Jack Brennan sat back in the wooden chair that felt like it was designed for a much smaller human.
When he shifted in the tight seat, the chair gave out a sequence of loud creaks in protest.
Everything’s so old in this country, he thought.
Back in the states, something one hundred years old was an heirloom. A treasure!
Here — just furniture.
He took in the crowded meeting room of the village hall. With its big oil portraits of past mayors, and tall windows set in stone, it looked like a cross between a medieval castle hall and a church.
When he was a kid back in Brooklyn, he’d seen places like this on TV: only thing missing was Robin Hood swinging in on a chandelier, sword aloft, coming to rescue Maid Marian.
But this evening, not everything looked like it belonged in a history lesson.
Up on the high wall ahead of him, a big projection screen had been set up. Below it, behind a long table, Jack saw the dozen or so members of the esteemed Cherringham Carnival Committee, all business-like with laptops and folders, smartphones and laser pointers.
He recognised most of the faces from the village. In fact, two or three, he knew pretty well: his old friend local solicitor Tony Standish, the vicar Simon Hewitt, and local plumber Pete Bull.
A few he hadn’t seen before: one in particular, a harassed looking man in a tired suit, who sat at the end of the table, hunched over his phone.
He took in the rest of the audience, the ranks of loyal volunteers, all here, he knew, to run through the final plans for the yearly carnival.
Just a week away. Highlight of the summer. And — Jack had to admit — one of his favourite times of the year. A real taste of English village life, in all its eccentric, bizarre and sometimes beer-filled ways.
He’d lived in Cherringham for a few years now but this was the first time he’d been invited to glimpse “behind the curtain”, to see how the event was organised.
Just have to wait to find out why I’m so privileged, he thought.
He checked out the back of the hall. He’d hoped that his good friend — and partner in their occasional detective work — Sarah would be here tonight.
As well as running a web design business in the village, she also edited the online village Newswire and Jack knew tonight was her last chance to check the carnival schedule before she published.
But Sarah had texted him to say she was just running out of time — I thought kids were supposed to get easier when they grew up — and could he be an angel and take some notes?
Shame she’s not here, thought Jack. He missed her at events like this.
“Want to swap seats, Jack?” came a voice from his side.
He turned to see Josh Robinson, the aged owner of Cherringham Electricals, peering at him behind big spectacles.
“Sorry, Josh,” said Jack, “can’t seem to stop the damn thing squeaking.”
“Not built for a big fella like you,” said Josh. And then a tad louder: “Sooner this meeting starts, the better.”
And, as if the committee had heard Josh’s advice, Jack heard the tinkle of a hand bell from the top table and the room went quiet.
He saw the woman in the centre of the table tap her microphone.
Mid-forties, with the sharp focus of a person used to being in charge, hair curled in a perfect swirl, she leaned forward to speak.
Then she seemed to notice the man in the suit on the end, still deeply involved with his phone.
“Mr Simpson?” she said archly. “If you don’t mind?”
Jack saw the man look up, nod sheepishly and put his phone away.
Something of the Hillary Clinton going on there, thought Jack. Wouldn’t like to cross her.
He watched her turn back to the audience with a patient smile: “Thank you all so much for coming — I promise we shan’t keep you any longer than we have to. No sermons tonight — isn’t that right, Vicar?”
Jack saw her turn to the Reverend Hewitt at the end of the table, who gave a nervous nod while a polite laugh rippled through the room.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Amanda Tyler, this year’s Chair and, as such, it’s my responsibility to deliver to the good people of Cherringham the very best carnival ever — for the very best price too of course! Whether we also get the best possible weather — well, that is something I shall leave to Reverend Hewitt who assures me he’s put in a good word for us with the Almighty!”
More laughter. Another weary nod from the vicar. Jack smiled politely.
“Tonight we’re going to run through the final schedule and plans for the week,” continued Amanda. “We’ve got a lot to get through, so please speak only if absolutely necessary. Not you of course, Mr Brennan. I’m sure all of us are keen to hear your views. Isn’t that right?”
Amanda leaned forward in her seat and nodded vigorously at him. Though he’d only met her briefly at the carnival last year, she seemed to have remembered him.
He heard a murmur of responses from around the room and turned reluctantly to acknowledge the audience.
As he did, his chair squeaked rudely, the sound echoing in the hall.
“Ha, well said, Jack,” said Josh, slapping him on the thigh. “Well said!”
“Hmm, yes. Well, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, here’s our Vice Chair to give you all the — how would you Americans put it, Jack? — the skinny, on this year’s Cherringham Summer Carnival and its intriguing theme!”
A round of applause, then Tony Standish stood to address the audience.
“Thank you, Amanda. Now — first — just one apology to pop in the minutes. Um, it’s from Will Goodchild who’s not going to be able to get here tonight I’m afraid. It’s that unfortunate business upriver, I do believe. Ahem …”
The committee members reacted to this, muttering to whoever was next to them. Not happy.
The discovery of a body up at the Roman dig the week before, seemed still to be occupying the imaginations of half of Cherringham.
Jack was disappointed not to be seeing Will tonight. He was Cherringham’s resident historian, and author of a number of books on local history. Over the years, he’d helped Jack and Sarah on various cases and he took a real interest in “educating” Jack about English history.
Though Will could seem a bit much sometimes, Jack respected his passion for the subject.
