Chapter 9
Friday morning saw Fiona going to call for Bill. She had arranged for them to collect the Name the Newt entries, then pop into town to speak with Reverend Jenkins and ensure everything was tickety-boo for tomorrow. ‘Tickety-boo’ was a term Bradley used to use and it always made her chuckle, but she supposed that with Bill being a sea-faring man, she should say ‘ship-shape’ instead.
She was quite looking forward to seeing him. Although they had spoken on the phone when he’d rung on Sunday evening to tell her that the repairs to the roof had been completed, and she had phoned him to sort out the details for this morning, she hadn’t seen him since the meal at Molly and Jack’s house last Friday.
Strangely, she’d found she’d missed him, and she wondered whether they would have a bite to eat together today. She hoped so; she had thoroughly enjoyed lunch in the pub the other week, although it had occurred to her that she might have enjoyed the company more than the food.
It had been interesting getting to know him better, although she suspected she had only scratched the surface. Bill was a much more complex man than she’d first thought.
He was sitting on the low wall outside his house when she arrived, Patch lying at his feet, and she smiled a greeting, following it up with, ‘How are you today?’
‘Keen to get a look at these Name the Newt suggestions,’ he said. ‘I bet there are some right corkers.’
Fiona certainly hoped so, because all she had been able to come up with was Paul Newman. It wasn’t particularly clever, and she had a feeling that most young people wouldn’t have a clue who Paul Newman was.
The same woman was manning the primary school’s reception desk as last time, and when she handed over several bags of money sorted into various denominations, Fiona’s eyebrows shot up.
‘How much is here?’ she asked. ‘Have you counted it?’
‘We have, mainly because I need you to sign for it. I must say, this little competition of yours has proved to be very popular, and not just with the pupils. Most of the staff had a go, and we had to photocopy more leaflets because their parents had a go, too. Some of them had us laughing our heads off. There are quite a few duplicates, though.’
‘I suppose there are only so many names for a newt,’ Fiona said.
The secondary school was less productive, and Fiona assumed that newt naming might be beneath the older children. Still, she was impressed by the amount of money raised, and very grateful. All she hoped was that the jumble sale wouldn’t be a total wash-out.
‘Cor blimey, look at all that stuff!’ Bill exclaimed when the vicar showed them into the hall.
Fiona’s eyes widened. How were they going to sell all that?
Boxes and bags were piled high, and amongst them were toy pedal cars, pushchairs, a lawn mower and even a length of rolled-up carpet. People had patently brought what they could, and Fiona was very grateful; but would they buy ?
She turned a worried gaze to Bill. ‘Are we going to have time to sort this lot out in the morning? There’s so much of it. I think we may need a few more people to set it all out, and before that we’ve got to price it.’
Reverend Jenkins came to their rescue. ‘The hall is free for the rest of the day, so you can start now, if you want. I can give you a hand for an hour, which should be enough time to put the tables out, at least – if you’re up for it, Bill? The trestle tables are kept in a room off the vestry. They’re not heavy, just awkward.’
Bill drew himself up. ‘I’m sure I can carry a table.’
The vicar rubbed his hands together. ‘Great! That’s settled. If Bill and I bring the first one out, perhaps you could begin sorting, Fiona?’
‘Right you are.’ Fiona tried to sound upbeat, but she was faintly alarmed by the size of the task in front of them. They would be here all day!
However, it soon became apparent that there were several categories of items, and when she came up with the idea of popping all the books on one table, all the ornaments on another, and so on, the job became that much easier. She wasn’t looking forward to pricing it all up though, especially since they hadn’t even thought about what they should be charging for things.
At some point after the vicar left, Bill insisted they stop for a break and Fiona realised she was starving. Breakfast seemed an awfully long time ago, and as she wasn’t used to quite this level of busyness anymore, her stomach was now demanding to be fed.
‘If you don’t mind looking after Patch for a couple of minutes, I can pop out and get us something,’ Bill suggested.
There was a bakery up the road which sold sandwiches and pasties, and she assumed that was where he was going, but he returned with something far more interesting – fish and chips, wrapped in paper and smelling so delicious she almost drooled.
‘Couldn’t resist,’ he told her. ‘I put salt and vinegar on yours. I hope that’s OK. I noticed you putting some on your chips when we had that meal in the pub last week, so…’
‘Perfect!’
