be taking it on, will you, Leena?’
‘Pardon?’ I ask, midway through what must be my one hundredth biscuit.
‘Helping the elderly and isolated of Knargill by providing transport,’ Betsy reads. ‘I’m not sure how she plans to manage that, but …’ Betsy blinks expectantly at me.
I consider the point. This seems fairly straightforward.
‘How many of you have cars?’ I ask. ‘Aside from Jackson and Piotr and Kathleen, obviously, who can’t spare the time – but the rest of you are retired, aren’t you? Can you fit in, oh, a drive every other day?’
Everyone looks very alarmed – except for Jackson, who is looking more amused than ever.
‘Where do you think would be a good place to take them for the odd trip out? Leeds is too far,’ I say, looking back at Betsy. ‘but maybe Daredale?’
There is a lengthy silence. Eventually Dr Piotr takes pity on me.
‘Ah, Leena, most of the team here are … Though many of them do have cars’ – this said with a slight air of resignation – ‘they’re not all encouraged to drive as far as Daredale.’
‘Not to say that we can’t,’ Betsy says. ‘I still hold a licence, you know.’
‘And Dr Piotr can’t stop me driving until I’ve gone officially doolally,’ Penelope says, with relish.
‘Ah. Right,’ I say. ‘Well, I’ve been meaning to sort myself a car for a while, anyway, what with Grandma’s one being …’
‘Out of action?’ Betsy supplies.
‘Damaged beyond repair?’ Basil says at the same time.
‘Do any of you have a car that you would like to lend me while I’m here?’
There is silence.
‘Penelope!’ I say brightly. She strikes me as the best option. The men aren’t going to budge, and I’m certainly not going to get any support from Betsy. ‘Could I borrow your car every now and then?’
‘Oh, but I … Well, I still …’ Penelope trails off, then, without much good grace: ‘Oh, I suppose so.’
‘Brilliant, thanks, Penelope!’ I say. I wait until she’s looked away before giving Dr Piotr a quick wink. He gives me a thumbs-up in return.
So now I’ve got Dr Piotr on side, at least. And a car.
‘That’s that, then!’ says Betsy, with a clap. ‘Moving on … May Day! I know this isn’t an official committee meeting, but as the committee is all present, and there are some urgent matters that can’t wait until next meeting, perhaps we could cover one or two things here?’
Everybody nods. I’m pretty sure the May Day Committee is comprised of exactly the same people as the Neighbourhood Watch Committee, so I could point out that two separate meetings are not entirely necessary. Better not, though, on reflection.
‘Theme! I assume we’re all happy with Jackson’s suggestion? Tropical?’
‘Tropical?’ I say, before I can stop myself.
Betsy swivels in her chair to glare at me. ‘Yes, Leena. Tropical. It’s perfect for a sunny spring festival. Don’t you think?’
‘Well, I …’
I glance around the circle, then look at Jackson, who is raising his eyebrows a little, as if to say, Oh, do go on.
‘I’m just not sure it plays to our strengths. People will be attracted to this as a quaint village fair that they can bring their kids to. “Tropical” feels a bit … night out in Clapham.’
I am faced with a circle of blank stares.
‘Do suggest an alternative theme if you would like, Leena,’ Betsy says frostily.
I glance at Jackson again. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded, and there’s something so very cocky about that posture that my plan to forbear and win this lot around before I make any changes goes right out the window.
‘How about “Medieval”?’ I say, thinking of Game of Thrones, which I’ve been re-bingeing since I got to Hamleigh. Ethan always laughed at me for collecting my favourite shows on DVD, but who’s laughing now that I’m in the land of no superfast broadband? ‘We could serve mead, and have storytelling “bards” for kids to listen to, and the May King and Queen could wear beautiful gowns with flowing sleeves and flower wreaths, like King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.’ I’m not actually sure that King Arthur was medieval, but this isn’t the time for pedantry. ‘And we could have falconry and jousting, and the music could be all harps and lutes. I’m imagining flower garlands draped between lamp posts, stalls overflowing with fresh fruit and sugary treats, bonfires, hog roasts …’
‘Hmm. Well. Shall we have a vote, then?’ Betsy says. ‘Leena’s plan to drag us all back to the Middle Ages, or Jackson’s idea