Atholl raised a what-do-you-think? eyebrow and Beatrice recalled the first time she’d seen the framed posters of the movie star lining the upstairs landing at the inn, a relic from the old days when Mrs Fergusson and Atholl’s late father ran the inn by themselves, and their children – two of them named after the Hollywood legend – played on the beach across the road from breakfast ’til tea time.
Beatrice had found the obsession eccentric at the time but since she’d spent a run of lazy Sunday mornings in bed with Atholl binge-watching the star’s biggest hits, she’d come to see the appeal too.
‘Will Richard want to bring the van, though? It’s a long way to come. And how would we afford to pay him?’ Atholl addressed all this to the fire, getting lost in the logistics of it all.
The inn was certainly busier than it had been in years, what with Atholl’s crafting holidaymakers coming for a fortnight at a time to try their hand at new activities with all the local experts Beatrice had rounded up and pressed into (well-paid) service during her few short months in the village. Yet, even with the upturn in guests, there wasn’t money to burn bringing a travelling cinema all the way from England.
‘That’s the beauty of it!’ Beatrice beamed. ‘Rich sold the van years ago. It still does the rounds at festivals and game fairs, weddings and fetes all over the country. If we can convince them to bring Glenda to our Easter craft festival we wouldn’t have to pay for the van. We could just book it and have it turn up. The van’s new owner would keep any profits and your mum could see her films while she still can.’ Beatrice was clearly enjoying the buzz of organising once more.
Atholl knew how much she missed her old job at the Arts Hub in Warwickshire; the job she’d lost due to council cuts after nineteen years spent bringing communities together – something Beatrice excelled at.
‘A festival, eh? I thought it was a small crafting exhibition for the locals, a coffee morning kind of thing?’
‘It wouldn’t be a festival as such, but there’d be no harm in expanding upon an already good idea, making it a little bit bigger? It’ll still be a fun community day, and your mum can watch her favourite movies along with the other villagers and visitors. Easy!’
‘You’ve already asked the cinema van’s owner, haven’t you?’
Beatrice grinned, casting a quick glance at her phone where this morning’s text conversation with Helena, Glenda’s new owner, was.
Atholl nodded, knowing this was likely a done deal and nothing would dissuade her now, not even the fact that there was plenty to do running the inn, especially now Beatrice had revived the village’s social calendar and singles’ scene with all manner of events planned for the winter ahead.
‘Easter it is then,’ Atholl conceded. ‘What are we calling it, then? Surely it needs a name? The Port Willow Bay Arts Festival?’
‘Oh no, it’ll be amuchsmaller affair than that, just a little something to bring the village together. Just a bit of fun. There’s no need for the idea to turn into an all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza.’ Beatrice turned back to her list-making as Atholl smiled indulgently at her. ‘Ooh!’ she cried, raising her pencil as another idea struck her. ‘I’ll invite a few food vans in too, and maybe a Punch and Judy show. You do Punch and Judy in Scotland, right? If the weather’s bad it could go in the village hall too. And maybe the inn could do a special seafood barbeque? I’m sure Gene could handle that, and—’
‘I’ll put the kettle on. I’m guessing you forgot to eat this afternoon?’
‘I wasn’t hungry after smelling whatever Gene was grilling in the kitchens today, it was like old shoe leather,’ replied Beatrice absently, still half absorbed in her plans.
‘Doesnae sound much like Gene’s cooking to me. I wish this morning sickness wouldnae torment you so,’ said Atholl, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer now that she was writing fervently in her book. ‘I’ll away, make you some sandwiches. Beattie?’
He shrugged at the silence, watching her absorbed in her work while baby Clara dozed peacefully in the fire glow, before going to make her something to eat. Best to leave Beatrice to plot and plan. It was, after all, the thing that made her happiest.
Chapter Fifteen
Singles and Malts
In true Scottish style all the tables and chairs had been pushed to the edges of the room, clearing the floor, firstly to accommodate Beatrice’s speed-dating event and, later, for Hogmanay dancing. Gene and Mrs Mair were busy in the kitchens preparing the haggis, neeps and tatties for the revellers at midnight, many of whom were crafters leaving tomorrow after a happy week creating treasured souvenirs and celebrating the season.
Atholl was following Beatrice around, making sure she wasn’t doing too much, and Beatrice was pointedly ignoring his insistence that she needed to slow down and take it easy.
‘Don’t be daft, Atholl. I’m fine! It’s such early days yet, I’m barely feeling it.’
She hadn’t told him the reason she was wearing her slipper boots (and hoping nobody noticed) was because her feet were too swollen for shoes and she hadn’t dressed up for Hogmanay because her party dresses were all a little tight around the middle. In the end, after a long time spent staring into the wardrobe, she’d opted to tear the tags off the maternity jeans with the big black elastic band that went all the way up over her ribs, even if they were still too big and slid down her hips every so often.
Even if she didn’t think she looked pregnant yet, and the only concrete proof of that fact was the little test stick, she felt very pregnant indeed.
‘I’ve got an event to manage.’ She bustled on, gathering the name badges and pens for the participants.
Atholl was about to say more when something across the room caught Beatrice’s eye and she cried out, ‘Oh my God, look! The news programme worked! Somebody’s actually filled in a lonely hearts slip.’ Beatrice carefully made her way through the throng to her dating board, but her face soon fell as she reached it and read under her breath.
NAME: Echo Fergusson
AGE: 7 (or 49 in dog years)
OCCUPATION: Wandering dug
ADDRESS: The Princess and the Pea Inn/ Wherever there’s trouble
