A Fete Worse Than Death

by Liz Hedgecock

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Pippa, your phone’s ringing!’

  Pippa Parker paused in the act of handing a cup of tea through the serving hatch, and the recipient grabbed the cup before any harm came to it.

  ‘Shall I answer?’ asked Lila, waving the phone.

  ‘Would you?’ Pippa hurried to the kitchen door. Who would phone me at playgroup? Simon hardly ever rang her when he was at work, unless he needed dry cleaning picking up. Suze rang in the evenings. Most of the other people who might possibly phone her were already here. That left double glazing firms, solar panel vendors, and enquiries about mis-sold PPI.

  ‘Who is it?’ She mouthed at Lila, who shrugged and handed the phone over. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is that Mrs Parker?’

  ‘Yes, speaking.’ The voice on the other end of the phone was hard to place, but it had the authority of someone used to being obeyed. Pippa discounted the previous guesses.

  ‘Ah, hello. I rang your home number, but nobody was in.’ The voice conveyed a faint whiff of disapproval.

  ‘Can I ask who’s calling, please?’ Two minutes. That’s how long she would give whoever this was. Apart from anything else, she wanted a cup of tea too.

  ‘Oh, I do apologise.’ A laugh like a high-pitched windchime. ‘This is Mrs Harbottle, Lady Higginbotham’s housekeeper.’ She made it sound a position of honour, equivalent to a lady in waiting.

  Pippa glanced at the serving hatch. ‘Are you sure you have the right number?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed. I want to talk to you about the summer fete at Higginbotham Hall. Mrs Hamilton, your predecessor, was involved in the organisation, and we felt it would be appropriate to continue our association with the playgroup.’

  Pippa’s heart plummeted to somewhere in the region of her stomach. ‘I’m afraid I don’t really have time to organise a fete –’

  ‘Oh no, that wasn’t what I meant. I was wondering if you and your young mums would man a stall.’

  ‘Woman a stall, surely,’ murmured Pippa.

  ‘Ahahaha.’ God, the woman had ears like a bat. An old bat. ‘Yes, very good. Anyway the fete organisation committee are meeting at Higginbotham Hall on Thursday evening, 7 o’clock prompt. It would be useful if you rounded up some helpers to come along. We need new blood on the committee.’ Mrs Harbottle said this with relish, as if she looked forward to sampling the blood in question.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Pippa. ‘If my husband’s available to mind the children.’ She rather hoped he wouldn’t be.

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Children.’ Mrs Harbottle pronounced the word in the manner of a guillotine slicing down. ‘Well, I won’t keep you. Thursday, 7 o’clock, Higginbotham Hall. Refreshments will be served. I look forward to meeting you.’

  ‘Yes, you too,’ said Pippa, just as Ruby, ignored a fraction too long, let out a massive wail and began to beat her arms and legs on the floor. ‘Bye now, bye.’ She pressed End Call and gathered up her flailing daughter. Ruby continued to thrash for a few seconds, then gave up and clung to Pippa like a lifebelt in a choppy sea, or possibly a rusk.

  ‘There, there, Ruby.’ Pippa walked up and down, and Ruby’s thumb crept to her mouth. Once the thumb was fully engaged, it might be safe to sit. She wandered to the serving hatch. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cuppa?’

  Eva, behind the counter, frowned at the urn. ‘I can squeeze out half a cup.’ She passed over a cup of builder’s tea. ‘There are plenty of fairy cakes, though.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Pippa eyed a plate of small, anaemic cakes with thin white icing and Frozen rice-paper toppers. Bet those were at the back of the cupboard, she thought, then told herself off for ingratitude. After all, they were homemade, and it was the thought that counted. Even if it was slightly stale. She swigged a mouthful of tea and wished she hadn’t as the bitterness kicked in. ‘Could I have a bit more milk in the tea, please?’

  ‘You could,’ said Eva, ‘but it would mean opening another bottle, and you’re the last —’

  ‘In that case, don’t worry about it.’ Pippa finished the cake and chased it down with the rest of the tea. Best to take her medicine and get it over with. ‘Could I have a glass of water?’

  Eva, looking hurt, filled a teacup from the sink and slid it towards her.