‘And I got us a can of lemonade each.’
‘You are a lifesaver,’ she declared, clearing a space on the nearest table, and dragging a couple of chairs towards it.
When Patch whined, Bill said, ‘Don’t worry, boy, I haven’t forgotten you. I bought you a sausage.’
He started to unwrap their lunch and Fiona delved into her bag, bringing out a small bottle of antibacterial gel and offering him a splodge.
Hands now clean, she devoured the first chip, then flapped a hand in front of her mouth. Was there anything better than hot fluffy chips and succulent cod in batter?
‘Hot,’ she tried to say, and Bill chuckled.
As they ate, Fiona took stock of what they’d achieved so far. About a third of the bags and boxes were left, and Bill offered to see to those whilst she sorted through the tables to check whether any of the items could be set aside for the raffle. She had already added vouchers from the hairdresser and the pub, a bottle of champagne from the off-licence, a gift card from the beautician, and a pair of silver earrings that the jeweller had donated, when Fiona had taken Bradley’s old watch in to be repaired.
She suddenly remembered that she still had a cake to bake, as well as cupcakes. Reverend Jenkins had kindly offered them the use of his urn, so Fiona was hoping to provide teas and coffees on the day, as well.
‘Damn and blast,’ she muttered, as she also remembered that she was supposed to be collecting a fruit basket from the grocers on the corner. There was still so much to do!
‘Everything all right?’ Bill asked, lifting a carriage clock out of a box.
Fiona pulled a face and told him, ending with, ‘And we haven’t put prices on anything yet.’ She could feel herself beginning to get panicky.
Bill set the clock down and put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the hall. ‘We need reinforcements. The vicar should be back soon – I’m sure he won’t mind pitching in again. And Glenys has offered to lend a hand if we need it.’
I bet she has, Fiona thought, wondering how she could back-pedal. She could do without Glenys’s help, thank you very much!
‘I’ll see what Molly and Jack are doing this evening,’ she replied, and was relieved when Molly turned up ten minutes later in response to her phone call.
‘Oh, my days! You’ve done a marvellous job!’ Molly cried when she saw the hall. ‘You get off home, Fiona. You too, Bill. I’ve taken an early finish, and Jack will be home from work soon. We’ll do the rest. You must be exhausted.’
Fiona had to admit to feeling tired. She could do with a sit down, and a nap wasn’t out of the question, either. She said as much to Bill as they made their way home, him insisting on walking her to her door, which she thought was rather sweet of him until he told her that Patch needed some off-lead time in the park. Then he redeemed himself by offering to help her with the baking.
‘Thank you, that’s very kind, but I can manage.’ It wouldn’t take her long to whip up a few dozen cupcakes, and now that Molly had taken over at the church hall, Fiona no longer felt as stressed. Baking was her comfort zone – jumble sales weren’t.
When Fiona had first suggested it, she had no inkling that she and Bill would end up doing most of the organisation and the preparation. It had been her own choice, of course: she couldn’t blame Molly. And it was fun, just hard work, which she wasn’t used to anymore, that was all. And when Bill offered to drive her and her assorted baked goods to the church tomorrow, her forgiveness had turned into gratitude and a warm glow at his thoughtfulness.
Under that gruff exterior, Bill was a nice man. A very nice man indeed!
***
Fiona was in her element. She was manning the refreshment table and thoroughly enjoying herself, despite the growing ache in her feet and the knowledge that her back would undoubtedly complain about it later. As soon as the vicar had unlocked the church hall at two o’clock on the dot, there had been a steady trickle of people through its doors, the temptation of grabbing a bargain proving irresistible. And it only took one or two of the younger customers to notice the brightly iced cupcakes and to nag their parents for one, for sales of teas and coffees to gather momentum.
After a nap yesterday afternoon, Fiona had been keen to start baking, and she had ended up making more than she’d planned. As well as cupcakes decorated in varying shades of swirly buttercream icing and an assortment of sweets from Smarties to Jelly Tots, Fiona had made Welsh cakes and flapjacks, finishing up with an iced red velvet cake for the raffle.
True to his word, Bill had loaded everything into his car this morning and had driven her to the venue, where Molly, Jack, and Reuben had been waiting to carry everything inside.
