Chapter Twenty-Three
The church hall on Saturday afternoon was alive with purposeful noise.
Sunlight streamed through the high windows in bright, slanted beams, catching dust motes and the fine haze of sawdust rising from the far corner where a pair of teenagers were sanding planks for the coconut shy.
The familiar scent of floor polish mingled with poster paint, wood shavings, and the comforting aroma of tea brewing in the kitchen.
Lydia stood by the front table, a tape measure slung around her neck and her floor-plan sketch weighted down by a brass paperweight. Around her, the hall hummed with cheerful, slightly chaotic energy.
“Lydia,” called one of the cleaning team, holding up a stack of freshly washed laminated signs, “do you want these drying on the radiator or the windowsill?”
“Windowsill, please,” Lydia replied. “They’ll curl less.”
A volunteer sweeping up sawdust paused beside her. “We used to put the coconut shy nearer the green, but the wind knocked half the coconuts off before anyone even paid. Better where you’ve marked it.”
“Good to know,” Lydia said, adjusting her notes. “I’ll make sure there’s a windbreak along the side and back.”
From the kitchen hatch, someone called, “Tea’s nearly ready if anyone needs a cup!”
It was busy, warm, and wonderfully alive — exactly what Lydia loved about Brookleigh Bay.
She bent to place another strip of blue tape on the floor, marking out the route for the indoor refreshments queue.
The games would all be outside — on the harbour front, the green, and the square — but the church hall would host the teas, cakes, and sandwiches.
She was just straightening when the hall doors swung open again.
William stepped inside, carrying a heavy metal toolbox, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
Ollie bounded in beside him, clutching a sanding block with the enthusiasm of someone who had no intention of waiting for instructions.
Little Jake followed, his red toy car tucked into the front pocket of his dungarees.
Mia and Sophie came last, walking close together, carefully carrying a tin of wood oil between them.
“Afternoon, Lydia,” William said, setting the toolbox down on a plastic sheet near the back cupboard. His voice was warm and steady. “We’re the carpentry squad. Ethan’s down at the youth hut with Simon planning the speaker positions and cable routes, so you’ve just got us.”
Lydia smiled, a gentle wave of welcome rising in her chest. “I think the carpentry squad looks exceptionally qualified. Thank you for coming, William.”
She crouched beside Jake and looked up at Ollie. “Ollie, the old wooden stocks are over there. Your dad has already checked the base, but the main frame needs a lot of sanding before we can oil it. Think you can help with that?”
Ollie’s face lit up. “I can make it really smooth!” he announced, already marching toward the weathered oak frame.
Jake climbed onto the bench beside him, pulled out his red car, and began rolling it along the top groove where the wood was already smooth. “I’m checking it,” he informed Lydia solemnly.
“Excellent quality control, Jake,” Lydia replied, glancing up at William. A quiet, companionable amusement passed between them.
Across the room, Mia and Sophie stood by the paint tins. Lydia offered them a gentle smile. “Hello, girls. Thank you for bringing the wood oil.”
Mia returned the smile more easily than before. “Dad said the stocks need a coat once they’re sanded.”
“That’s right,” Lydia said warmly. “And the wooden ducks for hook-a-duck are over there if you want to start giving them their base colours.”
Sophie perked up at that, her eyes lighting with interest. “Can I do the yellow ones?”
“You can,” Lydia said, guiding them to the side table where the ducks were laid out.
The girls settled happily into their task, chatting quietly as they chose brushes and colours. Sophie hummed under her breath. Mia concentrated with the steady, thoughtful focus Lydia had already come to admire.
A volunteer passed Lydia carrying a bundle of bunting. “Where would you like these, Lydia? Last year we strung them across the hall, but with the food tables in here, I wasn’t sure.”
“Let’s keep them to the back wall for now,” Lydia said. “We can decide once the tables are set up.”
For the next hour, the hall moved in a comfortable rhythm. Lydia worked around the perimeter, using her tape measure to map out the indoor refreshment stations and the flow of foot traffic. Every so often, she glanced back toward the centre of the room.
William was kneeling beside Ollie, showing him how to follow the grain of the wood.
His movements were patient and unhurried, his broad shoulders relaxed in a way Lydia hadn’t seen before.
Whenever Ollie asked a question, William listened completely, his voice a low, reassuring murmur beneath the rasp of the sandpaper.
At one point, William stood to stretch his back, wiping a smudge of sawdust from his forehead. He walked over to Lydia’s table, looking down at her floor plan.
“How’s the organising going?” he asked.
“Nearly there,” Lydia said, turning the notebook so he could see her neat, colour-coded squares. “The games will all be outside, but the teas and cakes will be in here. I’m just making sure the queue doesn’t block the fire exit.”
William nodded, scanning her notes. “Good thinking. If you need any stakes driven into the turf on the day to keep the stocks steady, just let me know. I can bring a mallet from home.”
“They’re self-standing, but anchoring them would be safer if the ground is soft,” Lydia said. Warmth bloomed quietly in her chest at his easy, practical support. “Thank you, William.”
The girls remained absorbed in their ducks while Ollie sanded enthusiastically and Jake continued testing the smooth sections with his car. Around them, the hall buzzed with laughter, chatter and the steady rhythm of preparation.
Lydia stepped back to survey the room. On her floor plan, the Carnival was still neat squares, arrows and measurements. Around her, it had become sawdust, paint-streaked fingers and children’s laughter.
She smiled. The plans were no longer merely words on a page. Brookleigh Bay was bringing them to life.