Page 40 of The Fete of Summer (Tales of Crumbington #1)

Nathan reflected for a moment, unsure what else to say.

“I-I was never too sure what to say, you being a man of faith—”

Father Mulligan stopped him by releasing a gentle chuckle.

“Heavens, dear boy. Don’t overcomplicate faith. If you were to search for one overriding, central theme running through all of the religions of the world, do you know what that would be?”

Nathan shrugged and shook his head.

“Love. Plain and simple. Doesn’t happen for everyone. Even then, when love strikes one person, the feelings aren’t always reciprocated. Some of our greatest literature is based on that very premise.”

Father Mulligan stared off into space wistfully when he spoke those words, and Nathan wondered if he had experienced something similar.

“But when love brings two single souls together? Heavens. That’s what I call winning God’s lottery, and if anyone turns their nose up at a gift like that, for whatever reason, then they’re the world’s biggest fool.

I read a book some years back about words people speak on their deathbeds, some of them rich enough to buy whole islands.

The biggest regrets centred around not having spent more time or made more effort with loved ones.

Not a single one wished for a better nose, prettier face or slimmer body, or for more money to buy a bigger house or fancier car.

Now, if you’re asking me about who we love, man or woman, then you’re asking the wrong person.

That’s a question for the Maker. But don’t you think who we end up loving in this life is the whole wonderful point, the whole marvellous mystery?

And isn’t that the best part of being alive? ”

Nathan stood staring at the photographs, the words sinking in. He had often listened to Father Mulligan talk at committee meetings, but in all the time they had spent together, he had never known his inner thoughts.

“There you are!” came a familiar voice. Both Nathan and Father Mulligan turned to see Polly standing at the village hall door. “I thumped on your door, but nobody answered. You said come over at five-thirty to help you open up.”

Nathan stared at his watch, amazed at where the time had gone.

“Sorry. An early morning call from the other side of the world, then I decided to go for a run. Give Father Mulligan and me a quick hand to set up some tables in the hall, and we’ll all head back together.

I’ll even knock up some breakfast for us all, complete with your favourite freshly baked chocolate croissants, to compensate. How does that sound?”

* * * *

Just before midday, the crowded village of Crumbington held its breath in eager anticipation.

Already clusters of families filled the village green, eagerly waiting for the show to begin.

Inside the village hall, the committee met privately beforehand with Clifton, Helen Monash and other Crumbington store owners to report on the order of the day.

The only people Nathan didn’t recognise were the two members of the documentary television crew, a cameraman holding a bulky-looking camera aloft, standing behind a young female reporter.

But after a few moments, hardly anyone paid them any notice, attention focused on Arlene talking everyone through the day's planned events.

Nathan barely listened, already knowing how everything had been organised.

His attention wandered around the hall. Beautifully decorated cakes of all shapes and sizes had been laid out with the names of the bakers, ready for the competition.

Two stood out for Nathan. One was a beautiful replica of St Mary’s Church, while the other depicted a football match, with Crumbington players’ distinctive colours, showing them scoring a goal against another team.

Even though they had lost against Bosworth Heath in the Southdown Cup final, Crumbington residents still regarded their team members as heroes.

Along the far end of the hall, display tables held piles of signed team calendars.

The wall behind had been plastered with poster-sized copies of each month as well as candid shots of the players and their partners.

Jenny Nwadike had clearly been at work. When Nathan’s attention returned to the voices, Father Mulligan was reporting on the carparks.

Both local village sites had already been filled, and the spacious auxiliary overspill site on the common land down past St Mary’s was being put to use.

To finish off the meeting, Arlene took over.

“Before we get this day officially started, I want to report that we have already surpassed all expectations, more than five times the amount we raised last year, what with the calendar sales and the very generous sponsorship fees.” Arlene peered over at Nathan when she said the words and smiled thinly.

“Everything else today will be a bonus. I appreciate that today is going to be hard work for all, but please remember to have fun, too. This is your day, as much as everyone else’s.

