Chapter 26
Sensing that it might be the way to the committee’s hearts, I waxed lyrical about community spirit all the way round the village. I managed to keep it going over tea in The Peach Tree, where even Yolanda was on her best behaviour, but by the time we were approaching Stewart’s shop I’d done the subject to death.
‘… and it’s been truly amazing, seeing village groups and businesses get behind the Tour,’ I waffled for about the third time as the shop came into focus. ‘It’s been inspiring to see… to… to see… oh my God, bums!’
The committee stopped dead, wide-eyed and agape, like a newborn deer blinking at the full moon, or a proverbial rabbit caught in some proverbial headlights, or Queen Victoria on her wedding night. They were staring, horror-struck, at the fibre-glass constructions that had appeared outside McLean’s Machines.
There were six of them, or 12 if you counted buttock by buttock. Six large, shining, pink backsides, each wearing a thong painted the colours of the Tour jerseys. Above them, a banner proclaimed ‘Need somewhere to park your bike?’
‘Christ, what the hell is he playing at?’ I muttered to Tom.
Tom just shrugged, looking as flabbergasted as the rest of them. I shot Vanessa an apologetic smile.
‘I’m so sorry about this, Mrs Christmas. Stewart’s idea of a joke.’ I nudged Tom, whose mouth had started to twitch. ‘Don’t you bloody dare laugh, Tom Donati,’ I whispered. ‘Look, tell them he’s the local maniac and we’ll keep him locked up for race day or whatever. I’m off to have a word.’
I barged in and gave the bell on the counter an angry ring.
‘Get down here, you bastard, and start explaining why you thought mooning my committee was a good idea!’ I called out.
Stewart came jogging down from upstairs, breaking into a wide grin when he saw who it was.
‘Classic, right?’ he said. ‘Custom bike stands, I had them made specially. I bet none of the other villages thought of that.’
‘No, because they’re not off their heads!’ I hissed. ‘What the fuck, Stew?’
He blinked in surprise. ‘You don’t like it? I thought it’d be good to do something a bit quirky, put us on the map.’
‘What, the village with the weird arses? I’ll say it’ll put us on the bloody map! They’ll put a giant pin on the map with a note saying “insane pervert village, steer well clear”. What were you thinking?’
His face fell. ‘It’s only like the calendars, isn’t it? A bit of cheeky humour. I thought you’d think it was funny.’
The door opened and in came Vanessa.
‘Mr McLean?’ she said, fixing him in a stern gaze.
‘Er, yes?’
‘Vanessa Christmas. We spoke on the phone.’ Her face relaxed into a smile. ‘I just wanted to say, what a unique idea. The best giggle I’ve had in ages. You know, that one second from left… reminds me of my husband doing the weeding, God rest him.’ She came over to give his hand a vigorous shake. ‘We’re all big fans, by the way. Such a shame you had to retire prematurely. All that wasted potential.’
Stewart just blinked. ‘Oh. Thank you.’
She nodded to a stack of calendars on the counter. ‘So this is your new career, is it?’
Vanessa definitely had a deadpan sense of humour, I’d decided. Her face never even twitched.
Stewart smiled. ‘More of a sideline,’ he said, handing one to her. ‘It’s a fundraiser for – ’ He caught the warning look I flashed him and stopped. We were saving the viaduct for a big unveiling at the end. ‘Um, for a local project.’
‘It’s certainly very… revealing,’ Vanessa said, staring at the cover photo. ‘Is that Harper Brady with you?’
‘That’s right. He’s my cousin.’
‘Is he really?’ She squinted at the picture more closely. ‘Well. You learn something new every day. Actually, there is a resemblance.’
‘You think so?’ Stewart said. ‘Most people say I look more like my dad’s side.’
‘I wasn’t referring to a facial resemblance,’ Vanessa said, casting her eyes over Stewart’s toned thighs and stomach.
‘Ah. I see. Well, can I interest you? Just £7.99, all for a good cause.’
I’d just about managed to recover the power of speech by then. ‘If you like the cover, Mrs Christmas, you’ll love December,’ I said. ‘Er, not a joke about your name.’
Vanessa flicked through to December and I saw her eyes widen.
