Page 71 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘I want to join in!’ The mayor, now barefoot, wobbled perilously close to the jetty. But James was by the mayor’s side, kitten heels in hand, and he took a firm hold and guided her to the safety of the lawn.

‘Someone find some towels and cover them up,’ Jo said. She shook her head as eight seemingly bare bottoms, of all shapes and sizes, faced the crowd as the Babes turned and stood to pose for a photographer from the Kindale & County News.

‘That will fill the classes for months to come,’ Hattie said, still clapping her hands.

‘If we’re not closed down,’ Jo snapped. ‘I hope there’s no one here from Health & Safety.’ She turned away. ‘I’m going to check on things at the manor.’

‘Aye, I’ll come with you, we don’t want any strangers wandering about the place,’ Hattie said.

Finbar leapt back on the stage and announced that it was time for the next act.

Jo and Hattie side-stepped the many picnics that had appeared, as visitors laid rugs on the lawn and made themselves comfortable for further entertainment. They unpacked baskets and bags containing sandwiches and snacks and began to tuck in.

‘Families and friends, saints and sinners,’ Finbar called out, ‘will you please put your hands together for the one and only, Molly Malones!’

A female folk group took to the stage. The oldest, grey-haired and dressed in clogs and a smock, made herself comfortable in a rocking chair and began to squeeze an accordion. Three middle-aged woman, in denim dungarees with daisies weaved into their waist-length locks, waved to the audience and held fiddles and bows aloft. The youngest musician, a child wearing a patchwork dress, held a recorder.

‘It can only get better,’ Hattie said. She winced as the child began to play, her recorder screeching into a microphone.

‘I thought Finbar said he’d organised quality entertainment,’ Jo shouted as she stuck her fingers in her ears.

‘I don’t know what you expect in return for a scone and a cup of tea but there’s plenty more to come.’

They’d reached the pub where Alf, Bill and Harry, clutching bottles of beer, sat on a bench, enjoying the sunshine.

‘Everything alright?’ Hattie asked Harry, yelling above the din on stage. She nodded her head towards Bill.

‘Right as rain.’ Harry gave a stupid grin as Hattie stared at his T-shirt.

‘“God is Busy May I Help You?”’ Hattie shook her head. ‘Have you been on Lucinda’s whacky baccy?’

But Harry wasn’t taking the bait and, still smiling, turned away.

‘Where’s Melissa?’ Hattie asked.

‘She said she wanted to have a walk to see the stalls,’ Alf said.

‘Are you coming?’ Jo tugged on Hattie’s arm.

Pleased to see that Bill had recovered from his earlier outburst, Hattie noted the contented grin on his face as he watched the world go by.

‘Aye, let’s leave the Three Musketeers to struggle through the rest of the day.’ She nodded to Jo. ‘Lead on.’

* * *

Malcolm was infuriated.It was nigh on impossible to catch Melissa on her own and as he trailed behind his wife, keeping a safe distance, with his hat low and Ray-Bans in place, he attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible. Melissa was bound to create a scene when he caught up with her and for his plan to work, it wouldn’t do to have any kind of commotion.

Malcolm intended to use information that he’d kept quiet for some considerable time. A secret weapon that would disarm Melissa. When she heard what he’d got to say, Melissa would be back in their marriage as fast as it took to book a seat on a plane to Spain. She’d had her moment of glory, her escape from routine and he’d allowed his wife what he considered to be a holiday on her own, but enough was enough, and now it was time to go home.

Malcolm would be back in control.

But first, he needed to get Melissa alone. He couldn’t run the risk of being arrested if he had to bundle his wife out of the manor and wrestle her into the car. He knew that the hotel manager, the overweight cow from Cumbria, whom he’d seen wandering around the grounds, would be on his case faster that a dose of the clap.

He followed Melissa from stall to stall and sighed with frustration as he watched her win a prize on the tombola and almost hit a coconut at the coconut shy. She’d even had a ride on the carousel, her shapely legs astride a brightly painted wooden horse, while Malcolm hid in the shadows and looked on. If only she’d go into the manor and up to her room. Once he had Melissa on her own, he planned to break his news and, without any fuss, they’d pack her things and be on their way.

He watched his wife wander over the lawn and settle down to watch the performers on stage.

Malcolm looked at his Rolex. It was only a matter of time.

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