“What do you have to say about the rumours circulating that you and Raul just tied the knot in a secret ceremony in Colorado?”
“Are you having a fling with Crumbington’s naked baker?”
“Is it true you’re both planning to adopt?”
By the equally stricken faces of his committee colleagues, Nathan realised he was not the only one shocked by the sudden onslaught of obtrusive questions. He had only picked up on the one alluding to him. For a few moments, neither Clifton nor Raul responded until the bombardment died down, along with the lessening of camera flashes. Eventually Clifton stepped forward and used both hands to gesture the press to calm before wagging his finger at the woman who had asked about him and Raul tying the knot.
“Friends of the media, tonight is not about Raul or me but about this amazing society of people who are selflessly giving up their time and talents to help others. What Mrs Killroy didn’t mention is that I agreed to participate in the fête because I was fortunate enough to have grown up here. In fact, the local baker you mentioned is a dear friend from my school days—we played side-by-side in the school football team—and is still a loyal friend of the family. I know many of you are here today because you want to land a story, but, you know, there’s a wealth of human interest stories right here in this room, stories I am positive your readers or viewers would find far more fascinating than tittle-tattle about us. Can I please ask you to focus your attention on the reason you’ve been invited here tonight, the Crumbington Calendar, and these amazing men and their families sitting in the front rows? Raul and I will be happy to take questions offline later on. Thank you.”
Clifton clearly knew how to work the press. Nobody interrupted or followed up with any more questions. Perhaps his olive branch at the end worked the trick. Either way, Arlene took the cue to step forward and continue her introduction.
“Thank you, Clifton. Before we open the proceedings and allow you to mingle, I’ve asked Jenny Nwadike, from Nwadike Studios, who provided the inspirational concept behind each calendar month and personally photographed the players, to go through each of the twelve shots on the projector screen behind me. At the end of the presentation, if you have any questions, please feel free to ask. Lights, please, Father Mulligan.”
Unlike Arlene, Jenny’s voice sounded far more intimate and relaxed as she took the audience through her initial concept while projecting the cover of the calendar of an empty changing room in grainy black and white. She presented beautifully and effortlessly, with no notes and only the presentation remote control in her right hand.
Nathan had seen many of the pictures that Jenny had previewed at the committee meeting. What he hadn’t appreciated back then was the singular attention to detail, quality and connected theme and design of each page. Shaven-headed Dennis Abraham, the plasterer, completely naked, his dark-skinned back to the camera but turning forward while plastering a wall as though someone had interrupted him, provided the picture for March. Although he was shorter than others in the team, his back and shoulder muscles stood out impressively from years of manual labour. Following him came Benny Cheung, the village mechanic, then Bob Collier, the landlord of The Arms, before they got to June and the photograph of Nathan.
Nathan heard a hissed intake of breath beside him and turned to see Raul staring at the screen before bringing his gaze to Nathan and grinning broadly. If he was not mistaken, the room had also gotten a little quieter, the previous hubbub of impromptu voiceovers within the audience stopping altogether while the sound of cameras clicking seemed to increase. Jenny spent more time explaining the picture, about how this particular shot had happened, mainly by chance, and how the subject had been one of the most natural she had been gifted to work with.
For December, Jenny had chosen a collage of the whole team, including those not in the calendar, shots taken in the changing room at the end of the game when they’d won against Tonbridge Knights. Everyone had been in high spirits, and a couple of the guys had removed their shirts—but nothing else. Nathan vaguely remembered Jenny being there, but she had captured the team spirit beautifully. Thinking back on the occasion, Bob Collier had entered the changing rooms with a crate of beers and stood next to Jenny. Using his pub voice that carried over everyone else’s, he’d got their attention by asking who wanted a free beer. Maybe the ploy had been planned, but they had all turned in his direction and, at that moment, Jenny had snapped the shot. Absolutely priceless, and from the reaction of the front two rows, the players thought so, too.
