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Good grief.
Arthur Foxbrooke had taken his love of nature, dressing-up, and spectacle to a whole new level. The colour palette he’d chosen was green and the inspiration for his outfit, Estelle guessed, was ‘The Green Man goes to Mardi Gras’. Antlers adorned his head, coated with trailing strands of cleavers and bindweed. His face and various sections of skin were painted in swirls of mossy green, while the rest of his costume consisted of battered pieces of fur and leather, leaves and small branches. It looked as if he’d coated himself in glue, wrestled a warren of rabbits, run through a hedge, then fallen into a swamp.
‘Dad! What on earth are you wearing?’
‘Ho, ho, ho! Aren’t I simply marvellous?’ He flung his arms wide and gave her a twirl.
Estelle ducked to avoid a branch taking her eye out.
‘Willow and Summer helped. Haven’t they done a splendid job?’
‘Dad, you’ve got to lose the branches. They’re dangerous.’
‘Poppycock. I’ve got excellent spatial awareness and have an early warning system in place in case I have to walk through crowds.’ He lifted a hunting horn to his lips and blew loudly through it.
‘But the Morris dancing workshop?’
Her father’s face fell. ‘Yes, I will have to change for that. But right now I’m taking the opportunity to show off.’
Reaching forward, Estelle snapped the ends off the widest branches.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Dad, this costume is lethal. People are going to be drunk and their attention will be on the performers, not a sentient hedge. We can’t afford to be sued again.’
‘I promise I’ll behave.’
‘Just stick to open spaces, okay? Or why don’t you stand somewhere and people can take pictures with you?’
‘Ooh! I like the sound of that. I can put a hat out and make a bit of money.’
‘Dad!’
‘For the festival, darling.’
Estelle threw her hands in the air and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Why the hell not? We need every bloody penny.’
‘Jolly good. Can you grab my fedora?’
‘I can’t. There’s an issue at the main gate that needs sorting.’
‘Isn’t James over there now? I think I saw him.’
‘I don’t know, but I’ve got to go. Please don’t get into trouble.’
‘Hang on, hang on. There’s a reason why I stopped you.’
‘What?’
Arthur rummaged in a small leather bag and brought out a sheet of stickers. ‘We need to get you in the festival mood.’
‘I’m working.’
‘You can still enjoy yourself,’ he replied, pressing silver stars onto her face.
‘Dad!’
He stepped back. ‘Perfect. Now, off you trot, Superstar, and I’ll see you later.’
