A Fete Worse Than Death (Pippa Parker Mysteries Book 3)

by Liz Hedgecock

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Mrs Harbottle, not seeming overjoyed at the prospect. ‘So — Sonia on the tombola, Graham on the coconut shy, Margaret on the hoopla, and someone from the WI will look after the jam and chutney. Mrs Parker, you can take on Hook-a-Duck. There isn’t much to it, and we have everything you would need; ducks, poles and a paddling pool. Good. How many helpers can we count on from the playgroup? I know Barbara had a hard time whipping up any interest.’

  Pippa took a deep breath, conscious that everyone was looking in her direction. She didn’t even know who most of them were, since Mrs Harbottle hadn’t performed introductions. ‘To be honest, Mrs Harbottle, when I raised the matter at playgroup, no-one was keen.’

  ‘Too busy with Other Things, I suppose.’ Mrs Harbottle sniffed.

  ‘People are busy, yes,’ said Pippa, rather nettled. ‘But the feedback I got was that the fete wasn’t very exciting, and that it’s the same every year.’

  ‘If that’s their attitude —’ A large, squeaking tea trolley arrived, with Lady Higginbotham behind it. ‘Ah good. Tea. We can write off the playgroup, then. I’ll serve.’ She swept towards the trolley and proceeded to rattle the cups about.

  ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ asked Pippa. She was conscious of being a small, lone voice in the room.

  ‘It’s a shame they aren’t interested in supporting their local community.’ Mrs Harbottle banged the teapot down. ‘But there it is. In my day we would have been glad to help.’

  ‘And what you’re offering probably isn’t much different,’ Pippa retorted. ‘How much money did you raise last year?’

  ‘Barbara kept the accounts,’ snapped Mrs Harbottle.

  ‘Roughly.’

  Mrs Harbottle fidgeted with a doily.

  ‘All right. How many people came to the fete last year?’

  ‘It was pretty quiet,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘Although it did rain in the afternoon, which never helps.’

  ‘People have no stamina these days,’ growled Mrs Harbottle, stalking towards the table with two cups of tea. ‘A bit of rain, and they cry off.’ She put the cups down with such force that liquid slopped into the saucers.

  ‘Is any of the fete under cover?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘It’s all trestle tables. We could hire a tent, but it would eat up most of the profits.’

  ‘Not if you sold beer in it. Or had a pop-up gin bar.’ Murmurs rustled round the table, and several people seemed noticeably brighter.

  ‘And have drunks roaming the estate?’ Mrs Harbottle’s voice rang around the room.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Pippa stuffed her notebook in her bag. ‘You invited me because you said you wanted fresh blood on the committee. I asked at playgroup, and I listened to what they had to say. But you’re not listening, Mrs Harbottle. I don’t think there’s any point in me staying.’ She gritted her teeth in anticipation of the scrape her chair would make on the parquet.

  ‘I’m listening.’ The quiet tones of Lady Higginbotham.

  ‘And me,’ said another woman. ‘I like gin.’

  ‘We’d probably need a licence,’ said Norm. ‘But with proper supervision, I don’t see a problem.’

  ‘That wasn’t the only idea we had,’ said Pippa, relaxing slightly. ‘We could get a celebrity to come, and judge a baking contest.’

  ‘Ooh, who? Can we get Paul Hollywood? I like him,’ said the woman who also liked gin.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ said Pippa. ‘But I have friends in PR who could help. I did PR in London before I came to live here.’

  ‘Ohhhh,’ said Gin Woman.

  ‘This does sound interesting,’ said the vicar. ‘The church spire needs five thousand pounds’ worth of repairs, you see. It’s been rather neglected.’

  ‘Maybe we could run the fete over two days,’ said Pippa. ‘How do you advertise it, usually?’

  Mrs Harbottle glared at her. ‘We put a poster on the parish noticeboard, and rely on word of mouth. Recommendations. Anyway, everyone knows about the summer fete.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re not — you’re an incomer.’

  ‘We could spread the word on social media for free,’ said Pippa. ‘And I bet the local newspaper would pick it up, if we did get a celebrity.’ Oh, how she longed to wave her colour-coded plan under Mrs Harbottle’s nose! It was tempting, so tempting, but she had a feeling that Mrs Harbottle would turn her to stone with a well-timed look. ‘I can put a plan together, it won’t take long.’

