A pang of frustration shot through Arthur. How inept were these people? "Oh well, I’m sure the kids will still love the taste. Have you paid the deposit for your stall?"
"Yes of course, two weeks ago, we gave it to Reverend Miller.” The old man said, taken aback by the change in tone from Arthur.
Then why had they not yet placed their “Official Cake Vendor” certificate on the stall frame? Arthur would ensure to check back when everything was up and running. “What's your name again?"
“We're Mr and Mrs Beaumont." They said in unison.
Twelve minutes to go and the boy scouts had assembled by the gate. At least they were all efficient and punctual. Not much point in a Boy Scout movement that wasn’t though, Arthur chuckled to himself. It was the job of the boy scouts to collect entrance fee donations upon entrance and a fine job they did every year.
Beside the now half inflated bouncy castle was the coconut shy. It was run every year by Alex Cooke and Arthur was sure that for the last two years running, Cooke had left the premises without handing in his raised funds. Masquerading as a charity event and then failing to relinquish the money is not only a criminal offence, but one that would demand ostracisation from the community of Burley-in-Wharfedale. The Phillips family had been chased out for displaying their “Vote Labour” sign in their front yard during the 2010 general election - Cooke wouldn’t last ten minutes after a stunt like robbing the church. Arthur would be sure to keep a close eye on that bloody Alex Cooke and send one of the boy scouts to collect the money from him at the end of the event.
Following the record success of the previous year’s bake sale, not only was there a bouncy castle this year but the community had also managed to attain the services of a very special guest. It was not very often a place like Burley-in-Wharfedale could secure the services of a former Big Brother contestant to cut the ribbon, but Nichola Bolton’s services, Arthur Cartwright had indeed secured. Nichola had been in the very first series of Big Brother way back in 2000, coming in at a respectable 7th place. Now, thirteen years later she was still living off her name and fame, opening up jumble sales, corner shops and the occasional petrol station for a nominal fee. Today Arthur was pleased she’d be making a special appearance at the St. Mary’s annual bake sale. Nichola’s role was to cut the ribbon, say a few words, smile and pose for photos with the villagers. The only problem was, as Arthur checked his watch, there was only nine minutes until the ribbon was due to be cut and there was still no sign of her.
"I hope this day doesn’t give me another attack of the angina.” Arthur muttered to himself.
The seventy year old Arthur had lost his wife nearly a year ago. Now retired, he dedicated much of his time to the local community, something of which he was proud, taking his duties seriously. Even if few people noticed and even fewer appreciated what he did for the village, he had organised the bake sale and this was his fifth consecutive year.
Oh no, but Jordan McPhee was playing the radio through his car speakers. That would drown out the sound of the brass quartet who were due to strike up once the event began. Arthur would have to do something about that, the ambience was half the experience at the annual bake sale. "Good morning, Mr McPhee."
"Shush, just one minute…” Jordan raised a hand to stop Arthur from continuing, “…the news headlines are on."
How rude was this man? Fortunately for him, he already had his stall laid out and with time to spare, so Arthur decided to give Jordan a little leeway.
The radio blared out, a little too loud for Arthur’s liking. "There have been reports from the capital of large disturbances in and around the Bond Street mortuary in Ealing and the Stag Lane crematorium in Wandsworth. Eye witnesses describe seeing naked men and women attacking bystanders at random. In other news, several more members of parliament have been filing false expense claims…”
"Ok that’s it, Jordan could you please turn your radio off! We’re about to begin the festivities."
"Yeah, no problem. There’s no need to get so upset about it. I take an interest in things that’s all."
"Well there are better times to have conflicting music blaring from your car, which by the way you need to move. What would the local council do if they discovered you were publicly playing music without a license?"
"Ok, I’m sorry. I just have a few more trays of brownies to bring out and I’ll remove it."