  ‘Who was it?’ Lila, in her Tuesday uniform of jeans and rock band T-shirt, strolled across. Pippa noticed with envy that she was holding the remains of a pink iced doughnut with multicoloured sprinkles.

  ‘Someone called Mrs Harbottle. She said she was the housekeeper at Higginbotham Hall. She wants us to do stalls at the summer fete —’

  ‘Nooooo!’ Lila held up her hands to ward Pippa off. ‘Not the summer fete! I thought we’d got rid of that.’

  Pippa hoped the churning in her stomach was related to the strong tea and fairy cake. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What’s up with her?’ Caitlin waddled over.

  ‘You know,’ Lila said, darkly. ‘Beryl has winkled us out.’

  ‘Not —’ Caitlin winced. ‘Not the fete worse than death?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Jeez. I need to sit down.’

  ‘It’s all right for you, you’ve got an excuse.’ They watched Caitlin puff along to a nearby chair and lower herself into it, her bump seeming to have a gravitational pull of its own.

  ‘It can’t be that bad,’ said Pippa. But she couldn’t even convince herself.

  ‘S’worse.’ Lila sat down by Caitlin, and Pippa followed. ‘The same stalls every year — traditional ones, like hoopla and a coconut shy and a tombola.’

  ‘Yeeeeeeees. That sounds villagey and quaint and charming.’

  ‘Not when that’s all there is, and it’s the same thing every year. No rides, no throw-the-wet-sponge-at-a-public-figure-in-the-stocks, no beer tent, no fun.’ Lila’s voice rose. ‘Barbara loved it, of course. Proper entertainment, and she got to organise everyone. Beryl Harbottle’s probably pig-sick that she’s got to do something. Which is why she’s trying to rope you in.’

  ‘She didn’t say that —’

  ‘She wouldn’t, would she? That’s how she draaaaaws you into her web.’ Lila popped the rest of the doughnut in her mouth.

  ‘Oh do stop it, Lila. I haven’t agreed to do anything except go to the meeting. I’m not organising anything —’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Lila, through the doughnut.

  ‘You can count me out,’ said Caitlin, stroking her bump. ‘Certainly this time.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Pippa considered. ‘Anyway, if the fete’s so bad, Lila, why don’t you make some suggestions? What would you like to see?’

  Lila swallowed her doughnut. ‘Alcohol. Definitely. And proper prizes. Bella insisted on doing the tombola last year, and she won a tin of butter beans. She cried all the way home.’ She glared at Pippa. ‘You may be laughing now, but you try lecturing a child about good manners and gratitude when they’ve just been given a tin of beans.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Pippa. ‘All right, I’ll take that suggestion along. Anything else?’

  ‘Rides. Pop music. Someone off the telly.’ Lila counted the items on her fingers. ‘And no entrance fee.’ She looked severely at Pippa. ‘Fiver last time.’

  Pippa winced. ‘Anything else?’ she asked the room. Since the grown-ups were clearly listening, they might as well join in. Thirty seconds later she held up her hands to stop the noise. ‘I can’t remember all that. Let me get a pen and paper, and you can write it down. Or better, come with me on Thursday.’

  Cue shaking of heads and mutterings about Zumba, Slim Fit, yoga —

  Pippa sighed. ‘Just write your suggestions.’

  At the end of playgroup, when she was s
upposed to be washing up, Pippa flicked through her notepad. This now had several pages devoted to musings on whether they could get Benedict Cumberbatch or that guy from Game of Thrones to open the fete, along with a range of suggestions from henna tattoos to a big wheel. She sighed, closed it, and ran water into the sink.

  ‘Mummy?’ Freddie said, as they walked home.

  ‘Yes, Freddie?’ She glanced at her not-so-little-any-more boy.

  ‘Why are you sad?’

  Pippa saw the concern in his worried eyes and his crumpled-up mouth, and plastered a big smile over her doubts. ‘I’m not sad, Freddie, I was thinking. Sometimes people look sad when they aren’t.’ She hoped her explanation sounded more convincing to Freddie than it did to her.

  ‘Oh. OK.’ Freddie stomped beside the pushchair, swinging his arms. ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Yeeeess?’ What now?

  ‘What’s for lunch?’

  That was more like it. ‘Well, it could be fish fingers, or chicken fingers, or salad —’

  ‘Not salad!’

