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Pax hops on his bike and declares himself the bodyguard of the cucumber. Dad takes Pax’s pink bike and the pair of them head off in the direction of the village. I haven’t ridden a bike since the day I fell off and started seeing ghosts, and Ambrose can’t ride, so he and Mum and I walk together into the village, carrying cases of Mum’s homemade jam and Dad’s entry form for the judges.
When we arrive, Mum and I make a beeline for the coffee cart. I get drinks and cupcakes for the guys – Pax has a cappuccino and Ambrose happily sips away at his hot tea.
Dad has already set up his cucumber in the display tent. It has a table all to itself, with a light shining on it so that everyone can see its er…girth. We only get a quick glimpse at it before we’re ushered out of the tent again, but I glance around and I can’t see another vegetable that’s quite as large or as lurid as ours.
“They’re doing the judging now,” Dad explains as we walk away from the tent and get coffee from the cart. “So none of us are allowed inside for another half hour. I didn’t get a good look at all the entries, but I saw Tom Clarkson whip out his cucumber and his isn’t nearly as big as mine.”
I choke on my coffee. Beside me, Edward laughs heartily.
“You’re happy today,” I whisper as we wander around the craft stalls.
“Today, I have the love of a beautiful woman, and the world feels bright.” Edward places his fingers in mine, sending that delicious tingle up my arm. I hope the ghost mojo will keep him with us for most of the day.
We make our way through the festival stalls and games. Pax immediately spies the high striker game where you hit the button with the hammer to win prizes. He rushes over.
“But of course,” Edward sighs. “The Roman can’t resist an opportunity to show off his strength. Where is the poetry competition? Does this village have no culture?”
I gasp in mock horror. “How can you say we have no culture? You’re forgetting about the Morris dancing.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t realise that such rich intellectual pursuits were awaiting me.”
“Two quid for a go,” the vendor calls, thrusting the hammer at us. “Test your strength! Swing the hammer against the block and try to ring the bell at the top. You sir,” he waves to Pax. “You look like a strong fellow. Do you want to win a cuddly toy for your lady?”
Pax gives me his puppy dog face and I cough up a coin. He grabs the hammer and swings all his weight down with his swing. The vendor winces as the pin hits the bell with such force that the bell shatters into a million pieces.
“I win!” Pax pumps his fist in triumph as the gathered crowd claps and cheers for him.
“That’s the sexy man who was swimming in the duck pond,” an old lady whispers to her friend. Her friend nods in appreciation.
The red-faced vendor grudgingly offers Pax a choice of oversized cuddly toys. Pax chooses a lion and hands it to me with a flourish.
“You Romans and your lions,” I grin as I lean in and kiss him.
The lion is quite heavy, but he’s so soft and snuggly. I wrap both my arms around him and bury my face in his fur and kind of waddle around after the guys, who are darting from one booth to another. Edward is doing a great job of describing things to Ambrose.
“…and here you have a game where you toss coloured balls into the mouths of hideous clowns. My father used to play something similar at court, except instead of the clowns he used the heads of peasants on pikes. There’s another where you toss balls to knock over milk bottles…Oh, and here’s one where you shoot tiny ducklings with some kind of miniature siege weapon. It seems a bit unsporting. You should at least have some foxes…”
“That’s a gun, and I want to play a game,” Ambrose says.
“Then it will cost you one quid,” a familiar, bored voice says.
My blood chills as I recognise Leanne behind the counter, managing the milk bottle toss and the duck shooting games. She starts when she sees me. “Bree? I—I didn’t notice you there behind that lion.”
“Pax won it for me,” I say.
Pax leans across the counter, and Leanne backs away, no doubt remembering when he pulled her into the duck pond. He thumps the counter. “Yes, this looks fun. I will play with the siege weapons and Ambrose will toss balls at bottles. But I don’t wish to shoot innocent baby ducks. Do you have any Druids?”
“H-h-he can’t play.” Leanne backs away from the counter, staring at Ambrose. “He’s blind. It’s against health and safety.”
“That’s okay,” Ambrose says brightly. “We’ll find another game.”
“No, we won’t. Ambrose is as competent as that six-year-old kid you’ve just given a gun, and he’s a hell of a lot safer. We’re playing.”
Leanne’s lip trembles. I don’t blame her. She’s been through a lot lately. Wordlessly, she accepts my money, dropping it into the till as if it’s poison, and then tosses Pax a gun. “Take the range on the far end,” she hisses. “I’ll get the balls.”
We move down to the range and I help Pax to set up his tiny siege weapon (gun. It’s a gun that fires little rubber caps at the ducks). I’m just showing Pax how to fire it and explaining that he has to shoot the ducks and can’t shoot the people who are shooting the ducks when I notice Edward sneaking up behind Leanne with a suspiciously sinister smile on his face.
“Edward,” I hiss. “What are you doing?”