It was supposed to be cupcakes, buns and full sized cakes. Arthur had been very careful to specify this on the bake sale flyers he’d handed out to the congregation. If Jordan had made brownies this year then next year it would be meringue or cheesecake and then who knows what kind of event it would turn into. Before you knew it there could be barbecues and perhaps even alcohol. This wasn’t the kind of image the Burley-in-Wharfedale annual bake sale was trying to set. Arthur would keep an eye on the young Jordan McPhee throughout the day.
But where was Nichola Bolton? Arthur checked his watch. Two minutes until the start and the special guest had still not arrived. Arthur scanned the lawn and was half satisfied things were ready to begin. Stall 14 was still fiddling around with trays of cupcakes. Stall 8 was busy chatting to stall 7 and for whatever reason, stall number 1 was removing the canopy from its frame. What would that silly idiot do if it rained? What if a sudden gust of wind blew his cupcakes all over the church lawn? Arthur would have to have words with stall number 1, but right now he needed to be at the gates with the boy scouts.
The crowds were thick now. Arthur had arrived at St. Mary’s church at seven in the morning and had painstakingly placed cones out in order to guide the queues in an orderly fashion alongside the south wall of the church adjacent to the main road. That way, cars could drive by, see the throng of people and hopefully come and take a look at what all the fuss was about. The local populace had instead ignored the cones and were merely gathering in a large mass, similar to sheep enclosed in a large pen before the farmer came to let them out. This annoyed Arthur intensely but there was nothing he could do about it now. It would now be too much effort to ask everyone to queue up alongside the line of cones, although the thought did cross his mind.
It was eleven o’ clock and that bloody Bolton woman was nowhere to be seen. Arthur’s stomach churned, which happened every year at the annual bake sale, but this year it felt worse. Perhaps he’d overstretched himself this year, what with a bouncy castle, a tardy celebrity as well as a raffle and Arthur hoped he could pull it all off without any major problems. The church roof did after all depend on the success of today’s event.
"Yo crinkly, why don’t you let us in?” Shouted a voice hidden somewhere over to the left of the crowd. This began a ripple of agreement spreading around a small radius from the perpetrator. Arthur would try and discover who that guy was and keep an eye on him. He didn’t want any trouble on today of all days and Arthur was sure it was one of three teenagers cramped in by the lamp post.
"I hope you boys are all excited? You’re all very smartly turned out today." Arthur spoke to the group of six boy scouts each holding a yellow bucket with “Save Our Church” plastered in large red writing.
"Yes sir. We’re all just happy to play our part." The tallest of the six confidently spoke for the entire group. This lad would be perfect for approaching that bloody Alex Cooke and asking him for the funds when finished.
“What’s your name, young man?”
"Thomas."
"Well, Thomas, you’re a very smart young…"
…Arthur was interrupted by loud drum and bass in the distance. It was one of those annoying mixes that sounded like it was synthesised in someone’s rickety old garage. It grew and grew in intensity until the ground began to vibrate. Then a 4X4 with blacked out windows pulled up as close to the church as the crowd would allow.
"What in the heck is that?" Arthur felt the floor shaking beneath his feet, such was the bass his ear drums were vibrating causing a disorientating effect.
Arthur could almost make out the lyrics “It
’s only a game…” and he realised it was likely Nichola Bolton’s single “The Game” based on her time in the Big Brother house thirteen years ago.
A tall, shaven headed woman in high heels and mink coat emerged from the passenger side. She strutted toward the gates where Arthur stood, leaving no room for misinterpretation that she was the special celebrity guest.
Arthur held out his hand, "Hello, I’m Arthur. We’re about to start so perhaps you could position yourself in the middle of the boy scouts."
“Right…Looks kinda busy." Nichola Bolton, heavy with makeup, her face was a cake of cosmetics. "When do I get my fifty quid?” She asked in an accent that was far from local - Arthur would keep an eye on her.
But for this woman to ask such a question, before she’d even carried out any work, was wholly inappropriate. In Arthur’s day, you did a hard day’s work and then you received an honest day’s pay. You certainly didn’t arrive late, waltz in looking like some tramp and then start demanding money up front. "You can’t leave your vehicle parked there. It’s not safe! But you can deal with it afterwards, you need to open the bake sale."