And if, for any reason, you need help with anything, please find one of the six volunteer fête wardens who will be on hand and tell them what you need.

St John’s Ambulance has pitched a tent in case of any injuries, however minor, and we have representatives from the local constabulary on duty in the highly unlikely event of any bad behaviour.

That’s all from me. If everyone’s ready, please head to your posts and get ready for the signal to open your stalls.

I’m going to the stage now to introduce our special guests, Clifton O’Keefe and Helen Monash—” An impromptu round of applause started, which had both Clifton and Helen smiling.

“And once they have said a few words to open the fête, we’ll get things started. Good luck, everyone.”

This time Arlene received the applause, and while clapping along, Polly caught Nathan’s eyes and pulled a face of astonishment.

Nobody could deny that Arlene Killroy knew how to put on a show.

Nathan headed first to his stall to make sure Halina and Fingal were all set up.

He found them sipping tea and chatting like an old married couple.

The Fresher booth looked like a work of art, a still-life painting, decorated with wicker baskets of golden-brown baked goods and pastries.

After a quick chat, Nathan made his way through the crowd and stood next to Polly just as Clifton stepped forward in front of Arlene to open the fête.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the annual Crumbington Summer Fête. Some of you may not be aware, but the very first fête was held right here on the Crumbington Village Green, back in 1885. Since then, this has become a regular fixture almost every summer. Some of you may know that I had the honour of growing up in Crumbington, years I will always treasure. Even now, walking down the village high street feels like coming home.”

As Clifton spoke those last words, he turned to the band, and the drummer began to thump out a familiar beat. Clifton continued to talk over the loud rhythm.

“I know personally that a lot of love and hard work has gone into making today a success, so please dig deep—everything goes to charitable causes—and most importantly, have a wonderful and memorable day. I now declare this fête officially open!”

With that, Clifton O’Keefe launched into the opening lines of We Will Rock You by Queen to rapturous cheers from the audience.

Nathan stood shocked, having no idea Clifton could sing, let alone provide a very credible performance of the classic.

Had he auditioned for the role in the movie?

When the crowd joined in with the chorus and the band’s singer took over, two cannons exploded at either side of the stage, sending multi-coloured streamers into the audience, announcing the official start of proceedings.

Nathan spent most of his time on his stall, but while Fingal and Halina did most of the selling, he simply chatted with the customers he knew.

At one point, he headed to the village hall for an interview with the documentary crew about the making of the calendar, something all the players had agreed to do.

At four o’clock, back at his stall, as Nathan sipped on a mug of tea, Polly materialised out of the crowds, a look of mischief on her face.

“Fingal, Halina. Can you cover? I need Nathan to come right now.”

“Okay. Just give me a minute—” began Nathan.

“Right now!”

“Why? What’s happened—?”

Nathan put his mug down, rolled his eyes at Fingal and Halina, and simply obeyed.

“No questions,” said Polly. “Just follow me.”

Nathan left them to cope with the stall, which was fine because business had died down significantly by mid-afternoon.

He followed Polly around the outside of the mini fairground until they reached the small crowd surrounding the ducking stool.

Mikey already stood there and smiled mischievously when he saw them appear.

Sat poised on the cushioned seat of the ducking stool was Arlene Killroy, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her legs crossed daintily at the ankles.

A young boy had already missed the bullseye with his three wooden balls, and Arlene sat grinning, immaculate and invincible.

As the little boy passed them by, he muttered to his mother about the impossibility of hitting such a tiny target.

Polly kept them to the back of the crowd but pointed to the ginger-haired boy about to step forward and take his turn.

“Isn’t that—?”

“My eldest, Trevor,” whispered Mikey.

“Doesn’t he play sport?”

Nathan didn’t get a chance to receive a reply because Trevor’s first ball smacked the board, just hitting the left of the target and missing the bullseye. Around them, the crowd groaned in sympathy.

“It’s a tough one to hit,” said Nathan.

“He’s playing around. Just watch,” said Mikey, smiling, his big arms folded. He had a dry bath towel over one shoulder.