Tony tapped his pen against the water jug and the room quietened again. “Now then, just a reminder of the theme you’ve all been working to.”
He hit a couple of keys on his laptop, and an image on the screen behind him showed a Stars and Stripes entwined with the Union Jack and the swirling bold words, “A Special Relationship”.
Jack realised that all eyes were now on him — and belatedly he put his hands together and clapped briefly.
Almost exactly a year ago, at last year’s carnival party — and, in truth, after more than a few beers — he’d joked that an American-themed carnival would be pretty damn cool.
Never meant them to take him seriously. Just a joke, guys.
But they did.
And now here it was. And everyone was looking at him like it was his idea.
Which, I guess, it was, he thought.
“Now we’ve got a whole week of fun events to review so let’s get started. First up — the opening fête — to be held this year, courtesy of our generous Chair Mrs Tyler in the grand setting of Todwell House itself!”
Jack saw Amanda Tyler tilt her head and nod graciously. Tony continued.
“The fête committee have been hard at work on the stalls, so, to hear all about it, over to you, Jen and Joan Buckland.”
The lights dimmed in the village hall, and the Buckland sisters — the mystery-loving twins who ran the tiniest of toll bridges in Cherringham (by fiat of King Charles I, no less) — stood up from their seats in the front row and started their presentation.
This, thought Jack, is going to be interesting. And at least now, with the lights down, nobody would see his reactions. Though they might well hear them if his chair moved.
One of the Bucklands — Jen, Jack thought, since from his experience she was the more, um, forceful of the two — began speaking.
And then the Bucklands clicked through the images that — to them — represented summer and fun in the former colony of America.
“As usual we’ve got lots of stalls and games, all thoroughly researched. This one here … you pick a floating duck and win a prize.”
Jack grinned at that, certainly a staple of carnivals.
But American?
A few more images of carnival games flashed by — one with crates of vintage coke bottles where the object was to throw a wooden ring around the neck of the bottle.
Good luck with that …
“Now then. The food. Carefully researched as well — and of course as I’m sure Jack Brennan will agree — utterly authentic!”
Another click, and there was a freckle-faced kid wolfing down the biggest hot dog ever, toppings exploding from the bun. Then — next image — a family all munching corn on the cob, dripping butter.
Trays of burgers and potato chips.
Um … crisps?
“We got it right, Jack?”
Jack was aware that the other members of the audience — their faces moon-like in the half-light from the projector — had all turned expectantly towards him.
“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Can’t wait.”
A sea of nods and murmurs of approval welcomed his verdict.
“Finally,” Jen said, beaming with this last bit of information, “we have consulted with Mr Jeffries, director of the high school band. They’ll be performing Gershwin, Bernstein, and Sondheim throughout the afternoon in the grounds of the House. And, of course, they’ll be leading the motorised carnival parade through the village on the last night, where they promise the great march of John Philip Sousa … Stars and Stripes Forever!”
Presentation done, the lights in the hall flashed on, and the Bucklands were actually rewarded with a round of applause.
Jack’s the loudest.
Tony now came back to the front, the PowerPoint presentation done.
“Marvellous stuff, Joan. Umm … I mean, Jen,” he said. “So, just a reminder of the rest of tonight’s agenda: the Fun Run, Village Treasure Hunt, Skittles Evening, the Todwell Challenge Cricket Match — always quite a larky event as we all know! — The Cherringham Players and their inimitable take on the Broadway classics …”
Tony paused — looked up for questions — then carried on.
“Um, then the Regatta. And of course the carnival procession, this year led by the Cherringham Vintage Car Association. And — wonderful idea Jack — the open-air movie in the grounds of Todwell House. Our very own drive-in! What was that film again, Jack?”
“American Graffiti,” said Jack. “Terrific soundtrack. Be a great evening, I promise.”
“I’m sure it will be,” said Tony. “Finally, on the Saturday, the big barbecue and prizegiving!”
Another big round of applause from the room.
“Now, as ever, the devil’s in the detail. I think all the different event teams are here, so let’s go through the rest of the presentations! Who’s up next? How about the carnival procession team? Yes?”
Gary Scott, one of the young men from the fire station, who Jack recognised from a case a couple of years back, stepped up to the front and opened his laptop.
He edged back in his seat, which again creaked loudly.
Up on the screen, a map of Cherringham centre appeared and Gary picked up a laser pointer and started to explain the carnival procession timings in detail.
This was going to be a very long night …
***
An hour later, the last of the volunteers had finished their speeches and Jack finally saw Amanda stand up to address the group again.
“There we have it,” she said. “A wonderful line-up — you should be very proud of yourselves. Good luck to all — and let’s give Cherringham a terrific Carnival Week!”
Jack joined in the applause and, relieved to be out of that chair, stood up to leave, then saw Tony step down from the podium and approach him.
“Thank you so much for coming along tonight, Jack,” he said. “What did you think of the line-up of events? The food, the stalls? Pretty authentic eh?”
“Just like carnival back home,” said Jack, doing his best to reassure the elderly lawyer.
“Wonderful!”
Jack watched him hover uncertainly.
Hmm. So now I get to find out why I really got the invite tonight, thought Jack.
“Don’t suppose you have five minutes, Jack?”
“Sure.”
“Excellent! We’ve got a little something you might be able to help us with. I think you’re just the man. Back in a second!”
Jack watched him go, and wondered what he was about to let himself in for …