  ‘OK, I was kidding with that one. Or beans on toast —’

  ‘Beans on toast! Beans on toast!’

  Ruby twisted in her seat to look at him, and joined in. ‘Ba-ba-do! Ba-ba-do!’

  That’s the spirit, thought Pippa, as they marched and rolled on their way. But lurking near the front of her mind was the distinct suspicion that she had, through no fault of her own, bitten off more than she could chew.

  CHAPTER 2

  ‘Yeah, Thursday’s fine,’ said Simon, removing his tie and tossing it, still knotted, over the bedpost. With that disturbing reminder of the hoopla of doom, Pippa’s heart sank into her slippers.

  ‘Oh good,’ she said.

  Simon paused in unbuttoning his shirt. ‘What’s up? You seem…’

  A crash downstairs, followed by a wail. ‘We’ll talk later,’ said Pippa, dashing from the room.

  Luckily it was only an empty mug, now lying in two big pieces and a lot of fragments on the floor. Freddie was half hugging Ruby and half restraining her. ‘Ruby pulled it off the table, Mummy.’

  ‘But she was in the bouncer chair when I went upstairs.’

  Freddie shrugged. ‘She got out. She sort of rolled.’

  Pippa processed this bit of developmental and thoroughly unwelcome information. ‘OK. No-one’s in trouble. It’s only a mug.’ She gently freed Freddie’s arms from his little sister. ‘Ruby, I’m going to put you in the bouncer while I clear this up. Yes?’

  Ruby’s eyes were wide as saucers. Pippa scooped her up and deposited her in the bouncer on the other side of the room, then went to fetch the dustpan and brush.

  Thud.

  She came back in to find Ruby grovelling and — yes — creeping inexorably towards the shattered mug.

  ‘Told you,’ said Freddie, smugly.

  ‘Fine.’ Pippa replaced Ruby in the bouncer, and this time, fastened the straps.

  Ruby’s face turned first pink, then red. ‘Waaaaaa…’ She began quietly, but the volume escalated until she was wailing like a siren.

  ‘It’s only till I clear this up,’ said Pippa, as she swept.

  ‘What’s up with her?’ Simon, now wearing T-shirt and jogging bottoms, came in and stared at his bawling daughter.

  ‘She’s worked out how to break things, and she’s cross that I won’t let her do more of it.’ Pippa swept the last of the shards into the dustpan and bore it to the kitchen.

  ‘I thought she was —’

  ‘She was.’ The china thudded into the bin and Pippa closed the lid on it with a satisfying thunk. ‘But as I’ve just discovered, Ruby can now a) break out of the bouncer b) get herself across the floor and c) grab things off the table.’

  ‘Ruby’s naughty,’ said Freddie. The huge grin on his face was tempered with something like respect as he looked at his little sister.

  ‘No, Freddie, she did a naughty thing. That’s different. Time for bed.’

  Freddie’s mouth turned down and he stomped towards the stairs with a mutter that sounded suspiciously like ‘Whatever.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re back to this already.’ Simon regarded Ruby, now silent and pouting, with disbelief. ‘When did Freddie begin escaping?’

  Pippa ruminated. ‘Not till he was one, at least. Ruby’s, what, seven months old?’

  ‘So long as she can’t get out of her cot…’

  ‘I suppose. Come along, Little Miss Houdini. Bath, bottle and bed.’ Pippa unbuckled Ruby and scooped her up. It might have been her imagination, but as the buckle released she saw a distinct glint in Ruby’s blue eyes.

  ***

  The children settled, Pippa was just about to relax for a minute when her mobile burst into song. Suze’s ringtone, ‘Mamma Mia.’ She frowned at the phone for a moment before pressing the green button and taking it to the kitchen. Suze didn’t usually ring on a Tuesday, and never this early.

  ‘Guess what?’

  ‘You’re meant to start with Hello, Pippa.’

  ‘Hello Pippa. But guess what?’ Suze sounded as if she was going to burst.

  Pippa smiled in spite of herself. ‘All right, what?’

  ‘I made partner!’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Yes way! Suzanne Hegarty of Arkwright Randall Judson Hegarty, at your service.’

  ‘Wow. Your name over the door!’ She was pleased, of course she was pleased. Suze had worked hard, and she deserved it. ‘When did you find out?’

