Page 66 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘This is useless, Gem,’ she said. ‘We get more than this on a normal Friday evening in the church hall.’

‘You know what we need?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Rain,’ said Gemma. ‘If it pours down tomorrow, people will be looking for indoor activities. Fancy doing a rain dance in the playground?’

26

On Saturday, Jo woke to the sound of rain – heavy rain – beating down on her lounge window; she had slept on the stained sofa and let Gemma have her bed.

They hadn’t exactly done a rain dance in the playground on the way home – neither of them knew what a rain dance actually looked like – but Gemma had made up some silly song praying for rain, and they had bopped about a bit to it, after making sure no-one was looking.

It couldn’t have worked, could it? Jo wondered, drawing back the curtains and looking at the angry grey clouds in the sky.

Nah, of course not. It was daft enough believing in signs, but rain dances?

*

In fact, it was pouring so hard that despite raincoats and umbrellas, Jo and Gemma both had wet jeans by the time they’d walked down the hill past the allotments and along to the school.

‘The rain dance worked,’ said Gemma, as a car drove past them and they dodged to avoid being splashed.

‘Yeah, right. But will people come just to get out of the rain? They could stay in and watch NetFlix.’ Jo shivered as a raindrop found its way under her coat and slid down her neck.

Gemma held up crossed fingers. ‘Or they might decide to check out the festival.’

Even if the inclement (13 points) weather didn’t bring more people to their door, Jo thought, they were guaranteed a few more attendees today. There were thirty-two places in the tournament and all but one was filled. If everyone showed up, that would be a big improvement on the previous evening, although nothing like the number they’d been hoping for. At this rate, the event was going to cost the PTA money, rather than making it. She knew for a fact that they’d shelled out a considerable amount for refreshments. Refreshments that they weren’t going to be able to sell.

The doors of the school weren’t open to the public yet. Jo spent an anxious fifty-five minutes patrolling the hall and the classrooms, checking that everything was in place. Gemma traipsed after her, making optimistic comments about how more people were sure to come and admiring everything. Jo had to admit it all looked great. The bookstall was well stocked, with a mixture of adult and children’s titles. The tombola was ready with the prizes on display, each labelled with a letter; if you were lucky enough to draw the one letter Q from the barrel, you’d win a huge bottle of Pol Roger champagne; draw an A or a T, and you’d get a small box of chocolates or a potted cactus. Annie was arranging her neat Scrabble tile biscuits on her stall in one corner. In the art room, Mrs Woods had made a small selection of necklaces, greetings cards and framed pictures using letter tiles to illustrate what could be created, and two teachers had set up one of the classrooms with a variety of alternative word games kindly loaned by the (Not So) Little Board Game Café in Essendale: Bananagrams, Upwords and Just One. Another room was set aside for Junior Scrabble and a third for ordinary Scrabble, for those who wanted to play but didn’t feel up to entering the tournament.

Yes, it looked fantastic. But if no-one was going to see it, what was the point?

‘Look over there.’ Gemma gestured to the double doors of the hall, where, through the glass panes, Jo could see a few people gathering in reception.

Mr Morgan strode over to them. ‘I know it’s only twenty past,’ he said, ‘but can we open the doors? They’re queuing all the way out of reception and down the path and everyone’s getting soaked. It’s very strange – the forecast didn’t give rain.’

Jo could barely believe it. Queuing all the way down the path?

‘How odd,’ said Gemma. ‘You can’t trust the Met Office these days.’ She glanced at Jo, who was too stunned to say anything.

Mr Morgan scratched his chin. ‘Think we’ll have to abandon the fancy dress competition – they’ve all come as letter tiles, made from cardboard boxes – and they’re all soggy.’

‘Okay, let’s open up,’ said Jo. Her disappointment about the fancy dress was far outweighed by her excitement that so many people had come.

Mr Morgan opened the doors and the room was soon swarming with people.

‘Can you believe this?’ said Ras, emerging from the kitchen. He had a cake crumb in the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s incredible.’

‘I was wondering where you were,’ said Jo.

‘Quality control,’ he said. ‘Checking the refreshments were up to standard. It’s going to be a success, Jo. It is, isn’t it?’

She nodded as several children made a beeline for Ras.

‘Will you play a game with us, Doctor Ras?’ said one girl, grabbing his hand.

‘Someone’s popular,’ said Gemma to Jo as they watched him disappearing off towards the classrooms, with a small band of kids traipsing behind him like rats following the Pied Piper.