Eighteen
To do:
· Fundraising
· Investigate experts for EIA
· Sort garden
· Repairs list
· Replace apple trees
· Find YouTube video – how to get dogs to eat kibble
Following her encounter with Richard, Clare had convened a BARS meeting for Tuesday. They gathered in Fred’s back garden, which was a stark contrast to Orchard Farm’s. The recently mown lawn was flat with no divots, and there was a weed-free channel separating it from a border which was dominated by Fred’s champion dahlias. Geraniums and spiky pale purple lavender fronds were interspersed throughout. The bed was smothered with a blanket of mulch.
Fred and Ivy were lounging on deck chairs. Ivy’s long floaty dress spilled over the side of the chair. Her arms were folded in her lap, her face tipped up to the sun. Beside her, Fred wore a short-sleeved shirt and a dark green tie, which made his hair seem a snowier white. Anna and Clare sat on pine kitchen chairs, with a view past Fred’s little garden shed to the field Hastings wanted to build his factory on. It looked horribly close.
With her eyes shut, Ivy spoke in a lazy drawl. ‘What’s this meeting for? Haven’t we just won?’
Clare handed out copies of the agenda. Ivy folded hers in half and fanned herself. Fred let his slip to the lawn. Anna released her hair, wound it into a bun, released it again, then recoiled it and secured it with the clasp.
‘What is it?’ asked Clare.
Anna chewed her lip. ‘Isn’t this premature? A bit defeatist? Shouldn’t we wait and see if he appeals?’
‘Exactly,’ said Ivy. ‘The Council had good grounds to reject it.’ Ivy spoke a little triumphantly. ‘The Council are the experts, and it wouldn’t be right for Richard to challenge them.’
Clare took a deep breath. Richard was a cutthroat, slippery devil unfettered by anyone else’s opinion. It was important for village morale to have Ivy on BARS, but it was tough accommodating her noble stance – a bit like taking on a Russian dictator when constrained by the medieval spirit of chivalry. Mentally, she imagined herself in shining armour, holding a sword and pointing it at the Hastings brothers, shouting, ‘Do you yield?’
‘Sadly, I don’t think Richard Hastings adheres to your high moral standards,’ Clare said.
Ivy sat up and gave her a wounded look. ‘Oh, ye of little faith.’
Clare rolled her eyes at Anna. Ivy and Fred were lounging in the sun as if the war was already won. It wasn’t. All her instincts told her Richard was preparing to appeal already.
Clare spoke tersely. ‘The Council are not the experts. They are the regulators, and they stuck their neck out for us.’ She directed her words at Ivy, who was looking her way. ‘The experts wrote Richard’s EIA. And that’s the point – we need our own to refute his, because ...’ Ivy’s chin was trembling. Clare swallowed, then softened her tone, ‘If, and I accept there is a chance he might not do it, but if he appeals, the Planning Inspectorate won’t be so kind to us.’
After Clare’s outburst, there was a strained silence. Clare debated apologizing but decided not to. She shouldn’t have spoken sharply, but they needed to understand the facts and start taking this seriously.
‘How long has he got to appeal and what’s the process?’ asked Fred.
‘He has until the end of February,’ said Anna.
‘How much does an EIA cost?’ asked Ivy.
Anna answered. ‘It’s expensive. There are lots of people involved.’
‘Sounds like we need to start fundraising. What’s the target?’ said Ivy. Mentally Clare sent up a little cheer.
Anna explained about the different experts involved and talked about site visits. There was no mention of cost. Clare willed her friend to answer the question. After five minutes, Clare interrupted. ‘It sounds complicated, but what do you think it will cost? How much do we need to raise?’
‘Um,’ said Anna.
For a quarter of an hour, Anna, Fred and Ivy debated the fundraising target. Clare kept her eyes shut and mouth closed, itching to tell them to discuss the how , not the how much . Fred reminisced about raising money for the school playground. Clare sat on her hands wanting to interrupt and ask how he’d done it, but pleased to discover the village was used to contributing to good causes.
‘And we raised thousands for the organ repair fund five years ago,’ said Ivy.
‘How?’ Clare looked from one to the other of her friends, and telling herself to speak patiently asked, ‘What did you both do?’
The pair exchanged a look.
‘Richard was very generous.’ said Ivy.
Clare raised her eyes at Fred. He nodded. ‘Same for the playground.’
‘Well, he’s not going to help here, is he?’
