GREENFEST

Margaret wanders through to the drawing room, drink in hand. It is a little early for alcohol but does bucks fizz count? Luke insisted and she doesn’t want to appear dull. She peers through the window, fascinated at the scene unfolding before her down on the festival site.  So many people, so much paraphernalia, so much noise and the music hasn’t even started yet. Huge gantries with lighting are being hoisted into place and there is the intermittent high- pitched, ear-piercing sound of speakers and microphones being tested. Young men stripped to the waist are wielding sledgehammers, erecting marquees and stands. Huge lorries spill their contents onto the meadows. Brightly coloured tents of all shapes and sizes criss-cross her land like tethered lines of bunting.

Will it recover from the wear and tear, she wonders? The sun has blessed them with its appearance; not exactly a searingly hot day but maybe that is a good thing, we don’t want revellers fainting from heat exhaustion. This really must be the success Luke has promised, otherwise the villagers so dead set against it will never forgive her.

‘There you are Margaret, I wondered where you’d got to.’ Luke appears in the drawing room, jug of fizz in hand. ‘Top up?’

‘Perhaps not, thank you Luke. It’s going to be a long day. I should pace myself,’ Margaret says as she covers her glass.

‘Mostly orange juice this stuff, not the thing headaches are made of, here’s to a successful day,’ Luke answers with a laugh and tosses his drink back.

Suddenly the door is thrown open and John appears.

‘So this is where you are. What the bloody hell are you doing? he thunders. ‘I’m sick of people asking where you are. My radio is going non-stop. This is supposed to be your baby, well get the hell out there and babysit it. You’re the event manager, not me, I didn’t sign up for this responsibility. And where the hell is your radio? How dare you stand there drinking while everyone else is doing your work?’

Margaret is stunned at John’s outburst. She has never seen him so angry.

‘You should go Luke, there are obviously people who need you,’ she says quietly.

‘Right. Of course, I’ll just collect my radio from the kitchen,’ Luke says sheepishly. ‘Excuse me Margaret,’ then he hurries out, taking the jug with him. John mutters an apology to Margaret and follows Luke.

Margaret looks around the empty drawing room and says to herself, under her breath, ‘Eddie, I’ve done my best. I can’t do more. I just hope things will run smoothly now.’

*

‘Itʼs great to have you all down here!’ Valerieʼs husband Derek and their daughters Phoebe and Natasha have arrived from Bristol. They are staying at The Clipper, where Valerie meets them in the garden. ‘You can see what a lively village it is – not all farming and W.I.’ she says to her daughters. They look unimpressed.  

‘Thank goodness we didnʼt buy that barn,’ says Derek. ‘The noise will be unbearable.’ Valerie admits he has a point. The festival site has been extended beyond the original plans and the barn and its patch of land are surrounded by the tent city that has sprouted in the past few days as festival goers arrive. Even so, Valerie is disappointed that the purchase did not go through.   

‘Stop moaning Derek. Look, thereʼs Karenza. She recycles clothes from charity shops and makes gorgeous jewellery from beach finds – so talented.’ Valerie feels proud to know the names of a few locals, but her girls look uninterest. They follow their mother over to Karenzaʼs half-built stall. As she is looking harassed with Piran clinging to her legs as she tries to unload multicoloured garments from her tiny van.

‘You havenʼt seen Kevin, have you?’ she asks.

‘Iʼm afraid I donʼt really know him’, replies Valerie, ‘but Iʼll ask around. They make their way through the mayhem, everyone else intent on preparation before the entertainment starts this afternoon. In a large marquee with long bars all around, Keith is busy displaying his local beers and ciders.

‘Nice to see you, Mrs Williams. Everything alright for you at The Clipper?’

‘Itʼs wonderful, so cosy and welcoming and the monkfish last night was delicious. Weʼre hoping to be locals soon, you know.’

These are the sort of customers I need, thinks Keith, appreciate my new gastro menu, not like the old locals, who complain about prices and want pasty and chips back on.

Karenza flutters over. ‘Seen Kev?’

Keith shakes his head. ‘He’s not here, my darlin’, heʼs supposed to be helping me set up too.’

Valerie jumps as a dog leaps towards her, scratching her leg.

‘Henry! Sorry about that – heʼs very friendly.’ It is Sylvia, pulling on Henry’s lead. ‘Oh hello again. Is it Valerie? Iʼve seen you with Jo Clemens. Arenʼt you the people that are buying the Old Rectory?’ Before Valerie has a chance to reply, Sylvia carries on. ‘Lovely house, but a bit run down since the old vicarʼs wife died. They let her stay on in it, you know, because she was ill. We live quite close so weʼll be neighbours.’ Valerie is not too sure that she wants Sylvia as a neighbour but she gives a thin smile. Derek and girls are looking the other way, both girls scrolling on their phones.  

Sylvia continues. ‘This is a big do, isnʼt it? We won’t get any sleep tonight and goodness knows the state of these fields after the weekend. Itʼs the drugs I worry about, theyʼre always a problem at these sort of things. With all the drinking too – I suppose Keith will do very well out of it. My sonʼs helping, heʼs over there setting up the electrics. Heʼs very clever with that sort of thing, you know, all that internet stuff.’ She gestures in the direction of a hooded teenager, lackadaisically unwinding a roll of wire.

‘How lovely,’ says Valerie, keen to move on. ‘Derek, girls – we must check on the programme to decide who to watch first.’

Sylvia wanders on, spying on everyone elseʼs endeavours like a wren searching for insects.

Chapter 37