Page 70 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

A smile crept across Malcolm’s face.

The last time he’d seen Melissa in that lemon dress was when she’d worn it to the restaurant Paco Jiménez, in the Plaza de los Naranjos, in the old town of Marbella. They’d gone there to celebrate her birthday and Melissa had looked beautiful in the candlelight of the sophisticated surroundings. Her face had lit up when he’d presented her with an expensive opal pendant, jewellery that complemented the dress perfectly. But last week, when Malcolm rifled through Melissa’s belongings in Spain, he’d discovered that the silly bitch had left all her jewellery behind. He wondered if this implied that she intended to return? Was all this Irish nonsense just a fantasy, no doubt bought on by menopause or some other female failing, or had she deliberately left without her precious jewels?

As he watched his wife leave the pub, accompanying the men, Malcolm silently cursed. Whatever her plans, how dare she think that she could get away from him! He made the rules and called the shots in this marriage.

As he drank his beer, he was determined that the only way she’d part from his company would be in a wooden box.

* * *

Finbar stoodon the side of the stage. As he waited for the current act to finish their gig, he thought about the woman he’d seen earlier. There was something about her that was familiar and appealing and he couldn’t for the life of him work out what it was. Since his marriage had ended, many years ago, he’d gone back to his bachelor days and women came and went in Finbar’s life. If he was truthful, they always had; being married hadn’t stopped his philandering and it was no wonder that his wife had upped and left him.

As he watched the young lads performing on the stage, Finbar’s mind was elsewhere. It was unfortunate that he’d never had any kids of his own, but perhaps the good Lord knew what he was doing, for Finbar felt sure that he wouldn’t have made a very good father. He’d rarely been at home and spent his money on fripperies, like his beloved boat, that was moored in the harbour in Kindale. His dear mam cost a packet too, especially since she’d gone completely doolally, and in need of Finbar’s finances to support her round-the-clock care.

The act was winding up and as the group belted out their last chorus, Finbar checked his headpiece for sound and moved onto the stage. As he stepped out, a glimmer of lemon, soft in the sunlight, caught his eye. It was the woman, moving through the crowd. Wearing a sleeveless dress, cut low at the back, her blonde hair was piled high and with sunglasses perched on the end of her pretty nose, she didn’t look Finbar’s way.

‘I’ll find you,’ he whispered.

The Rolling Tones, a group of nine teenage boys from the local high school, completed their set and took a bow and Finbar invited the audience to give the band one last round of applause. When the enthusiastic clapping from friends and family had died down, Finbar helped the lads pick up their gear and make their way off the stage.

Finbar checked the running order. There were forty minutes before the next act was due and he just had time to hurry over to the lake, start the music and watch the Boomerville Babes, who were about to begin their performance.

Perhaps the lady in lemon would be there.

* * *

A crowd surrounded the lake,where Jo stood with Hattie and waited anxiously.

Jo wondered what the hell Audrey was up to.

‘You know I would never have agreed to this.’ Jo was cross and she folded her arms. ‘I’m praying that Audrey keeps it short and no one gets injured.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Hattie said. ‘I’m thinking of joining the Babes when I get back to Cumbria.’ She looked around and was pleased to see the many folk that had gathered to witness the water event.

‘God help us,’ Jo replied and was about to remonstrate further, but stopped when she heard music suddenly blast from a boombox, placed on the end of the jetty.

Audrey, to the accompaniment of the band of the Royal Irish Regiment, stepped out. She put her best foot forward and keeping time with the bugles, pipes and drums, marched smartly across the wooden boards.

‘What the hell has she got on?’ Jo’s jaw dropped as she stared at Audrey.

Wearing nothing but a flesh-coloured bodysuit and several tired gladioli pinned in her hair, Audrey raised a hand. On her command, drums thundered and the Babes, each to a beat, began to shoot through the air, flying high over Audrey’s head.

‘Are they naked?’ Jo’s eyes were wide as she stared in horror. The start of the routine seemed endless as eight middle-aged bodies flew past before plunging deep into the lake.

Parents gasped and covered their children’s eyes.

Hattie, however, was laughing. Audrey had played a blinder, having concealed a trampoline in the bushes, to bounce the Babes into the water. Their bodysuits, on loan from a theatrical costume supplier in Kindale, hadn’t quite achieved the desired effect of turning the babe’s bodies into the smooth stems of flowers, which now created a bouquet effect on the surface of the lake, as eight capped heads emerged. Rubber lilies, daffodils and daisies, glued to the caps, moved in a circle to join with sunflowers, carnations and tulips.

Bugles and pipes played the tune, “An English Country Garden”, and Finbar began to sing.

‘There is joy in the spring

When the birds begin to sing

In an English Country Garden…’

With Audrey directing,the Babes produced their most dazzling routine. Fishtail moves turned into Flamingo spins and sixteen legs performed the more complicated “Egg-beater”, which whisked up a considerable lather on the lake. The entertainment ended with a breath-taking series of well-rehearsed backflips, projecting the Babes, with Audrey’s assistance, into a sitting position on the edge of the jetty. Their flowery heads bounced as they synchronised the crossing of their legs, whilst smiling and waving to the applauding crowd.

‘Let’s hear it for the Boomerville Babes!’ Finbar called out.

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