‘How’s it going?’ Fiona asked Molly, who had been fizzing around for the past couple of hours, tidying the stalls and helping out where needed, whether it was taking the money, or refilling the urn with water.
‘Busy.’
Fiona handed a mug of builder’s tea to a man with a large bag of Lego under his arm. ‘Help yourself to sugar,’ she told him, indicating a plastic tub.
She was fast running out of clean teaspoons, and she glanced around at Bill, who was taking the money for the tea. ‘Teaspoons,’ she said.
Nodding, he gathered up the used ones and went out the back to the little kitchen, taking a couple of dirty mugs with him. Thank goodness there was a stack of them in the cupboard above the sink, otherwise she would have been forced to send someone out for more disposable ones, as the supply she had brought with her had quickly run out. As it was, she owed the vicar a box of tea bags because she had used the last of hers over half an hour ago, and still more people were arriving.
Whilst Bill was out the back rinsing off the teaspoons, Molly took over his cake-selling duties.
‘I think I’d better buy a couple of these before they all go,’ she said, putting two cupcakes to one side. ‘They’re going like hot cakes , he he he,’ she added with a snigger.
Fiona rolled her eyes indulgently. Molly was a breath of fresh air, so full of life and enthusiasm. Fiona wished she had half her energy!
Bill returned to the table and Molly dashed off to sell more raffle tickets to the next influx of customers, leaving Fiona to deal with Madeleine, her next customer.
Fiona beamed at her. ‘Hello!’ she cried, hurrying around the table to give her a hug. Then she sobered. ‘Sorry to hear you resigned.’
Madeleine’s eyes narrowed. ‘That damned woman. It’s not as though I was leaving Pamela in the lurch or expecting to be paid for the time off. I’d arranged for someone to come in and cover for me. And it was hardly going to happen every week, was it? Kids only have a leaving ceremony once in primary school. By the way, both of mine have entered the Name the Newt competition.’
‘Ooh, good luck. The winner will be announced at the end of the jumble sale, but don’t worry if you can’t hang around for it.’
‘We only popped in on the way to the hairdresser. I’m desperate for a trim and so is Susie.’
Fiona glanced at Madeleine’s eldest. ‘Gosh, hasn’t she grown!’
‘They have a habit of doing that, don’t they! I no sooner buy her a pair of school shoes, than she’s grown out of them. Costs me a fortune, they do.’
‘Have you got anything else lined up?’ Fiona asked. ‘Jobwise, I mean.’
Madeleine shook her head. ‘Not yet. Pamela has kind of put me off.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find something suitable,’ Fiona assured her as Madeleine said goodbye.
Fiona’s gaze followed her, only snapping back when she realised someone was waiting to be served.
It was Glenys. Her eyes were on Bill. He was dealing with Ray and Mary Withers’s little granddaughter, Tamsin, who couldn’t decide whether to have a pink-iced cupcake or a purple one.
‘What can I get you?’ Fiona asked.
‘He’s so good with kiddies, isn’t he?’ Glenys crooned, her gaze remaining on Bill. ‘It’s a pity he never had any of his own, he would have made a lovely dad and grandad.’ She tinkled out a laugh. ‘He could borrow mine, if he fancies. I’ve got six grandkids, as you know.’
‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘Cappuccino, please.’
‘We’ve only got instant. Sorry.’
Glenys grimaced. ‘I suppose it’ll have to do.’
Fiona bit her lip to keep a sarcastic retort in. She had never been rude to a customer, and she didn’t intend to start now.
Glenys raised an eyebrow at the sight of the utilitarian white mug which had seen better days, and when she took a sip of the hot liquid, she grimaced again.
‘Cake?’ Fiona asked through gritted teeth. What did the woman expect? This was a jumble sale, for Pete’s sake, not a blimmin’ cafe.
Then her heart sank as an awful thought popped into her head. Would people assume that the standard of liquid refreshment here would reflect the standard of catering in Sweet Meadow Park’s cafe? She flippin’ hoped not!
Her thoughts flew to the tea dance next weekend, and she realised she would be using the same urn and the same scruffy white mugs, and serving the same instant coffee out of a jar.
Fiona tugged at Bill’s arm. ‘Bill? Bill! I need to find Molly. Can you manage on your own for five minutes?’ She was aware that Glenys was staring at her, but she didn’t care.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, concern etched across his face.
