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“He’s up in the projection room, I think.” Susan stepped out from behind the counter. “I can barely get him out of there, these days.”
Walt’s projection room was a tangle of old-fashioned reels and loose film strips, tossed haphazardly across dented metal tables and surrounded by the toothy grins of Hollywood stars through the ages. Mia paused under Cary Grant and took in the sad sight of Walt trying to splice two pieces of film together in the half-darkness.
“Walt?” Susan said. He didn’t look up. “Mia’s here to see you.”
Not a flicker of acknowledgement. Mia looked to Susan for guidance, but the other woman just shrugged.
Stepping forward, Mia said, “I just wanted to let you know about the new festival name, Walt.” She paused, just in case, but Walt’s attention was solely focused on the film in front of him. “We’ve decided to call it the Aberarian Fish and Film festival. We were hoping you might be able to set up some entertainment for the festival goers here at the Coliseum.”
“Isn’t that a lovely idea?” Susan’s voice was too chipper, like she was talking to a sulking child. Walt obviously wasn’t too offended, though, since he just kept ignoring them.
“Magda and I thought maybe we could show Smuggler’s Rest? So people could see what Aberarian might have looked like in the days of A to Z Jones,” Mia tried, hoping vintage movies might pique Walt’s interest. “We can have a weeklong film festival, if you liked, the week before. Get all the locals in.”
Walt gave a loud sigh, put down his film and his tweezers, and creaked his swivel chair ‘round to face them. “Look. It’s not like I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do, Mia, honest. But you have to see it’s pointless. So thank you, but please. You can stop now.” He turned to face his desk, leaving Mia staring at him in amazement.
Susan put a gentle hand on her arm, and Mia followed Walt’s wife down the stairs, toward to the box office.
“I didn’t realize he was so bad.” Mia reached for another handful of the popcorn. Comfort food.
Susan looked fierce. “Don’t you listen to him,” she said, clutching at the ticket machine. “God knows I’ve wished over the years that he loved me as much as he loves this place. But seeing him like this... No. We’re going to save this cinema for him. We’re going to save my husband.”
Mia nodded, fast, in case Susan decided to turn some of that determination on her. “Absolutely. Do you think you can find the film?”
“Smuggler’s Rest? For certain. He’s got about five copies in different formats.” Susan gave a sharp smile. “You tell me when you want it to play, and I will make it happen.”
Mia smiled back.
As she stepped out into the Aberarian afternoon, tub of popcorn tucked in the crook of her arm, Mia reflected that her job would be a lot easier if everyone in town had the determination of Susan Hamilton.
* * * *
Mia avoided StarFish, and by extension Charlie, until Friday, when the next committee meeting meant she had no choice except to go to the restaurant. Arriving just before ten, she was pleasantly surprised to see several of the tables in the window occupied–by people finishing up breakfast. Looked like Magda had been right again.
The tables were already set up for the committee, and Mrs. Hamilton and Enid were happily pouring coffee and picking at Danish pastries. Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Mia slipped into her chair at the head of the table and let Enid pour her coffee while she stared at the kitchen doors. And when they finally opened, half a croissant later, it was Magda who appeared through them, looking cross.
“I’m afraid Charlie won’t be able to join us today,” she said, taking her seat. “For once, we’re actually too busy. He’s given me the fundraising information.”
Which neatly ruined Mia’s main excuse for going and talking to him after the meeting. “Great. Well, then, I suppose we’d better get started.”
The meeting went smoothly. Mia and Magda filled the other women in on their theme ideas, and between them they whittled down the various suggestions to the really good ones, then split responsibility for them between themselves.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had much luck recruiting more help as yet,” Mia said, aware of the pointed look Magda was giving her from across the table.
“We think we’ve got some good potential recruits, though, don’t we,” Magda added.
Mia winced. “I’ve got a few more people to ask.”
“You’re sure they’ll say yes?” Enid had bent so far forward across the table, her nose was almost in the coffee pot. “Because, really, there’s so much work here for just the four of us.”