Nichola waved to the driver and the vehicle span round in a screeching arc, then tore down the street. "How long will this take?"
Arthur ignored her insolence and instead arranged the boy scouts around the celebrity so that Nichola was in the centre of the six immaculately turned out scouts, each holding a yellow bucket. "Well, I’ll leave it to you then. Do you need scissors?"
"I have my own." Nichola produced a tacky pink pair from a black Prada handbag and turned to the crowd, drawing in a deep breath. "Hello everybody in Burnham-on-Sea, I hope you’re all excited for today’s bake sale?”
“It's Burley-in-Wharfedale, you daft bat!" Shouted somebody in the crowd and this time Arthur was sure he knew who it was.
Nichola continued, "from the looks of things there are lots of nice cakes to buy, just be sure not to overindulge too much." She winked at the crowd.
"Who the fuck are you love?" A voice shouted and a large section of villagers erupted in laughter.
"Now remember that today’s event is all for a good cause, we’re trying to repair the roof of this lovely church so I want you all to spend as much money as you can possibly afford. And if you have any spare at the end, you can also purchase my single, The Game, which I’ll personally sign for you."
Arthur planted his face in his hands and breathed a huge sigh as Nicola brandished her scissors and cut the ribbon.
"I now declare this bake sale open!" Nichola said with a smile, waving as villagers filed by the boy scouts, dropping coins in the buckets as they did.
Arthur eyed the squat-looking trouble causer as he neared the front of the throng of hungry cake fans. As he approached Nichola, he opened his mouth to speak, "you must think you’re the Queen or something love.”
Arthur stepped in front and seized the man by the arm. “You're not coming in. We can do without people like you around here. Just keep your opinions to yourself."
"What? But my wife’s already in there.”
"Well you should have thought about that before causing a scene.” Arthur turned to the twelve year old Thomas. "Now Thomas, this man’s not permitted in here, you understand?"
"Yes sir.” The young man replied.
Well that could have gone a lot smoother but at least things were in motion and the bake sale had finally begun. Hopefully now Arthur could relax a little more and enjoy the day.
He surveyed the lawn of the St. Mary’s church. There must have been over a hundred villagers and still they trickled in through the gates. As long as they all spent their money then there’d be adequate funds raised and the roof could be repaired. Reverend Miller could run his scintillating sermons without the risk of sustaining a severe drenching.
He strolled across the lawn, thankful the day was proving a success. But where had Nichola disappeared to? She was meant to be posing for photos and chatting to the locals. After a few minutes, Arthur found her around the side of the church, smoking a cigarette.
"What on earth are you doing? You’re supposed to be our special guest? Just what am I paying you for?"
"Well you aint paid me nothing yet, gramps, so until you do, I’ll continue enjoying this lung dart, and then maybe another one after that." Nichola then proceeded to blow smoke in Arthur’s face, whether intentional or not, Arthur couldn’t tell.
He coughed and felt a shallow stabbing sensation shoot up through his throat. Arthur spoke after regaining his composure. "Okay, I’ll give you your money, I intended to pay you at the end but since you’re holding me to ransom, looks like there’s nothing I can do about it." He handed over a brown envelope which Nichola opened and peered inside.
"Well, I guess I’ll go make an appearance then." She dropped her cigarette butt and grinded it into the floor with her high heels, angering Arthur because it was he who spent hours every week tending to the church gardens and making everything pleasant for the villagers. Arthur would let it go this time because there were others around the church also smoking. There’d be much cleaning to do regardless.
Now would be a good opportunity to check in on stall 14 and Mr and Mrs Beaumont. "I see business is going well, despite half the merchandise being broken."
"Yes, well we just binned that lot so we’ve almost run out of cakes." Mrs Beaumont gave the impression of having had a successful day, despite having had fewer cakes to sell than most of the other people there. "So we’ll be out of here in probably less than an hour."
"Oh that’ll be a shame. There were other people who could have had this spot. Where is your Official Cake Vendor certificate? I assumed Reverend Miller furnished you with one when you paid your deposit?" Arthur enquired in an almost accusatory tone.