‘I’m not sure.’ Fiona glanced around the hall, searching for her. ‘There she is! I’m just going to have a quick word. I won’t be long.’ As she hurried off, she heard Glenys call after her, ‘Would you like me to step in for you? It’s no bother,’ but she didn’t respond.
It made no difference what Fiona said; if Glenys wanted to help, then help Glenys would, no matter whether they wanted it or not.
Fiona reached Molly, who was about to announce the winners of the raffle, Reuben by her side. Hurriedly, she explained the coffee crisis and the mug disaster, then stood there worrying at her lip.
‘I see the problem,’ Molly said, looking equally concerned. Then her expression lifted. ‘Why don’t you have a look online this evening, and see if you can find some suitable china, cutlery, and so on. You’ll have a much better idea of what’s needed than me. We’ll use some of the proceeds from the jumble sale to pay for it. We’ll have to buy this stuff eventually, so we might as well do it now.’
‘But what about the coffee itself? People will be expecting lattes and cappuccinos made with proper beans.’
‘You can borrow my coffee machine,’ Reuben said. ‘It’s got a milk frother, and it also grinds the beans.’
Fiona could have kissed him. ‘You’re a lifesaver!’ she cried, then dashed back to Bill to share the news.
Delighted to discover that Glenys had wandered off in her absence, Fiona waited until the hubbub in the hall had quietened down as Molly announced the winners of the raffle, before she told Bill about the coffee machine, whispering in his ear.
‘You’ll have to teach me how to use it,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ve always wondered how they worked.’
‘It’s easy, as long as you make sure— Oh, hello again, Glenys. Are you after another cup of coffee?’
Glenys shuddered. ‘Not likely! I’ve come to show you what I won in the raffle. Ta-dah!’ She held up the bottle of bubbly. ‘This is s o me. I love champers. All I need is someone to drink it with.’
Fiona clenched her teeth as Glenys fluttered her mascara coated eyelashes. The flutter was blatantly aimed at Bill, but Bill didn’t answer as Reuben chose that moment to call for quiet, leaving Fiona wondering whether he might have taken Glenys up on the offer.
‘Now for the bit you’ve all been waiting for,’ Reuben called. ‘The Name the Newt competition.’
He was greeted by applause and whistles, plus more than a few froggy croaks from the back of the hall, made by people who didn’t know the difference between a frog and a newt.
‘We had some absolutely fantastic names,’ he continued when the noise subsided, ‘which made it very difficult to pick a winner. Quite a few of you suggested Sir Isaac Newton.’ This was met with laughter and groans. ‘Or Olivia Newton-John. What about Abbot – short for Newton Abbot?’
More groans followed that one.
‘And to the child who thought Stinkybutt was a good idea, I’m not sure I want to tell people I need to catch Stinkybutt for his annual check-up. Molly particularly liked Newty McNewtface and I also liked Macbeth – eye of newt, double, double, toil and trouble? Geddit?’
Fiona noticed a couple of puzzled looks, and guessed that the Shakespeare allusion had passed them by.
‘But the winner is…’ He paused, letting the silence and the anticipation stretch. Then with a flourish, he announced, ‘Tiny! And if any of you are wondering why we are calling a great crested newt, the largest species of newt in the UK, Tiny, it’s because it’s a play on words – my newt… mi-nute… minute ? Get it?’
Clever, Fiona thought, as the groans were only just exceeded by the laughter.
‘Several people came up with this idea, so I’ve put everyone’s names in a hat. Molly, do you want to draw the winner’s name out? They don’t win anything, you understand, apart from the honour of putting the plaque up.’
Reuben produced a bobble hat out of his pocket which contained several folded pieces of paper. Molly stepped forward and dipped her hand in. She pulled one out and gave it to Reuben.
He cleared his throat. ‘The winner is… Liam Evans!’
Fiona was astounded. Who’d have thought that the boy would even participate in the competition? She would have assumed he’d think it deeply uncool and beneath him. Mind you, she would never have thought that Liam would be a lynchpin in the park’s clean-up operation, but he had. So maybe he wasn’t the yob she had assumed.
And if someone like Liam, who’d had scant respect for Sweet Meadow Park previously, was getting involved in it, then maybe there was hope for the cafe yet.