Page 41 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

She raised her eyebrows.

‘It’s not the job – I love the job, I love the school and the kids. It’s – it’s my dream, and I think I’m good at it.’

She nodded. She had no doubt that Ted, dedicated and kind as he was, was the best deputy head a school could wish for.

‘It’s just – it’s going to sound stupid, but it’s the Christmas fair.’

‘What, the school one?’ She didn’t want to dismiss what he was saying, but she couldn’t see how that could be causing him so much stress. ‘Isn’t it just a bunch of tables in the hall? A dad dressed as Father Christmas and a stall selling cakes the parents all bought at Tesco that morning, that kind of thing?’

He was shaking his head. ‘Not this one. This is special, the local schools take it in turns to put it on every year and this time it’s Babblebrook, and I really want it to be good, you know, the kids are so excited and we need to raise funds for a new library.’

‘OK, but still, can’t you just have a few stalls in the school hall? That’ll be enough, won’t it?’

‘No. I had these grand plans, and I kind of told everyone about them.’ He pulled a face. ‘Real reindeer, and there’s this great group that do live music for kids, and nice food for the parents, not just a dodgy hotdog or whatever. But it’s just so much to organise. Actually, you’ve got time on your hands, you could help me out. Couldn’t you?’

He gave her a beseeching look. Jen sighed. Another person might resign themselves to a less-than-dazzling Christmas fair, but she knew Ted would take it to heart if he felt he’d let the children down. She was about to refuse. She didn’t have time to help him, she would be leaving in a day or two, and the idea of some Christmas event in boring Babblebrook didn’t exactly fill her with enthusiasm.

But he was looking at her with those big brown eyes. Deeply unfair, in Jen’s opinion.

‘Fine,’ she said grumpily. ‘I suppose I could spare an hour or two.’

At least it would give her an excuse to leave if Julia started trying to bond with her again.

Ted smiled and started to speak, but Gillian the landlady stepped up to the mic and tapped it, causing a loud crackle of feedback and a whoop from the crowd, so Jen never heard his response. Presumably he’d intended to gush an outpouring of gratitude that she’d agreed to help to save the day. But he just tapped her knee and pointed to the mic, grinning like a loon. He was way too excited about this.

‘Good evening, everyone, and thank you for coming out in this snowy weather!’ Gillian said. ‘Welcome to the very first Babblebrook open mic night!’ Another cheer from the crowd. ‘We have some lovely local talent all ready to perform for you tonight, so let’s give them a big welcome.’

They clapped, and Ted grinned at Jen. ‘You booked a slot?’

She snorted. ‘What would I do, sing a nursery rhyme? I think not. You?’

He grinned. ‘Uh, no, I have to mouth words to the songs in assembly otherwise the kids all ask why I don’t know the tune.’

‘What? That’s not true, I remember you playing your guitar and singing when we were at college.’

He grimaced. ‘Don’t remind me! What a pretentious idiot I was.’

‘No, you weren’t,’ Jen said softly. Those nights were etched into her mind, she and Ted drinking and talking late into the night, sharing stories. He’d been the only one she could talk to when things had fallen apart for her then, and he’d always listened, never judging, never telling her what to do. Just being there. And sometimes, as night became morning, he would play the songs he’d written. She was his sole audience, the only one he’d trusted, despite her telling him over and over again that he was talented, and he should play for their friends. ‘You were brilliant. You don’t play any more?’

‘Oh.’ He shrugged, but there was something wistful in his expression. ‘Who has the time?’

It was a shame; he had a genuine talent, and Jen could see that he missed playing. But she knew he was feeling overwhelmed right now, and she didn’t want to pressure him. She smiled, tapping her glass against his. ‘Here’s to being in the audience.’

‘. . . further ado, our first act, Gloria, Bob and Sam!’ Gillian was saying.

Ted looked amused. ‘You know, I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how much this will help with Train Guy. I think it’s going to be more Babblebrook’s Got Talent than a highbrow poetry reading.’

‘Has Babblebrook got talent?’ Jen asked doubtfully.

‘Let’s find out.’

She recognised Gloria and Bob as the couple who’d been selling Jamaican food at the Christmas market, and it appeared that Sam was their dog, who obediently trotted with them to the front of the room.

Bob, smartly dressed in a suit and a red tie dotted with little white snowflakes, smiled at the audience and told the dog to sit. Obediently, it did, blinking up at him through a scrappy mop of brown hair.

‘Sam is the talented one,’ Gloria said, and as she wrapped her hand around the mic stand Jen noticed that her nails were painted to match Bob’s tie. ‘So we’ll let him do all the work.’

They proceeded to show off Sam’s doggy talents as he sat, lay down, gave his paw and begged on command. Bob instructed him to spin, and he did, then rolled over and walked backwards. The couple looked proudly out at the audience, who cooed and clapped in appreciation. Gloria held out her immaculately manicured hand and told Sam to ‘boop’, and he obediently pressed his nose into her palm.