“Five of us,” Mia corrected. “When Charlie comes back.”
“We’re almost positive,” Magda said. “Don’t you worry. We’ll have all the help we need, once Mia starts talking to people.”
As the meeting wound up, Magda dragged Mia over to the counter. “So I guess we’re not telling the others about Ditsy’s idea?”
Mia winced. “Do you really think it would help? I mean...”
“Look,” Magda interrupted. “I know you don’t like it, but I don’t see we have any other options. You’re going to have to...”
“I know, I know.” Mia sighed. “Still, for the sake of plausible deniability, wouldn’t it be best if we were the only ones who knew? That way, no one can blame Enid or Susan if this all blows up in our faces.”
“It won’t,” Magda said, with what Mia thought was unearned confidence. “These things never really do. People hold their secrets too close.”
Magda returned to work, clearing the tables they’d used and setting them in their proper formation. Mia reached into her bag and surreptitiously pulled out the small stack of note cards Ditsy and Jacques had put together. They were already well-thumbed; Mia had been reading them obsessively since she got them. She just needed to decide what to do with them.
“Uh, Miss Page?” Mia spun round at the sound of the voice behind her, shoving the cards into her bag and catching her hand on a hole in the lining.
“Yes, Vicar?” she asked with her very brightest smile on.
Reverend Dafydd Davies, the welshest Welshman Mia had ever met, gave her a puzzled look as he stared at her hand, still caught in her bag. “I was just wondering... Do you need any further help with the festival planning?”
“Are you kidding?” Mia freed her hand at last. “We need all the help we can get.”
“Well, I may not have the time to assist myself,” Reverend Davies said with a sly smile. “But I’m sure many of my parishioners could use a more worthy way to fill their free hours. If you wanted to perhaps add a notice to the service on Sunday, my sermon just happens to be on volunteering and helping the community.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “I do not think a casino is what God has planned for this town.” He pulled back again and studied her. When he spoke again, he sounded surprised. “You may be.”
“That would be...fantastic,” Mia said, stunned. “I’ll write something for you and get it to you later today?”
The vicar nodded. “Fine, fine. And I’ll ask my wife to make her lovely lemon cake to go w
ith the teas and coffees after the service. Everyone always stays on for that.” He smiled again. “Give you a chance to recruit in person.”
Watching him leave, hands deep in his trouser pockets, Mia reflected that if God was on her side, perhaps things weren’t quite as dire as they seemed. Especially if His support came with lemon cake.
Maybe she wouldn’t need to use Ditsy’s idea at all.
Chapter 10
Mia settled into her pew, reflecting that her best tea dress was getting more wear in a month than in the past year, and listened to the melodious rise and fall of Dafydd Davies’s voice. More importantly, she listened to the guilty shuffle of parishioners in their pews as the vicar spoke about doing unto others and walking by on the other side.
If she didn’t have volunteers after this, Mrs. Davies’s lemon cake didn’t stand a chance.
“The church is not this building,” Reverend Davies said. “It is not these pews or this pulpit or that stained glass. The church is its people. And the church is not constrained by these four walls. The church wanders as far as its people wander. The church is limitless in what it can achieve, because whatever the people of God achieve is in the church’s name. This week, I want you all to think about what you think the church should be doing in this community. And then I want you to remember that you are the church.”
There was silence as he stepped down from the pulpit. Mia hoped that in their ashamed averting of their eyes, no one else in the congregation noticed the way the vicar winked at her while announcing hymn 271.
“Do you think it will help?” he asked, shaking Mia’s hand after the service.
“If it doesn’t, I don’t know what will,” she said honestly. “Thank you.”
Reverend Davies grinned. “It was sort of fun, actually. Now, go get some lemon cake before it all goes.”
Loading up with tea and cake, Mia decided the best place to start was with the ladies who did the tea. “It’s funny,” she said, even though it wasn’t. “We’ve been discussing refreshment stalls for the festival this week in the committee.”
