hung in the air.
‘What was it?’ Jenny asked. ‘Some sort of bomb?’
‘I don’t know,’ Michael said. ‘It’s not easy to see with all this smoke and everyone milling around. I suppose it must have been a ghastly accident.’
‘Fireworks,’ I said uncertainly. ‘I’ve always said they were dangerous ...’ My voice cracked and I found I was trembling.
Jenny put her arm around my shoulder. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘Let’s get out of here. We ought to get you home.’
We were starting to move away towards the car park when Roger suddenly appeared out of the darkness.
‘Please, can you take Delia, look after her for me? I’m needed over there!’
He put the bewildered child carefully into Michael’s arms and was gone. Delia, not surprisingly, began to cry.
‘Here,’ I said to Michael, ‘give her to me. I’ll take her to Rosemary.’
I took her in my arms and she clasped her hands tightly around my neck and burrowed her head in my shoulder. For a few moments I stood there rocking her, as much for my own comfort as for hers, until she gradually stopped crying.
‘Come along, darling,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and find Gran.’
Chapter Fourteen
After the darkness, the light inside the pavilion seemed very bright and hurt my eyes. A lot of people from outside had crowded in and it took me a few moments to find Rosemary.
‘There you are,’ I said brightly to Delia, ‘there’s Gran.’
‘Gran,’ Delia echoed, holding out her arms to Rosemary, who rushed over to take her.
< vechoed, span>‘What’s happened?’ she cried. ‘Has Delia been hurt? Where’s Roger?’
‘She’s all right,’ I said. ‘Just a bit upset with all the panic out there. Roger had to go and help.’
‘What on earth’s going on?’ Anthea came up to me. ‘We heard this awful bang and people shouting. Good heavens! What’s happened to you, Sheila? You’re covered in mud.’
‘I got knocked over in the melee,’ I said, ‘but I’m all right. There’s been a dreadful accident—with a firework, I think, but I’m not sure exactly.’ I turned to Rosemary. ‘Is Delia better now? Poor little soul; she couldn’t understand what was happening.’
Ro
semary sat the child down on the edge of the table and gave her a chocolate biscuit. ‘She’ll be all right in a minute. It’s way past her bedtime, anyway. I’ll just let her calm down a bit and then I’ll take her home. You two can manage without me?’
‘Goodness, yes,’ I said. ‘You carry on. If something dreadful’s happened, I don’t expect they’ll bother with the barbecue or food or anything. People will just go home.’
‘Actually, you ought to go home yourself, Ma.’ Michael and Jenny had followed me into the pavilion. ‘You’ve had a nasty fall. We’ll drive you back now.’
‘I’m all right,’ I protested. ‘Anyway, I’ve got my own car here ...’
‘Better go back with Michael,’ Anthea said, regarding me critically. ‘You look awful. Liz and I can perfectly well cope with things here.’
I thought longingly of a hot bath and bed and said gratefully, ‘If you’re sure ...’
Outside we could hear the siren of an ambulance, urgent and frightening.
‘Oh dear,’ Anthea said, ‘it sounds as if people are hurt.’ As if by some mutual accord we were moving towards the door, when Roger came in.
‘Is Delia OK?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I’m terribly sorry I had to leave her with you like that ...’
‘See for yourself,’ I smiled, gesturi {ilee="ng to where Delia, her mouth ringed with melted chocolate, was embarking with enthusiasm on a sausage roll, something, I was sure, that was normally forbidden to her.
‘Thank goodness! It was pretty awful out there. People panicked. Good heavens, Sheila!’ He broke off, taking in my dishevelled appearance. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I’m all right,’ I said. ‘But, Roger, what on earth has happened?’
He looked grave. ‘A very serious incident, I’m afraid. I thought at first that one of the fireworks must have been faulty in some way. There was a bad explosion, but there was a lot of metal debris as well. We need the explosives people to check it out before we know for sure. Carol Graham has been killed and about a dozen people, including a couple of children, have been badly injured.’