‘Goodness me! Suddenly your bike racks seem rather tame, Mr McLean.’ She fished in her handbag and handed over a tenner. ‘Keep the change, please. I hope we’ll be seeing more of you later?’
‘Absolutely.’ Stewart grinned. ‘Well, not as much of me as you’ve just seen. But I’ll be popping over to the restaurant as soon as I close up.’
‘So am I forgiven?’ he muttered to me as Vanessa turned to leave.
‘No. It was a bloody stupid thing to do.’
‘Worked, didn’t it?’
‘You got lucky. Don’t dare spring anything like that on me again, Stew. We’ll be having words.’ I followed Vanessa back out to the others.
***
‘How did you sort it then?’ Tom whispered as we carried on past the restaurant and into open countryside.
‘Stewart did. Turns out Vanessa Christmas is kind of a perve.’
‘Really?’ He examined her back with surprise. ‘Just goes to show, you never can tell. So what did Stew say then?’
‘Flirted a bit and sold her a calendar. She well fancies him.’
‘Her too, eh?’ He nudged me. ‘There’s getting to be quite a queue for Stewart McLean.’
‘Shut up.’
The next stop was Holyfield Farm for a trip up to Pagans’ Rock in Gerry’s Land Rover. Then it was back to the restaurant, and a boozy buffet to round off the day.
As we approached the farm, I fell back to talk to Sue and Gerry.
‘So what’s the big surprise, guys?’
‘Oh. That,’ Gerry said. ‘Have to say, when I planned it I didn’t realise I’d have McLean’s arses to follow.’
‘It better not be anything awful, that’s all. Between Tom’s bullshit history lessons and Stewart’s kinky bike racks, I’ve had at least three mini heart attacks today.’
‘Nothing like that.’ Gerry pointed as the farm came into view. ‘There it is.’
‘Your yarnbombing suggestion gave us the idea,’ Sue said. ‘Only we thought it’d be better if we left the wool on the sheep.’
I couldn’t help laughing. Gerry’s Swaledales were grazing in their field as usual, placidly oblivious to how silly they looked. There were six or seven yellow ones, a handful of red spotty ones and a couple of green ones, their fleeces dyed the colours of the Tour jerseys. The star was Gerry’s old tup Rambo, in the red, white and blue stripes of the French Tricolor.
‘You daft old sods.’
‘You like it then?’ Sue said.
‘I love it. Must’ve taken you ages.’ I gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Can’t help feeling sorry for the sheep though.’
‘Never mind them, stops the yows getting vain,’ Gerry said. ‘They’re getting clipped next week anyway.’
I planted a kiss on his cheek too. ‘Thanks, Uncle Gerry. I know you were never a fan of the Tour idea. Means a lot, you doing all this just for us.’
‘Well,’ he said with the hint of a blush. ‘If it’s important to you and Tom, that’s good enough for this grumpy old git. Been a tough year for you.’
‘Oh! Isn’t that wonderful?’ Vanessa exclaimed when she clocked the Tour sheep. ‘Is this your farm, Mr Lightowler?’
‘No, it’s my farm,’ Sue said. ‘But them’re his sheep.’
Vanessa laughed. ‘It’s very here, isn’t it?’
Gerry grinned. ‘Yep. We’re funny buggers this side of the Pennines.’
Vanessa shook her head. ‘Not Yorkshire. I mean it’s very here. Very Egglethwaite.’
Tom raised an eyebrow at me and I gave a slight nod. So she thought we had a character all of our own. That had to be a good sign.
Vanessa was full of beans now she’d had her nudey Stewart McLean fix but the rest of the committee seemed to be flagging. Some of the men were slowing down, and Judy was stopping every few minutes to rub her feet.
‘Nearly done,’ I said brightly. ‘Just one more thing to see.’
‘Um, petal?’ Gerry said in a low voice. ‘What’s your plan for getting this lot up? I didn’t think there’d be so many.’
It was a point. Ten of them, plus me, Tom, Sue and Gerry… that meant three trips in the Land Rover, it’d take ages.
‘There’s one other option for off-roading.’ Sue nodded to the big blue tractor outside the farmhouse. ‘Hook up the wagon, get them there on that.’