‘There are some rich doctors who’ve retired close by,’ said Anna. ‘Roger met them playing golf. And Wilf’s daughter is married to an accountant – we went to their wedding. When was it, Ivy? Four years ago?’
‘No, I think it was five. Nice lad. Works at the hospital. Can’t recall what he does there.’
‘Let’s stick on message. How do we raise this money?’ Clare asked.
‘But how much are we trying to raise?’ asked Fred.
‘Specifically,’ said Ivy.
‘Does it matter?’ said Clare. ‘It doesn’t sound like we are in any danger of overreaching the target, whatever it is, as we haven’t come up with a single idea to raise a pound yet.’ She could feel her heart racing and noticed Ivy and Fred wriggling in their deckchairs. She took a breath and spoke gently: ‘Please, let’s agree on some ideas and get cracking.’
‘Well, I always like to know the target,’ said Fred. ‘In my experience, the first questions people ask are how much and what for?’
‘I agree,’ added Ivy. ‘When I—’
‘Right,’ said Clare.’ Let’s just say it’s ￡5,000. Anna, can you get estimates so we can revise that number if I’m wrong? Ideas, please. I’ll take notes.’
‘That’s a big number,’ said Fred.
‘Exactly,’ said Clare. ‘Now, ideas please.’
Fred offered to do a sponsored sky dive, saying he’d always wanted to do it. To show willing, as she was regretting her irritation at her team, Clare jotted the idea down, but mentally dismissed it. No one knew anyone with a plane, and it sounded quite dangerous. She encouraged them to keep it simple.
Ivy’s face lit up. ‘Got it. Wine tasting at the Hall – that raised a thousand pounds for the organ.’
‘Oh, I can see Magnus dispensing the wine now,’ said Fred sarcastically.
‘We could do our own wine tasting,’ said Anna.
‘The reason we raised so much money was because Richard donated the wine,’ Ivy said.
The doorbell rang. Fred heaved himself up. ‘Be right back,’ he said.
Clare raised her eyes at Anna, then asked about the grounds for Richard to appeal. Ten minutes later, Fred hadn’t returned. With a loud tut Clare got up. ‘I’ll go and see what’s happened to Fred.’
The back door was open. She slipped inside and saw Fred slumped at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.
‘Fred?’ she said in a deep, low voice.
He raised his head. His tie was askew, as if he had yanked at it, his eyes were shut, and he was rubbing them with his fingers. Had he been crying? She stayed in the doorway, unsure if he would rather be alone. She knew nothing about his personal life. Had a relative been involved in an accident? Had that been the police at the door? No, they wouldn’t leave him on his own after delivering a shock. She walked a little closer.
‘Fred what’s happened?’
He stood, swallowed, pushed something under a pile of gardening magazines and then sighed.
‘Bad news?’ she asked, lightly touching his arm.
‘Forget it,’ he said, ‘Nothing I wasn’t expecting.’ He rubbed his eyes, gave her a thin smile then said, ‘Let’s get back to the meeting.’
She rested a hand on the table and looked at his face. His eyes were red and puffy – he had been crying. She asked, ‘Anything I can help with?’ He lifted his chair, placing it firmly back against the table as if signifying the matter was closed. ‘Thank you, but no. Let’s get on.’
Outside, Anna was scrolling through her phone and Ivy looked as if she’d fallen asleep. Fred perched on the edge of his deckchair. ‘Tell us what to do next, Clare,’ he said. There was a brittleness in his voice, making Clare hesitate. Was she ordering people about? Did people think she was dictating instead of chairing? Was that the explanation for their reluctance to engage?
‘I just think there’s no harm in planning for the worst,’ she mumbled. ‘If he doesn’t appeal the decision—’
‘Oh, he’s going to appeal,’ said Fred. ‘No doubt about that.’ He spoke with a bitterness Clare hadn’t heard before. ‘Tell us what we do,’ he said for a second time.
Clare turned to Anna. ‘Can you do some research? Get some quotes? Then let’s meet again tomorrow evening and work out how we get our own EIA.’
‘Fine by me,’ said Fred forcefully.
Clare spent the day on a tractor mower, scooting up and down the avenues of apple trees, watching the machine shredding the long grass into tiny pieces. In the evening, as it was chilly, she decided to host the meeting in the kitchen by the Aga. She put out a few bottles of her mother’s cider. It hadn’t won a prize in the Brambleton show. Sam’s cider came top, but she suspected he’d judged his own product – cheating was obviously a family trait.