“And that brings me to the end of the presentation. If you have not already done so, you can purchase copies here tonight and—as long as you don’t spoil my handiwork—have them signed by the players,” said Jenny, turning to click on the screen. The presentation did not end as expected but brought up a video that immediately began to play.
Clearly confused, Jenny hesitated while the audience stared at the scene.
“I’m sorry. This is not part of my presentation. I’m using someone else’s…” Jenny tried using the clicker to stop the video without success. In desperation, she turned to the committee for help. “Arlene, are you there?”
Eventually she moved to one side of the screen and let the recording play out. Clearly filmed on a home video, the screen displayed a plain room with an adjoining kitchen, a small round table and an unmade double bed. Two male figures, one largely unseen except for his legs, appeared at first frozen on the screen. One man, with his back to the camera, had his track bottoms around his knees and his bare backside on display. With one hand he appeared to be gripping the head of the man seated before him, who was mostly obscured from view. As Nathan watched, the man standing moved to one side. When he did so, you could see he had his other hand clamped around the neck of the person seated, forcing his erection into the guy’s mouth.The poor younger man appeared terrified, a tear still damp on his cheek, his eyes squeezed shut and brows drawn together in panic.
Someone let out an appalled cry from somewhere at the back of the hall. Shocked too, Nathan recognised the face of the second person on the screen, that of a young and frightened Clifton.
Without hesitation, he strode over to the projector, placed his hand over the lens light and yanked out the power cord, plunging the room into darkness.
“Sorry about that, everyone. Technical glitch. Can someone please put the lights back on?”
When light eventually flooded the room, Nathan could tell he had not acted quickly enough. Arlene stood next to Jenny, a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in shock. Clifton and Raul had disappeared.
After a second of stunned silence, as the room exploded into shouted questions, Clifton’s manager, Giorgio, stepped forward to deal with the fallout.
Chapter Nineteen
June
Nathan arrived early for the final meeting of the fête committee, before the event, to find space to clear his mind and centre himself.
Tonight, there would be a reckoning.
An hour before he had spoken to Jaymes and, as always, come off the call feeling a combination of happiness and longing. Jaymes still managed to do most of the talking, making Nathan laugh about his antics and his description of the people he worked alongside. Nathan had managed to trump all of Jaymes’ stories by telling him about the calendar launch. Jaymes had been disgusted and had gone into sleuth mode to try to figure out who had the most to gain from hijacking the presentation. Still, nobody knew, and Nathan had given up caring. The damage had been done. He had heard nothing from Clifton and Raul since.
When he first walked through the front doors to the village hall and came to a halt, something felt different. The space stood empty, which was not in itself unusual, but other things demanded his attention. The village hall clock now read four minutes past seven. Nathan checked his watch. Someone had finally fixed the broken timepiece.
Not just that, but the room had been arranged not with the usual dull plastic seating but with an assortment of secondhand furniture. A shocking pink wingback armchair—cosy, homey and threadbare at the armrests. A long and low Chesterfield sofa in faded brown leather. A bright orange and purple velvet love seat and a trio of matching powder blue-and-white, powder green-and-white and powder yellow-and-white-striped deck chairs. Everything had been arranged around a low coffee table like a scene from Alice’s tea party. Nathan assumed one of the local charities had asked to use the space to store their furniture before packing and sending the items onwards. He snorted out a chuckle when he saw whoever had positioned the furniture for the meeting, probably Father Mulligan, had organised everything to face a single wooden and black canvas chair—the director’s chair. Not hard to guess who would be sitting there.
Nathan settled himself at one end of the Chesterfield and had just taken a deep, calming breath when Doris arrived. That night she wore a cheerful beige dress, a powder orange cardigan adorned with red and orange peonies, an orange handbag and matching shoes.
“Did you know about this?” asked Nathan, indicating the chairs.
“No, I didn’t. But how lovely. Are we expecting royalty?” she said, settling herself next to him in the pink armchair and blending in beautifully with the vibrant setting.