  ‘That would be wonderful!’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘What a good idea of yours to invite Pippa, Beryl.’

  Mrs Harbottle, staring into her teacup, murmured something inaudible.

  ‘Exactly. Cake or biscuit?’

  When the meeting broke up, an hour later, Pippa felt much better than she had done when she guided the Mini up the drive. Gin Woman, who turned out to be called Margaret, was keen to be involved. ‘It’ll be so nice to get away from the hoopla,’ she confided, as they ambled down the corridor. ‘Those rings do clatter so, and my back’s not as good as it was.’

  ‘The tombola’s no better,’ said Sonia, on her other side. ‘Most of the prizes are tins of soup. I feel bad, but what can you do?’

  ‘How long have you been running it?’ asked Pippa.

  Sonia frowned. ‘When did Barbara come to Much Gadding?’ she asked Margaret.

  ‘Ooh, now you’re asking…’

  Pippa smiled to herself as they debated. A good evening’s work, on the whole. She had people’s phone numbers, and some email addresses. Tomorrow she would ask if Suze had a celebrity she could borrow, and send out her plan. Then she would really get to work.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming.’ Lady Higginbotham beamed at the group. Mrs Harbottle had declined to see them off, saying that she needed to take something out of the oven. ‘I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon. Goodnight, everyone.’ And Pippa felt that Lady Higginbotham’s words were meant particularly for her.

  At the car park. Pippa took a last look at the hall. A few lights showed downstairs, but most of it was in darkness. She wondered how it had looked in its heyday, and what the rooms were like now. But there was no point in speculating. She had work to do.

  She got into the Mini and started the engine. ‘Watch out Much Gadding, here I come!’ she said, as the radio burst into life, and she sang along to ‘Fame’ at the top of her lungs all the way home.

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘Come to bed, Pippa.’

  Normally Pippa would have been quite willing to go along with Simon’s suggestion, but not tonight. There was too much to do.

  ‘In a minute.’

  ‘You said that forty-five minutes ago. Come on, it’s gone half eleven.’

  ‘You don’t have to stay up.’ Pippa said to his aggrieved face.

  ‘Mm. I don’t want to wake up in the night, wonder where you are, and find you slumped over the dining table. Once is enough.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ grumbled Pippa, not shutting the laptop. ‘You get to go to work and sit in an office and not be interrupted. How much time do you think I’ve had to work on this today?’

  ‘I don’t —’

  ‘TEN MINUTES. If that. Every time I phone someone Freddie wants to know who it is, and why I’m ringing them. And then Ruby usually has a screaming fit.’

  ‘She’s picking up on your tension,’ Simon muttered.

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ said Pippa.

  ‘Maybe you need to hear it.’ Simon walked towards her. ‘Have you saved that?’

  ‘Yes, but —’

  ‘Good.’ And he closed the laptop.

  ‘I. Wasn’t. Finished.’ Pippa said. She felt as if smoke might come out of her nostrils at any moment.

  ‘You’ve been working since I got home. I’ve done bedtime, read stories, and made dinner. I would now like to go to sleep, and rest without the sound of typing in my ears.’

&n
bsp; ‘The fete’s in three days!’ wailed Pippa.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Simon. ‘Trust me.’

  ‘What has trusting you got to do with it?’

  ‘I have faith in you.’ Simon stretched out a hand. ‘Now come upstairs.’

  Pippa considered resisting, opening the laptop, and spending another hour going over the detail, making more notes, more reminders to follow up this or that tomorrow. But lifting the lid of the laptop was more than she had strength to do.

  ‘OK, you win,’ she said, getting up and following Simon up the stairs. Hopefully he would feel guilty, and put the kids to bed again tomorrow.

  ***

  ‘Oh my God.’ Pippa pulled open the curtains and stared in disbelief. Much Gadding had turned white. A layer of snow blanketed the road, the roofs of the houses opposite, and the tops of all the cars.

  ‘What is it?’ said Simon, sleepily.

  ‘It’s snowed. It can’t snow! It’s June! I’m running a summer fete in three — no, two days!’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Simon sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s a peculiarity of the climate round here. Summer snow. I thought you knew that.’

  Pippa tore herself from the window to glare at him. ‘No. I did not know that.’

