Page 69 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘And has he?’

‘No, not at all, we’ve sort of got used to Bill shouting out.’

‘Ah, that.’ Hattie nodded her head. ‘I’ve heard him too. It’s as if he’s talking to an imaginary person.’

‘Or they’re talking to him.’

‘We all have our demons, maybe Bill’s evil spirits are a little livelier than ours.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on him, he’s not a bad sort and he’s been grand company over the past few days.’ Alf looked over to the corner, where Bill, still clutching Melissa’s hankie, was looking a bit brighter. Melissa had conjured up a cup of sweet tea and was encouraging him to drink.

‘If you can get him to his feet, there’s an activity about to start over at the lake that will take his mind off things.’

‘Oh hell,’ Alf said. ‘Is Audrey about to launch her Babes?’

‘Off the end of the jetty by the look of things.’

‘Save us a place, we’re on our way.’ Alf gave Hattie a smile. ‘Come on, Bill,’ he called out, ‘there’s a bench by the lake that’s got our name on it and a surprise in the water that you won’t want to miss.’

27

Malcolm had hired a car and, having been given directions for Ballymegille, was soon driving through the gates of the manor. He followed instructions given by a tall, ruddy-face youth with a head of flaming hair. An identical youth in a matching checked shirt, worn under a visibility waistcoat, directed him to an empty space. Malcolm parked his car, turned off the ignition, and reached across the passenger seat to retrieve a Panama hat. Placing it on his head, he adjusted his Ray-Bans then checked his reflection in the mirror. Satisfied with his appearance, he picked up a small leather bag and climbed out of the vehicle.

Peeling off a pair of leather gloves, he placed them in the bag and slung the strap over his shoulder.

The ground was dry underfoot and with the temperature rising, it was busy on the driveway as people made their way to grounds of the manor. Dust began to settle on Malcolm’s Louis Vuitton suede loafers and he silently cursed as he joined a line of excited children and parents, dressed in shorts and casual tops. His Armani chinos would soon be grubby too, if he didn’t get off this dusty path and onto the grass.

It didn’t take long to walk to the manor and at the main entrance, Malcolm was directed to the event by a middle-aged, craggy-faced supervisor. Casual in jeans and a jacket, his fiery locks were scraped into a pony tail. His jacket was printed with the word, “Steward” across the back.

‘Hey, Declan,’ a woman wearing a white apron leaning out of a van selling ice-cream called out to the man. ‘Will you have an ice to cool you off?’

‘No, Marie, I’m just fine, but you could take a couple of cornets to the lads on the gate.’

Several children ran forward, surrounding the van.

‘To be sure, just as soon as I’ve served this lot,’ Marie replied.

‘Here’s a programme of events,’ Declan said and handed a leaflet to Malcolm. ‘Enjoy your day.’

Malcolm studied the leaflet as he wandered across the lawn. He couldn’t imagine why on earth Melissa would want to be involved in this hillbilly scenario, when she had classy events in Cheshire and Marbella at her fingertips, from golf tournaments and polo to exclusive charity dinners.

The sooner he found her and talked some sense into her dense blonde head, the sooner they could get away from the back of beyond and return to their normal lives. His business needed time and attention and although Malcolm was confident that he could sort out any of his current difficulties, time away was money and he needed to get back.

The place was packed as Malcolm negotiated his way through the crowds. People gathered around the many stalls and there was a queue at the tombola stand and coconut shy. He’d no desire to stop and pin a tail on a donkey, nor have his face painted by a weary looking woman who sat on a stool, with a cigarette held high. Malcolm noticed a white-haired, elderly man sitting on the steps of a vintage bus. He drank a pint of Guinness and appeared to be enjoying the attention that his vehicle was receiving from like-minded enthusiasts who made appreciate noises as they admired the paintwork and stopped to ask questions. A tug of war was taking place on one side of the lawn and Malcolm was horrified to see that the average age of the competitors appeared to be over sixty. He witnessed a similar sight at a three-legged race, that had just ended with a pile of happy pensioners falling over the finishing line. Afternoon tea was being served in a refreshment tent, but Malcolm was thirsty and with no appetite for scones or cake, he searched for a pub.

Father Ted’s was doing a brisk trade and it was several minutes before Malcolm reached the bar to order a drink. A substantial woman with a beehive hairdo, wearing a crumpled suit with a magnificent chain of office around the folds of her neck, sat on one end of the bar and saluted him with her drink.

‘Don’t mind our mayor,’ Ted said as he lifted a mat and wiped a sticky surface, ‘she does a grand job.’ He smiled as the mayor began to sing. ‘Now, what can I get you?’

‘Just a cold beer.’

‘Coming up.’

Malcolm paid Ted but as he sipped the froth at the rim of his glass, he noticed a commotion at the other end of the pub. People stood back and a red-haired woman led several girls away from a man, who called after them. He appeared to be apologising.

Malcolm removed his sunglasses and stared at the man. To his astonishment he recognised him. It was the little creep who’d bent Malcolm’s arm at Hotel Boomerville in Cumbria. What the hell was he doing here? He watched as two men stepped forward and took the arms of the man, who was clearly upset.

Suddenly, a flash of lemon fabric caught Malcolm’s eye as a woman leaned in to talk to the person in distress.

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