Thinking about him brought a flush to her cheeks. Driving home on Monday afternoon, after Sam had offered her tea and then disappeared, she kept imagining the brothers laughing about her bumping into Richard. Those two were a team. She shouldn’t have let Sam lull her into thinking otherwise.
The door opened and Ivy walked in carrying a lemon drizzle cake. Clare suspected it was a peace offering after yesterday’s testy exchange. Anna arrived with a chilled bottle of Clare’s favourite white wine and a tieless Fred brought nothing.
Clare poured four glasses of cider. Ivy didn’t touch hers. Fred took a sip, Anna a gulp.
‘Urgh,’ said Anna, spitting back into her glass.
‘Is it off?’ asked Clare, sniffing at her own glass. It reminded her of drains. She took a sip. It was horrid, wincingly sharp, like lemon juice, and she was struggling to detect any apple flavour. What must the judges have thought at the show? She visualized Rose and Sam laughing as they spat out the ghastly drink. ‘That’s pretty nasty, isn’t it. Let’s have Anna’s wine instead.’
Clare replaced the cider and took a small sip of wine. ‘Shall we start with fundraising ideas?’
‘Has he appealed?’ asked Ivy.
‘Save your breath,’ said Fred coldly. ‘That man ... I’d like to wring his neck.’ To Clare, his eyes seemed to bulge, and he was clutching at the sides of his armchair like she clung onto the seat arms in an aircraft when it went through turbulence.
‘ You been eating your Weetabix, Fred?’ asked Ivy .
Clare glanced from Anna to Ivy. She couldn’t look at Fred. She’d never heard him speak like that before.
‘Before we discuss fundraising, I’ve had quotes from experts and chosen the cheapest,’ said Anna.
Clare glanced across at her friend. Anna was twisting her wedding ring round and around her finger, making Clare feel queasy – how bad was the number going to be?
Anna reeled off a list of quotes. To comment on noise pollution would cost over ￡4,000; the water contamination expert was the most expensive at ￡6,000 and smell was another ￡3,000. Traffic, primarily from desktop assumptions, still demanded ￡2,000.
‘Oh my god!’ Clare whispered to herself. Anna was chewing her bottom lip. Clare totted up the numbers. ‘Fifteen grand!’ she said.
Fred whistled. ‘That’s a big number.’
It was a vast sum of money. Especially for a village in rural North Devon.
‘We might all be worrying over nothing,’ said Ivy. ‘We don’t know that he will appeal. He might decide to do the right thing.’
‘We start fundraising,’ said Clare.
Anna spoke. ‘If he appeals—’
‘ When he appeals,’ said Fred.
Clare was pleased to have a convert. Shuddering at the task ahead of them she chose her words carefully. ‘We didn’t firm up on any ideas yesterday. Has anyone had a brain wave?’ asked Clare.
‘Gina has offered to host a coffee morning and a cake sale. She says the others in the mothers and toddlers group all want to help.’ Said Ivy.
‘We need to try and tap money outside the village too.’ said Anna.
Ivy offered to go on a sponsored slim, which Clare thought set the right tone, and Anna suggested asking the Smugglers Inn to donate a meal which they could auction.
Clare seized on the idea. ‘Hastings is the landlord, so I’m not sure Rose will do that, but an auction is a great idea. Why not ask local businesses that aren’t in Richard’s pocket to donate prizes and have a grand auction?’
‘Where do we hold an auction?’ asked Fred.
‘Village hall. He doesn’t own that,’ said Anna. ‘Hang on. I’ve got an idea. A charity bridge evening with an auction at the end. Most of the Thursday players don’t live in the village, a lot of retired doctors play bridge and they’re all on gold-plated pensions.’
‘Excellent,’ said Clare.
‘I don’t know how to play bridge,’ said Ivy. ‘Do I have to learn?’
‘No. I can organize the bridge evening,’ said Anna. ‘Let’s provide food and wine, then we can charge more.’
‘Can’t offer wine. You’d need a licence,’ said Ivy.
‘A free glass of wine then. We’re not selling it and can make that clear on the tickets. I think it will prove a sound investment. People are always more generous after a couple of drinks,’ said Anna.
The meeting wrapped up. They only had two fundraising ideas, and watching Ivy eating the last slice of cake, Clare didn’t think the sponsored slim would raise much money. Her hopes were pinned on the bridge evening.