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8
Emma
The last couple of days have been a little strange without Finn helping out in the Den. Not strange bad. It’s just that I’ve got used to him now. Ridiculous as it may sound, I’ve actually missed his company. I know. I’m doing a full one-eighty. When he was first roped into decorating with me, I dreaded it. In fact, after my rather hysterical reaction to his return home, I worried about sharing the same house as the man I had verbally assaulted at three in the morning. But things are different now. We’ve got used to each other. And yes, I will say it. I actually like spending time with him.
Finn is thoughtful, kind, and considerate. His sense of humor is also on my level, too. But then, in the back of my mind, more of Mum’s words swim about like little tadpoles in my pool of thoughts.
Men will pretend to care, just to get what they want.
Did I mention my mum doesn’t like men too much? She has many such similar sayings as that. All with a negative connotation. She’ll tell you men will lie, they’ll pretend, they like to play games, they try and force you to be something you’re not, among a ton of other little gems she has tucked away in her armory.
If I’ve heard them once, I’ve heard them a thousand times, which is why I’m now struggling to match my mother’s words with Finn’s behavior. You see, it doesn’t seem to fit. You know that feeling when people are being nice or whatever, and you can sense it isn’t genuine? Well, I’m not getting that feeling at all with Finn. But then, like I’ve already mentioned, I don’t really have a lot of experience with men. Besides, he’s married. But sometimes, when I think about him and how cute and lovely, he is, that rather important piece of information seems to slip my mind.
It’s Saturday morning, and there’s a great buzz of excitement in the Brecken household. Earlier this morning, Sylvie told me it’s for two reasons. Firstly, everyone gets this Saturday off, which is a rare occasion. The only other times that happens, is Thanksgiving and Christmas. The second thing is really the same as the first thing. The reason they are all off on this particular Saturday, is because of an annual festival called the August Meat Feast.
I will admit, when Sylvie first mentioned it; with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, I might add, I was more than a little dubious. It sounded like a burger from one of those very well-known fast-food establishments. But the more she excitedly jabbered on about it, the more infused with energy I became. Sylvie has a way of doing that. Making everything sound exciting. It’s just the way she sees the world, and it’s one of the many wonderful things I love about her.
Putting it as simply as possible, the entire town is having a BBQ. Which, the more you think about it, is pretty amazing. I mean, the only way you’d get five hundred and sixty people together in England without killing each other, is either at a football match, a concert, or a riot. But here, in this lovely little town, five hundred and sixty people of all different ages, race, backgrounds, interests, and diversity, all come together and have a huge BBQ. How cool is that?
When we arrive at the field, there’s already a great gathering of people. There are smaller marquees, and then a huge tent where there is a buzz of activity. Like bees to a hive, there are many people hurrying in and out of it. There’s bunting strung up all over the place. There are benches, and tables, and random chairs just sitting about. There’s smoke coming from great metal containers, there are drinks stands, and little stalls that you might find at a fairground; hook-a-duck, and a shooting game, among other things. There are even small fairground rides for the children. I mean, these people have gone all out.
While my eyes are as wide as saucers, taking all this in, Martha and Sylvie are talking about taking salad bowls and bread rolls over to the main tent. Sylvie turns and looks almost concerned about leaving me.
“She’ll be fine, Sylvie,” Danny says with a smile in his voice. “Emma can stay with me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t get lost in the great big crowd.”
Sylvie’s dad is clearly being playfully sarcastic, and after Sylvie rolls her eyes at him, she and Martha make their way across to the huge tent.
“This is pretty amazing,” I say, as we slowly walk toward the main area, where most of the people from the town are meandering about.
“Yes, it is,” Danny replies. “This has been a tradition in the town for decades. I can’t tell you when it started, though I should know, given the fact I was born here.”
I gasp and spin my head to look at him. “You were born in Sharon Springs?”
I don’t really know why this information surprises me so much. Maybe I have just never thought about it since my arrival.
“Oh, sure. Both myself and Martha are pure breeds.” He grins. “Most of us in this town are descendants of people who have lived here for decades. We get a few newcomers, but not many.”
“Wow,” I reply. I’m still surprised at that information when Danny says, “You don’t have anything like this back home? Like fairs or community gatherings?”
“Oh, we do, I suppose, but not where I live. I’m sure there are many small villages that organize this sort of thing, though I cannot say I’ve ever seen anything quite like this. But the number of people in this town would likely fill a few streets where I live. I don’t know, off the top of my head, but I’m pretty sure the population of Harefield is well over twelve thousand.”
Danny smiles as we continue to walk. “I’m not sure if we could quite fit twelve thousand people on this field.”
I grin and nod. “It’s not quite Glastonbury.”
“Glastonbury?” Danny raises his eyebrows.
“It’s a massive music festival they have every year. There are plenty of different stages with loads of different groups. It’s held on a huge farm in Somerset. People bring their tents and campers, and all that kind of stuff. It’s a bit like this, only on a much grander scale.”
“So, a few thousand, then?” Danny says.
“About two hundred thousand actually,” I reply.
“Holy cow!” Danny exclaims.
His shock makes me giggle, and he laughs along with me.
We’ve now reached the main tent, and Martha and Sylvie are just coming out of it. As I peek inside, there’s even more activity going on in there. There are long wooden tables covered with all sorts of shapes of bowls. Large, small, round, oval, deep, shallow. I have no idea what’s in them all - I can’t see that far. There are huge metal kegs sitting at the far end. Kegs that look just like those Finn was loading into the truck earlier. I can only assume there is beer contained within.