  ‘Oh.’ Simon padded to the bathroom. ‘So you don’t have a line in your plan for what to do if it snows?’

  ‘No!’ Pippa felt her face stretching into weird shapes. She probably looked like something out of an Edvard Munch painting. ‘What can I do?’

  Simon’s voice floated from the bathroom. ‘Oh, you just ring the snow-plough man. He’ll sort you out. If he isn’t booked.’

  Pippa ran for her phone. ‘What’s the number?’

  ‘It’s in your plan.’

  ‘It ISN’T in my plan! No-one told me!’

  Suddenly Simon was in front of her, his arms gripping her shoulders. ‘You’ve been very silly, haven’t you? Thinking you could run this all by yourself.’ He began to shake her, harder and harder…

  ‘OW! Let go of me!’ Pippa squealed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Simon let go, and Pippa pulled the covers over her head. ‘You were having a bad dream, and then you started yelling about not knowing the phone number for the snow plough, and it was my fault. So I decided to wake you before you woke the kids.’

  Pippa emerged from the covers and squinted at the clock. 3:48 am. ‘Oh.’

  ‘You need to calm it down a bit, Pippa,’ said Simon, snuggling into the bed. ‘Otherwise you’ll be a nervous wreck by Saturday.’

  ‘Some might say that’s already happened,’ Pippa muttered.

  ‘Just go to sleep.’ Simon leaned over and kissed her left ear, and within minutes his breathing settled into sleep.

  Well, at least snow in June couldn’t really happen.

  Could it?

  Pippa squeezed her eyes closed and went through it all again. The marquee was booked, donated by a Gadcester firm whom Pippa had badgered and wheedled until they agreed. The beer tent and cocktail lounge were organised. The WI were on board, except for Sheila, who had somehow managed to book a last-minute holiday. Polly of Polly’s Whatnots was, typically, selling wool and knitwear on what would probably be the hottest day of the year. All the pubs in Gadcestershire were sending a tug-of-war team, which would help the beer sales. The choir were giving a concert, and the local am-dram group were staging Macbeth. The playgroup helpers were in place. Almost everyone had, eventually, given way and taken on a stall. Lila and Jeff were running a karaoke contest, Eva had succumbed to guess-how-many-sweets-in-a-jar, Caitlin was running the hoopla on condition that she could sit down throughout, and Imogen was helping with the cake sale. Although Pippa fully intended to take the lead on that one. Especially if it meant spending more time with Dev Hardman.

  She had squealed when Suze told her. ‘Ooh, yes please! He cooks on telly — he’s practically a household name!’

  ‘I didn’t have you down as a fan,’ Suze said, drily.

  ‘I’m not. But people will come to the fete just to meet him.’

  ‘He wants a book signing. You’ll need to liaise with the bookshop in Gadcester.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll ring them first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, you will. Oh, and one more thing.’

  ‘Whatever he wants!’ What would it be? A bowl of M&Ms with the yellow ones removed? A dressing room with a star on the door? Whatever it was, Dev Hardman could have it, with knobs on.

  ‘You owe me,’ said Suze. ‘Dev was one of my clients, till he got poached by Dahlia Dean last year.’ She spat the Ds like cherry stones. ‘He knows I’m still sore about it. That’s how I got him to agree to this — out of guilt. So you’d better make good use of him, because that’s a favour I could have used for my own benefit, instead of pulling a freebie for you.’

  ‘OK,’ said Pippa contritely. ‘I won’t forget, Suze. Thank you.’ But in the background, her brain was ticking over. If Dev had been poached once, he could be poached again. She tried not to think of eggs, or gamekeepers.

  And she had made use of him. She had sent press releases across the county, she had used the photos Dahlia Dean had emailed on the publicity material, and she had been all over social media. If likes equated to attendees on the day, they would be packed.

  There was nothing more she could do. But what if —

  If it rained, they had tents, and the stalls had covers this year.

  If someone didn’t turn up, she had more than enough people on the roster to manage.

  If one of the kids was ill, Simon could deal with it.

  The only deal breaker was Dev. So long as he turned up — and he had to turn up, to pay his debt to Suze — it would all be fine.

  She rubbed the frown between her eyebrows with her thumb, thumped her pillow into submission, and settled.

  And so the days continued; a patchwork of checking, double-checking, nagging, updating, and ringing round. ‘Ow!’ Pippa glared at Lila, who had just poked her in the ribs.