  ‘An hour ago. Jason Arkwright called me in — I thought it was about the beans account I’m handling. But when I went in they were all round the table. Junior partner, of course —’

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  ‘It’s a massive step up. I can’t believe it. I only stayed to finish up a plan for the umbrella campaign, and then I left work. My head feels like it’s going to explode!’ Suze was almost shouting. Pippa couldn’t tell if it was due to excitement, or to be heard over the various honks and beeps coming down the line.

  ‘I can tell.’

  ‘You’re the first person I’ve told.’

  ‘Aw, thanks. I’m really pleased for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Pip. I knew you’d understand. Who’d have thought, when we were at Positive PR together…’

  ‘You’ve done amazingly, Suze. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks. Ooh, better go, I’m at the tube. I’ll ring properly another night. I’m so EXCITED! Bye, Pip, bye, bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ But Suze had already ended the call. Pippa gazed at her phone, then opened Facebook. It didn’t take her long to find what she was seeking.

  A photo of her and Suze together, taken maybe eight years ago, captioned ‘First work night out!’ They both looked ridiculously young. Was I really that thin? When did I cut my hair short? And why did I think a strapless dress was a good idea? Suze looked pretty much the same as she did now, except that she’d ditched the leather trousers. Pippa touched the image of herself. It was like looking at a different person.

  Who’d have thought, when we were at Positive PR together, that you’d be a junior partner in London, and I’d be a stay-at-home mum in the arse end of nowhere. Pippa closed Facebook before putting her phone down.

  ‘What did Suze want?’ Simon called from the sitting room.

  Pippa wanted to say Nothing, to not have this conversation. But it felt dishonest not to acknowledge Suze’s achievement. ‘Suze made partner. She’s chuffed to bits.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Simon’s voice was followed by his presence in the doorway. ‘How are you feeling?’

  Damn. Trust Simon to pick up on it. ‘Honestly?’ He nodded. ‘I am pleased. But I’m jealous as hell, too.’

  Simon switched the kettle on. ‘She’s had to work for it, though. How many all-nighters, how many early starts have you told me about?’

  ‘I know. And I chose something different. But —’ Pippa opened the cupboard to get the mugs, and when she closed it Simon’s face wore a concerned expression.
>
  ‘But what?’

  ‘I used to do things. I used to have a brain. Now look at me. I’m a puree-making, biscuit-eating vegetable.’ She showed Simon the photo on her phone. ‘I was young, and ambitious, and driven. We both were. Now Suze is a hotshot executive and I’m a frazzled mum who can’t even get into proper trousers any more.’

  ‘You’re still wonderful.’ Simon put his arms around her, but Pippa wriggled free.

  ‘I’m not in the mood for cuddles. I want to do things again.’

  Simon leaned against the worktop and looked at her quizzically. ‘You do do things. What about the playgroup?’

  ‘Oh, the playgroup. Any fool could run the playgroup. I was just the person who stepped up.’

  ‘Exactly. You stepped up when no-one else did. Then there’s the choir.’

  Pippa dismissed the choir with a wave of her hand. ‘Singing. It’s hardly rocket science.’

  ‘I never said it was, but you show up, you learn the tunes, you practise —’

  ‘Yes, but that isn’t what I mean.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Simon’s voice rose, and he frowned.

  Pippa took a deep breath, then let it out. How could she put it without sounding ungrateful? ‘I wish — I had something apart from you, and the children, and hobby stuff. Something I was in charge of, that people respected. I suppose I mean work.’

  ‘You want to go back to work?’ Simon looked completely baffled. ‘In London?’

  ‘No!’ Pippa smacked the worktop and the mugs jumped. ‘Sorry. I —’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘I wish I could do something local, and part-time, where I could still have Ruby. And Freddie when it isn’t a preschool day, of course,’ she added hastily, in case Freddie somehow rumbled in his sleep that she’d forgotten him.

  ‘And this mysterious job would also need to be fulfilling, and play to your strengths. Oh, and be reasonably well-paid.’ Simon leaned over and switched the kettle back on.

  ‘It’d be nice,’ said Pippa, shrugging.

  ‘Ah, the impossible dream. If you can find something like that, I take off my invisible hat to you.’ Simon retrieved the teabags. ‘What’s on Thursday, anyway? You never said.’