“And none for personal gain. All for the pure love of making people happy. And, of course, for a couple of worthwhile charities.”
“Restores a person’s faith in human nature, doesn’t it?”
“If it needed reassuring, then yes, I’d say something like this does,” said Father Mulligan. "Look, I’m awaiting the arrival of the crew to assemble the outdoor stage. In the meantime, I need to set up tables in the village hall for the cake competition. If I put the kettle on in the village hall kitchen and make us a quick brew, will you lend me a hand?”
“Lead the way.”
Nathan rarely spoke to Arbuthnot Mulligan. Usually Doris would be there to speak on his behalf, to assist him or at the very least to keep him company, but she would be busy on her stall today. Inside the village hall, a portion of one wall still had candid shots from the calendar shoot, clearly where they would be selling further copies of the calendar. Nathan stopped for a second to admire them, and especially the ones of Jaymes and himself.
“He’s a special lad, is that one,” came Father Mulligan’s voice from behind him. When Nathan turned, Father Mulligan handed him a mug of hot tea but continued studying the photographs.
“The very best.” Nathan turned back and examined the pictures again.
“That’s what Doris says. There’s no side to him. Nothing hidden. You get exactly what you see, exactly the person you meet. No act. No airs and graces. Not an ounce of malice or conceit in him, which is rare in this day and age.”
Nathan felt a lump rise in his throat.
“He means everything —” Nathan stopped and almost broke when a warm hand landed on his shoulder.
“Everyone can see that, young man. You’re good for each other.”
Nathan reflected for a moment, unsure what else to say.
“I-I was never too sure what to say, you being a man of faith—”
Father Mulligan stopped him by releasing a gentle chuckle.
“Heavens, dear boy. Don’t overcomplicate faith. If you were to search for one overriding, central theme running through all of the religions of the world, do you know what that would be?”
Nathan shrugged and shook his head.
“Love. Plain and simple. Doesn’t happen for everyone. Even then, when love strikes one person, the feelings aren’t always reciprocated. Some of our greatest literature is based on that very premise.”
Father Mulligan stared off into space wistfully when he spoke those words, and Nathan wondered if he had experienced something similar.
“But when love brings two single souls together? Heavens. That’s what I call winning God’s lottery, and if anyone turns their nose up at a gift like that, for whatever reason, then they’re the world’s biggest fool. I read a book some years back about words people speak on their deathbeds, some of them rich enough to buy whole islands. The biggest regrets centred around not having spent more time or made more effort with loved ones. Not a single one wished for a better nose, prettier face or slimmer body, or for more money to buy a bigger house or fancier car. Now, if you’re asking me about who we love, man or woman, then you’re asking the wrong person. That’s a question for the Maker. But don’t you think who we end up loving in this life is the whole wonderful point, the whole marvellous mystery? And isn’t that the best part of being alive?”
Nathan stood staring at the photographs, the words sinking in. He had often listened to Father Mulligan talk at committee meetings, but in all the time they had spent together, he had never known his inner thoughts.
“There you are!” came a familiar voice. Both Nathan and Father Mulligan turned to see Polly standing at the village hall door. “I thumped on your door, but nobody answered. You said come over at five-thirty to help you open up.”
Nathan stared at his watch, amazed at where the time had gone.
“Sorry. An early morning call from the other side of the world, then I decided to go for a run. Give Father Mulligan and me a quick hand to set up some tables in the hall, and we’ll all head back together. I’ll even knock up some breakfast for us all, complete with your favourite freshly baked chocolate croissants, to compensate. How does that sound?”
* * * *
Just before midday, the crowded village of Crumbington held its breath in eager anticipation. Already clusters of families filled the village green, eagerly waiting for the show to begin. Inside the village hall, the committee met privately beforehand with Clifton, Helen Monash and other Crumbington store owners to report on the order of the day. The only people Nathan didn’t recognise were the two members of the documentary television crew, a cameraman holding a bulky-looking camera aloft, standing behind a young female reporter. But after a few moments, hardly anyone paid them any notice, attention focused on Arlene talking everyone through the day's planned events.
Nathan barely listened, already knowing how everything had been organised. His attention wandered around the hall. Beautifully decorated cakes of all shapes and sizes had been laid out with the names of the bakers, ready for the competition. Two stood out for Nathan. One was a beautiful replica of St Mary’s Church, while the other depicted a football match, with Crumbington players’ distinctive colours, showing them scoring a goal against another team. Even though they had lost against Bosworth Heath in the Southdown Cup final, Crumbington residents still regarded their team members as heroes. Along the far end of the hall, display tables held piles of signed team calendars. The wall behind had been plastered with poster-sized copies of each month as well as candid shots of the players and their partners. Jenny Nwadike had clearly been at work. When Nathan’s attention returned to the voices, Father Mulligan was reporting on the carparks. Both local village sites had already been filled, and the spacious auxiliary overspill site on the common land down past St Mary’s was being put to use. To finish off the meeting, Arlene took over.
“Before we get this day officially started, I want to report that we have already surpassed all expectations, more than five times the amount we raised last year, what with the calendar sales and the very generous sponsorship fees.” Arlene peered over at Nathan when she said the words and smiled thinly. “Everything else today will be a bonus. I appreciate that today is going to be hard work for all, but please remember to have fun, too. This is your day, as much as everyone else’s. And if, for any reason, you need help with anything, please find one of the six volunteer fête wardens who will be on hand and tell them what you need. St John’s Ambulance has pitched a tent in case of any injuries, however minor, and we have representatives from the local constabulary on duty in the highly unlikely event of any bad behaviour. That’s all from me. If everyone’s ready, please head to your posts and get ready for the signal to open your stalls. I’m going to the stage now to introduce our special guests, Clifton O’Keefe and Helen Monash—” An impromptu round of applause started, which had both Clifton and Helen smiling. “And once they have said a few words to open the fête, we’ll get things started. Good luck, everyone.”
This time Arlene received the applause, and while clapping along, Polly caught Nathan’s eyes and pulled a face of astonishment. Nobody could deny that Arlene Killroy knew how to put on a show. Nathan headed first to his stall to make sure Halina and Fingal were all set up. He found them sipping tea and chatting like an old married couple. The Fresher booth looked like a work of art, a still-life painting, decorated with wicker baskets of golden-brown baked goods and pastries. After a quick chat, Nathan made his way through the crowd and stood next to Polly just as Clifton stepped forward in front of Arlene to open the fête.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the annual Crumbington Summer Fête. Some of you may not be aware, but the very first fête was held right here on the Crumbington Village Green, back in 1885. Since then, this has become a regular fixture almost every summer. Some of you may know that I had the honour of growing up in Crumbington, years I will always treasure. Even now, walking down the village high street feels like coming home.”
As Clifton spoke those last words, he turned to the band, and the drummer began to thump out a familiar beat. Clifton continued to talk over the loud rhythm.
