Page 42 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

I knew who I would go for, out of the pair of them.

Veronica nodded regally, and I bit my lip to stop myself from sniggering. Owen had been let off the hook though, and Veronica deigned to continue. ‘As I say, Cerys and Edie usually look after the cake stall.’

I bit my lip even harder.

‘But this year, Cerys will be juggling a small child. As we know, when Edie juggled a small child last year, there was an upset over the cupcakes having fingerprints in the buttercream, and there were complaints that several Bakewells were missing their cherries.’

‘Edie picked them all off,’ whispered Polly in my ear. ‘Cerys told me. She said Edie had done it quite unwittingly and blamed baby-brain. Nobody has ever told Veronica the truth. Nobody has ever dared tell Veronica the truth. They just pretended they’d fallen off in transit.’

How I didn’t choke on my wine at that point, I have no idea. There was a giant splutter though, and I was convinced that I would be treated to Veronica’s glare, but I escaped it somehow.

‘And the buttercream?’ I managed to ask quietly.

‘Oh that was definitely Bean.’

‘Awesome.’

‘So Cerys has told me she and Edie would like some help, if at all possible. I will leave it up to the village to think about who is best placed to help,’ continued the apparently indomitable Veronica.

‘I’d offer,’ muttered Polly, ‘but I think I’ll be too nervous.’

‘Fair enough.’ I nodded and turned my attention back to Veronica. She was now describing Mrs Pomeroy’s kindness in allowing them to use her grounds for the Fayre again this year, and how some of the other stalls would be allocated. For example the tombola stall (Veronica and A.N. Other), the raffle stall (Mrs Culpepper), the artisan gin stall (Sam) — which would be located next to the cake stall this year so that Sam would be close to Cerys and the baby — and how the prize-giving would work after the talent show.

‘Arfur and Umbert will of course be presenting the prizes again,’ piped up Mrs Pomeroy. She stood up and commanded attention in an even more impressive way than Veronica. She leaned on the table and glared out at the assembled customers. ‘And may I kindly remind everyone who may have an apparent allergy to my hounds, that they should take the appropriate action before the ceremony begins.’

Her eyes settled on a couple sitting near the front. ‘Violet and Ben. I am talking to you.’

‘Ben owns the chocolate shop,’ muttered Polly. ‘He’s allergic to dogs, and Violet gets raging hay fever. Last year, he got the Artisan Creator’s Padcock Taste award for his salted caramel slab, and he sneezed all over the cup. Violet was all snotty and looked like she was crying at the front of the crowd because of all the pollen we’d stirred up, and Mrs Pomeroy wasn’t impressed.’

‘Noted,’ replied Ben meekly, and raised his glass to Mrs Pomeroy.

‘We’ll take some antihistamines before the Fayre,’ said Violet, equally meekly.

Mrs Pomeroy nodded and sank back into her seat.

I cast a glance over to the bar, where Jay was looking highly amused, and Sam had his back to the action. I could see Sam was silently laughing his socks off though.

The ladies continued to let people know what would be happening, before moving on to talk about Padcock’s Got Talent.

‘Padcock’s Got Talent will take place at the end of the Fayre,’ said Mrs Culpepper. ‘I have some forms here to fill in.’ She lifted them aloft and slowly turned so everyone could see the sheaf of papers. ‘Sally will come around and drop them on the tables in a moment. Sally. Would you? Thank you, Dear.’

Sally took the papers and squeezed out from behind the tables. There was a fraught moment where her cardigan got caught on Mrs Culpepper’s hairpins, but she soon recovered and was promptly amongst us, distributing the forms.

She came over to our table, and smiled. ‘Would you like a form, Polly? I hear you’re getting very good at singing. Or so the grapevine tells me.’

Polly flushed, but she nodded and whispered thanks as she took a form. Then Sally looked at me for a moment curiously.

‘It’s okay,’ I said, feeling I had to explain my presence. ‘I’m just visiting . . . I’m — um — Rosie’s friend. Rosie Rivers?’

‘I know Rosie,’ said Sally. Then she turned to the bar and shouted over at Jay. ‘Jay! Is this the young lady who was drawing some pictures for the Padcock Pathway?’

I wanted to slither under the table, I was so embarrassed. The whole bar seemed to turn and look at me. My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as I struggled to come up with a response.

‘Oh — yes. That’s Matilda. You’ll remember her from my birthday party?’ responded Jay. Then he shrugged and looked at me apologetically. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.

The Padcock grapevine was clearly on a par with the bush telegraph.

I nodded mutely. Of course, I understood that he couldn’t lie. And I was drawing those pictures . . .