Gerry snorted. ‘Don’t be daft, our lass. These aren’t bloody heifers.’
‘Better than spending the next hour ferrying folk up and down, isn’t it?’
‘Sue’s right, it’s the fastest way,’ I said. ‘If we’re lucky, Vanessa Christmas’ll think riding round on cattle wagons is very “here” too.’
***
She did as well. Some of the others looked sceptical when I suggested transport by tractor, but Vanessa practically giggled.
We hoisted up a few hay bales for something soft to sit on, Gerry got into the front with Sue, and the other nine of us clambered onto the wagon.
‘I feel like a rabbit,’ Judy said, shuffling her bum against the scratchy hay. ‘I say, doesn’t it smell funny?’
‘Nonsense,’ Vanessa said. ‘That’s the countryside, my dear. My grandmother always told me to breathe country air deep and it would stop me taking cold.’
‘Where are we going, Miss Donati?’ one of the men asked.
‘Local beauty spot,’ I said. ‘Last stop before Beer O’Clock, I promise.’
The man’s expression told me that in his opinion it’d been Beer O’Clock for at least half an hour, but he didn’t say anything. And it was worth it to see the look on their faces when we came to a stop at the top of the dirt track that led onto Pagans’ Rock.
I jumped down and beckoned them to follow me. There was a muttered ‘oooh’ as they absorbed the view.
‘Gosh!’ Vanessa said in a hushed voice, casting her eyes over the viaduct’s imposing loops; the heather-purpled moors; the sun-soaked sparkle of the reservoir. ‘Now isn’t that something?’
‘This was our dad’s favourite spot,’ Tom said. ‘We scattered his ashes here.’
Vanessa turned to look at him. ‘Recently?’
‘Few months ago.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘What do they call this place?’ one of the others asked.
‘Pagans’ Rock,’ Tom said. ‘It’s actually a sort of folly. Local squire a few hundred years ago had a big rock towed up here then gave it a fancy romantic name to impress his guests. He liked to pretend the Druids used it as a sacrificial altar.’
Vanessa narrowed one eye. ‘True story, Mr Donati?’
‘Trust me, if it wasn’t I’d have something much better for you. Possibly involving naked virgins and witches’ covens.’
‘Of course, the view was a little different then,’ I said. ‘The landowner probably put it here so he could keep an eye on his tenants down in Moorcroft. That was Egglethwaite’s neighbouring hamlet.’
Vanessa squinted into the distance. ‘I don’t see a hamlet.’
‘No.’ I nodded to the peaceful waters of the reservoir. ‘It’s under there. They submerged it in the forties.’
‘How terribly exciting!’ Judy said. ‘Your own Atlantis. Are there any ghost stories?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Not really. All the residents were relocated.’
Judy looked disappointed. I glared at Tom. Apparently when it came to him and history, it was all or nothing.
‘There are more than 400 souls in Moorcroft Cemetery though,’ I said. ‘After a dry season, you can sometimes see the ruined church spire peeping over the water.’
‘Oooh!’ Judy breathed, her eyes shining. ‘I’d love to see that.’
And now it was time. The big finish.
‘Is that a working viaduct?’ Vanessa asked, almost as if she could read my thoughts.
‘Not yet.’ I nodded to the calendar under her arm. ‘Look at the back.’
She blinked as she read about our viaduct plans.
‘That sounds ambitious,’ she said when she’d finished.
‘Ambitious but achievable,’ Tom said. ‘The council have already guaranteed us half the funding we need, and we’re well on the way to the other half. We’re hoping resurfacing work can begin in the new year.’
I put on my earnest face. ‘Mrs Christmas. Is there any possibility… if the viaduct was available in time for the Grand Départ, would that affect your recommendation?’
Vanessa looked serious for a moment. ‘It could certainly be a factor,’ she said at last. ‘It would add excellent texture to the live broadcast.’
‘It sounds a very tight schedule for getting it reopened though,’ one of the faceless suits chipped in. ‘Could you guarantee its availability?’
Tom opened his mouth to answer, but I jumped in first.
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘One hundred per cent.’