Betty set down a plate with three sweet and salty chocolate tiffin bars between them.
“Brain food,” she offered. “The village hall is booked out on the twenty-first of December every year for the annual Wealden Darts Tournament.”
“Oh, of course, dammit,” Maggie agreed.
“So the village hall is not an option,” said Star brightly. “Ooh, thanks for these, Betty.”
“Marquee it is, then. This is starting to look expensive,” said Maggie, chewing her pen. “I wish we knew how much money was in Dad’s solstice fund. I don’t want to be a party pooper, but I really haven’t got the money to be renting marquees or patio heaters, and I’m pretty sure neither of you have either. We need to figure out a way to do this on a shoestring budget, just in case the fund doesn’t cover it all.”
“Is there anyone in the village who could loan us one?” asked Simone.
“I reckon we could ask Troy and Kev if we can borrow their patio heaters for the evening. I’m sure they won’t mind, especially if we promise to make sure the procession ends up in the pubs,” Star suggested.
“Now that is a good idea.” Simone approved, and Maggie saw Star’s shoulders straighten a little at the praise.
“Maybe we could ask the parish council if we could have the banquet on Holy Trinity Green. They do it for the summer fete every year. It’s plenty big enough.” Star was on a roll.
“Yeah, but the incentive is that all money goes toward the church restoration fund,” Maggie replied.
“Plus, the whole pagan aspect of it might be a step too far, even for Belinda.”
Belinda had come from a parish in North London, and due to her inclusive views and her launching of the annual Rowan Thorp Pride March in conjunction with the Women’s Institute, congregation numbers had grown exponentially.
“The way I see it,” Star began, “if God is supposed to have created everything, she must also have had a hand in the seasons and the sun’s position in the hemisphere and the pagans who celebrated it. So to not support the winter solstice is kind of rude to God.”
Simone and Maggie studied their sister for a long moment.
“Okay,” said Maggie. “I nominate you to go and ask Belinda. And now that I think about it, the church summer fete always has a marquee for the cake contest and largest vegetable competition. I wonder if it belongs to the church or if they rent it.” She tapped her pen on her chin. “Ask about that too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Star saluted.
“Next on the agenda is alcohol. Dad’s scrapbook is insistent on it being wassail, and he also says that the apple trees of Rowan Thorp make the best cider, as does Betty . . .”
“If Bossy Betty is insistent, we’d definitely better make it happen.” Star snickered.
“I heard that!” Betty called, mid–loading a cake stand.
“Ears like a bat,” whispered Simone.
“I heard that too!”
Maggie was struck by inspiration. She turned to the front of the shop and called, “Do you think if we held a village meeting, people would come?”
Betty rolled her eyes and settled her hands on her hips. “Try and stop ’em.”
“What about if we held a meeting tomorrow night? In the village hall? Is that too short notice?” Simone was thinking out loud. “I’m not sure how we’d get the word out.”
“You leave that to me, dear,” said Betty. “I’ll spread the word. Half the town would come just to see the spectacle of the North girls working as a team.”
“Rude!” said Star.
“Jebediah at the newsagent’s has been keeping a book on how long it’ll take the ‘North nemeses’ to throw in the towel.”
Some of the locals at nearby tables became flushed and began to concentrate on newspapers and slices of cake. Maggie guessed from their guilty faces that Jebediah’s under-the-counter bookmaking business was booming.
“The North nemeses! Is that what they call us?” Simone was offended, but Maggie only laughed.
“I don’t know why you’re so uptight about it—I live here! What are the odds that we don’t pull it off, Betty?”
“Twenty to one against.”
Maggie felt both her eyebrows rise.
“O ye of little faith!” Star retorted.
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Betty held her hands up.
“Have you placed a bet?” Simone asked.
“I have indeed. I’ve got money on you making a go of it, so you’d better not let me down. I expect to be picking up a tidy sum on the longest night of the year.”
Maggie grinned. “We’d better make sure we get it done, then.”
The sounds of chairs scraping against the wooden floor and the sudden mass exodus suggested that the people of Rowan Thorp might just be hedging their bets. Jebediah was about to have an influx of customers.
“What time do you want to hold this meeting?” Betty asked.
“Seven o’clock?” Maggie suggested.
Betty nodded. “Consider it done. Make sure you come with a plan and a list of things you need. People don’t like having their time wasted. They’ll give help when it’s asked, but they won’t do it all for you.” And with that warning ringing in the sisters’ ears, Betty went back to dolloping clotted cream onto the biggest scones Maggie had ever seen.
26
Later that afternoon, Maggie found herself alone in the flat. Patrick had taken Verity to a pantomime in Tunbridge Wells. Her son having never shown any inclination toward panto before, Maggie surmised it must have something to do with a certain young woman called Louella, who was playing the part of Princess Jasmine.
She was taking advantage of this rare peace and quiet to make some notes for the speech they would have to give at the village meeting tomorrow. Simone and Star had both agreed to take their turn to speak, but as usual, the planning had fallen to her.
She’d written out note cards of the things they should include in their appeal. She hoped Betty was right and that people were simply waiting for them to ask. If not, she had no idea how they were going to pull this thing off. She felt sure that if Augustus had had the faintest idea that she was about to be evicted, he would never have tasked her with this. It seemed cruel that she was putting so much energy into a celebration for a community to which she might no longer belong in a few short weeks. She sighed, sipped her tea, and continued to scribble words to rouse the village of Rowan Thorp to action.
The kitchen door opened, and she felt Joe behind her chair.
“Hello. How was your run?”
“Invigorating,” he replied with a smile in his voice. “What are you doing?”
“Writing speech notes.”
“Speech notes! Do you think you’ll need them?”
“I get tongue-tied when I’m nervous.”
“Relax,” he said, rubbing her shoulders. The cold of his fingers brushing the skin above her collar made her shiver in a good way. “Everyone wants to help you succeed. It isn’t a test, nobody’s judging you. Just be yourself.”