  ‘I tried talking to you,’ said Lila. ‘Twice.’ She jerked her head towards the middle of the floor, where people were picking up toys. ‘If I hadn’t done something, you’d still have been here at midnight.’

  ‘I was texting Serendipity to check —’

  ‘Whatever. I’ll be glad when this fete is out of the way,’ said Lila. ‘Were you this full-on at work?’

  ‘I didn’t have this much at stake when I was at work,’ snapped Pippa.

  Lila’s eyebrows shot into her hair. ‘It’s a village fete, Pippa, not a West End production. Let’s face it, almost anything would be an improvement on what we’ve got at the moment. I just don’t want you to flog yourself to death over it.’

  Pippa sighed. ‘I s’pose.’ She pressed Send on her message, then lifted Ruby off the fast-emptying floor. ‘Come on, trouble.’ She looked around. ‘Where’s Freddie?’

  ‘Helping, with Bella.’ Lila grinned. ‘They’ve finally got to the point of being useful.’

  ‘Wow.’ Pippa’s phone beeped. You already asked me that, twice, and I said yes. S x. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Exactly. Calm down, Pip.’

  ‘I will. As soon as this is over and I’m handing the vicar a cheque for five grand to mend the church spire.’

  Lila frowned. ‘I thought it was two.’

  ‘He needs five, so that’s what I’m aiming for.’

  Pippa bent to pick up a stray toy car. When she straightened, Lila was glaring at her. ‘See what I mean? You’re putting yourself under unnecessary stress.’

  ‘I can handle it.’ Pippa walked away to stop herself shouting at Lila. She dropped the car into the big plastic vehicle box, and took a few deep breaths.

  It didn’t help that Serendipity wasn’t coming. The fete was the same weekend as a summer school in the Lake District where Serendipity was running some sessions. ‘I feel bad, I really do,’ she had said on the phone. ‘But they booked me ages ago, and I can’t get out of it.’
r />   ‘It’s fine, don’t worry.’ But Pippa was worried. Serendipity would have been a draw. She had said she would provide items for a stall, but it wasn’t the same as having someone there who got what Pippa was trying to accomplish. Serendipity’s absence made her uneasy, as if it were a bad omen. She shook herself impatiently. Visualise success, Pippa. She closed her eyes and imagined bright bunting against a blue sky, and Dev Hardman smiling as he cut a slice of a perfect Victoria sponge. Now that was more like it.

  CHAPTER 6

  ‘That wasn’t in the forecast,’ Simon said, as the rain beat against the bedroom window.

  ‘Oh no…’ Pippa flung the covers off and pulled open the curtains. One look at the dark grey sky and puddled road was enough to make her close them.

  ‘Maybe it’ll clear up later,’ soothed Simon. ‘And at least you’ve got a marquee.’

  ‘The field’ll be boggy,’ groaned Pippa. ‘I’ll just ring and —’

  ‘Pippa, it’s six thirty.’ Simon reached for his dressing-gown. ‘You can’t ring anyone at this time. I’ll go and make tea.’

  ‘Mummy?’ Freddie appeared at the bedroom door. ‘I heard talking.’ His eyes were wide and wondering.

  ‘It’s all right, Freddie.’ Pippa ruffled his hair. ‘I was moaning about the rain. It’s the fete today, and I was hoping it would be sunny. But it isn’t.’

  ‘It’s today?’ Freddie asked, incredulously.

  ‘Yes, Freddie, today.’

  ‘Can we come?’

  Pippa regarded the hopeful little face turned up to hers. ‘Yes, of course. With Daddy.’

  ‘Aren’t you going, Mummy?’

  ‘Of course I’m going, I organised it.’ Her patience was already wearing thin, and it wasn’t seven yet. ‘I’ll be busy though.’

  ‘Too busy for us?’ His bottom lip started to wobble.

  ‘Oh Freddie, it isn’t that…’ Pippa gave him a hug and felt bad that yes, that was exactly what she meant. ‘It’s just that I have a lot to do, and you’ll have more fun with Daddy. I’ll be doing boring stuff like making sure everything runs smoothly.’ Now she came to think of it, she wasn’t quite sure what she would be doing today, but it would probably involve a lot of running around. ‘Oh, and I have to look after our special guest.’