Simone put an arm around her. “We really tried. I think he would know that.”
Star nodded. A tear splashed into her coffee.
One by one, lights started to appear in windows as people began their day. Maggie continued to stare at the shreds of canvas that littered Holy Trinity Green. Her usual can-do attitude appeared to have been temporarily stymied.
Simone cast her gaze around the rest of the high street. The Christmas trees hadn’t suffered too badly; a few baubles had loosened and the tinsel had bunched in places, but they were otherwise unharmed. If anything, they looked even better now that their fairy-lit branches were laden with fresh snow. It was as though Holly had focused all her attention on the marquee, like Dorothy’s house in Kansas.
Duncan jogged up the high street and came to stand by them. He was wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, which looked faintly ridiculous in this frozen landscape. He bent, resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath.
“Bloody hell,” he said presently.
“And then some,” Simone agreed.
“I went out through the back of the pub this morning; I didn’t see any of this.”
“Is there damage anywhere else?” Maggie asked.
“No. There’re a few branches down but nothing serious. The snow’s not even that deep, considering. Bloody hell,” he said again, and then, noticing that Star was upset, he immediately went to her side to comfort her.
* * *
The sky was taking on the orangey glow of the sun trying to rise. People were coming to join Duncan and the North sisters on Holy Trinity Green, some on their way to work, some with dressing gowns pulled tightly around them, Wellington boots poking out of the bottoms.
The obligatory high-spirited commentary that attended any shocking event seemed to break the spell the sisters had been under. Maggie grabbed an overturned crate and began to pick bird feeders out of the snow. Star and Duncan joined her. Duncan’s long muscular legs in tiny shorts seemed to be causing as much distraction as the storm damage.
“You never really think about what goes on beneath a man’s trousers, do you?” mused Beth, Ryan’s mum, who was wearing a Dalmatian onesie with Wellies. “I mean, everyone makes such a fuss over women’s legs but hardly at all with men.”
“Perhaps because they are less shapely as a rule?” suggested Parminder. “Gerry has legs like a Highland cow. I don’t think anyone would be clamoring to see them in a pair of shorts.”
“Nor my Ron; he has the knees of an arthritic flamingo. But some men’s legs are very shapely.”
“Made for shorts,” Parminder agreed.
The popcorn garlands and peanut butter pine cones had been boxed up at the end of yesterday, and though the boxes had been tossed about, they didn’t appear to have lost their contents. A large section of the fabric roof lay scrunched in a heap on the ground. Simone tramped through the snow to it and lifted a corner. Troy joined her, and together they rolled it slowly back. Underneath, the bulk of the birdseed pomanders had thankfully made it unscathed, protected from the worst of the storm by the fallen roof.
People began to join them with boxes and baskets, retrieving as many decorations as they could. Simone was heartened to see that what had looked like a total loss when she’d first arrived wasn’t as bad as it had seemed. Though the marquee was undeniably totaled, much of their combined efforts were not entirely destroyed.
By eight o’clock the sun was fully up, and the villagers of Rowan Thorp were fully out. Troy offered the woodshed behind the pub as storage for the edible decorations, and people began to-ing and fro-ing with the boxes and bags.
Verity and the other children in the village were treating it as a treasure hunt, salvaging suet bird cakes and baubles from beneath the snow. Simone found herself unable to stop advising people on the correct way to bend without causing strain on their spines. Really, this was basic spine health stuff; no wonder people kept asking her for massages.
“All the duct tape in Kent won’t put this thing back together,” Betty noted grimly.
“I don’t know where else we can hold the banquet,” Maggie lamented. “Do you think we could squeeze everyone into the village hall? Maybe share with the darts tournament?”
“Unfortunately, the village hall is not an option for anybody,” said Belinda. “The roof has sprung multiple leaks, the snow is melting in the sun, and I’ve got pots and pans all over the floor trying to save the parquet if possible. Water got into the fuse box and blew the lot, so we’ve got no power in there either. It’s a no-go, I’m afraid.”
Duncan had taken a step back and seemed to be lost in thought.
“What’s going on in there?” asked Betty.
He squinted like he was loath to discuss his ideas yet, but Betty was not a woman to be denied.
“I think I might have an idea of how we could do something with these scraps and, if it works, maybe a venue for the banquet.”
All eyes turned to Duncan, who looked uncomfortable under the glare.
“Come along, young man, spit it out!” said Betty.
He rubbed the back of his head. “It would take a few sewing machines, and maybe some extra canvas, and some guy ropes.”
“The Women’s Institute sewing machines will be at your disposal, and I’m sure we can rustle up some canvas. There must be tents languishing in sheds all over the village,” said Betty.
“Count the Cussing Crocheters in with whatever plans you’re hatching,” said Ellen.
“Abso-bloody-lutely!” echoed Doreen.
“Knew I could count on you ladies.” Betty smiled warmly.
“What exactly did you have in mind, Duncan?” Maggie asked.
“I was thinking, what if we make a kind of patchwork tarpaulin out of the bits of canvas left and tie it to the high branches of the trees in the rowan tree woods? The clearing near the tree house is plenty big enough to get everyone together. It’ll mean a longer journey getting the food from the pub kitchen to the tables, but the space will be dry and sheltered.”
Many heads nodded as the possibilities took root in their minds.
Simone found her spirits rising.
“You’ll still have the patio heaters,” said Troy, and Ryan agreed. “I’m just glad we didn’t leave them in the marquee last night.”
“Do you really think you could make something out of this lot?” Maggie asked, waving her arm at the mess.
“I do,” said Duncan. “We’ll need to clean it up a bit, but other than that, it’s just like putting together an oddly shaped quilt—easier, in fact, since it doesn’t need lining or to be particularly neat, it just needs to be fit for purpose.”
“Piece of cake!” said Ellen.
“Right, we have a plan. Let’s get cracking,” shouted Betty.
“What about work?” asked Maggie. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“I’ll call Sotheby’s myself if they’re going to be dicks about it,” piped up Doreen.