"Oh we left it in the car, we didn’t think we needed to have it with us." Mr Beaumont replied.
Arthur exhaled, gesturing to the rest of the stalls. "Take a look around you! As you can see, everybody has stuck their certificate to the stall frame. That is, everybody except for you.”
“Ok, ok, don’t get all upset over it, we’ll sort it out. Just give us chance, it’s been busy!"
The brass quartet played One Day More from Les Miserables reminding Arthur of when he’d first danced to this tune with his wife many years ago. He stood in sombre recollection as the vivid memory of waltzing around his living room with his beloved Mary caused a tear to well in his eye. Arthur shut his eyes and drew in deep breaths, simply enjoying the moment, picturing one of the happiest times of his life. It was the little details that made the memory appear all the more real; the smell of her hair, the sound of her tiny feet pattering on the floor, their pet dog Patch looking on with affection and Arthur’s stumbling around trying to dance which had made Mary laugh so hard.
A hand grasped Arthur’s shoulder from behind, startling him.
"Do you think they’d play my song The Game?” It was Nichola who obliterated Arthur’s special moment before descending to singing her song’s lyrics, “Monday's on my mind, Tuesday’s out of time, Wednesday on the phone." She turned her attention back to the quartet. "Hey, if they’d play my song then I could sing along and sign copies of my single for everyone. Wouldn’t that be fantastic!”
"What? No, no I don’t think so.” Arthur looked away from the tramp as he wiped a tear from his eyelid.
"Yeah, it’ll be great, I’ve got my music sheets in the Land Rover, they’re for a modern synthesiser but I’m sure they’ll be able to read them, I mean they’re musicians right?"
"No, nobody wants to hear your song. You’re not paid to sing, you’re here to add a little glamour to the day and that’s it."
"Well when can I go home then? Some students are paying me thirty quid to attend a pub crawl with them tonight and I get free drinks."
The girl just didn’t get it. What kind of woman was she? Arthur would be sure to keep an eye on her as the day progressed. “You’ve been paid to remain in attendance until closing
time and I will not speak to you again about it.”
Arthur clutched his chest and breathed as he noticed a blurry figure in the distance by the church wall. He moved closer to attain a better look. As the figure gradually came into focus, Arthur saw it was the squat fellow who was even now scaling down the inside of the wall and onto the lawn.
"How dare you! You’re not allowed in here! I must ask you to leave at once."
"Ok old man, keep your hair on, I’m leaving. It looks shit in here anyway.”
“Sh…?” Arthur surprised himself by nearly repeating the word. “If I ever see you in church…” Arthur replied, causing only a laugh in retort from his antagoniser.
Arthur escorted him to the gates and stood watch for a few minutes to ensure he wouldn’t try sneak back inside. Arthur had spent the last two weeks planning every small detail of this day, taking great care to put on a wonderful day for the people of the village and he’d be damned if a few louts would ruin it for everyone else. Thankfully the squat fellow disappeared around the corner by the fish and chip shop so that should be the end of him.
The brass quartet finished playing One Day More and through the temporary silence, Arthur heard what sounded like gangster rap playing from Jordan McPhee’s speakers. "I thought I told you not to play music publicly through your speakers!" Arthur watched as Jordan handed over a brownie in a cellophane bag to a customer. "We don’t have a license to publicly play music. If the police came by they could close the whole bake sale down you bloody fool!” Arthur was sure his entire face was flaring up, the heat turning his skin a bright shade of pink.
"Relax Arthur, I think you’re overreacting. Nobody cares if you have a license to play music or not. To be honest, I’ve never even heard of such a law."
"Well it exists I can assure you.”
Jordan leaned back against his car door, a little too cool and uncaring for Arthur’s style. “Look, you’ll burst a gasket if you let every little thing affect you so much. Today’s supposed to be a fun day. I’ve been watching you and you’re flapping about like an agitated madman."
Zombie Revolution Page 31
