Ella took a step back. The finished arrangement looked a bit of a dog’s dinner. No, it was a complete dog’s dinner. Make it a four-course extravaganza of a dinner.
‘Shit, this is a disaster.’ The coil of barbed wire which she’d thought might add an edgy touch looked like what it was, a bit of abandoned wire fence, upon which drifting blossom had caught without great effect.
It was supposed to represent the dichotomy of nature, fresh and pretty on the surface and its darker undercurrents with the deep red tulips symbolising the blood of innocents. Unfortunately, that idea hadn’t panned out.
Bets tipped her head to one side. ‘It’s not that bad . . . ’ She wrinkled her nose, her freckles dancing. ‘It’s not that great either. What if you . . . ’
Ella waited hopefully.
‘Nope.’ Bets plunked down into the front pew. ‘I can’t think of a single thing you can do.’
Ella sat down next to her.
‘In fact,’ said Bets, her cheeks moving as if she were working really hard to keep a straight face, ‘it looks bloody awful.’
Ella winced. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’
‘Y-yes,’ said Bets still trying to look serious but starting to lose the battle. ‘I suppose you c-could say it’s quite . . . quite, um . . . eye-catching.’
Ella bit her lip, as she looked at the drunken display. ‘It’s t-terrible.’ She sniggered.
‘Yup.’ Bets nudged her in the ribs.
‘Truly terrible.’
Bets nodded and snorted. Then the two of them caught each other’s eyes and burst into laughter.
Finally they calmed and leaned back against the wooden pew. Ella considered the arrangement, tilting her head from one side to the other.
‘Doing that isn’t going to help,’ observed Bets.
‘I know,’ sighed Ella. ‘I think I might have to nip down to Tesco to—’
‘Good afternoon, ladies. It looks like you’ve been rather busy here.’ Ella turned to see the vicar striding down the aisle, his black cassock flowing.
‘Afternoon.’ She found herself almost wanting to nod or curtsy.
‘Goodness gracious. That’s quite monumental.’
He came to a halt in front of the first pew and peered over his round glasses, studying the arrangement before taking several steps to the right to look at it from a different angle.
Ella stiffened, mortified and ready to apologise.
Richard prowled another few steps and tilted his head. ‘Well, I must say, this is one of our more dramatic pieces.’ He stepped forward, tentatively touching one of the tulip heads.
‘Hmm.’ He folded his arms and stood in silent contemplation.
Behind his back, Bets began to snigger again.
‘It’s really rather symbolic, isn’t it?’
Ella opened her mouth but didn’t get a chance to speak.
‘I must say it’s a very interesting arrangement. I’m assuming as we approach Easter, the tulips represent the blood of Christ and the wire the thorns on the crown, and combined with the green and white foliage you could say it represents the rebirth of nature during Spring.’
Bets covered her mouth with her hand and looked up at the wooden rafters in the ceiling. Ella could see her shoulders shaking with mirth.
‘See, Ella,’ she called managing to compose herself, ‘I told you Richard would get it.’
‘Well, of course,’ said Ella, fighting to keep her face straight, thinking of what Patrick might say when he was at his most pompous. ‘I’m delighted that you understand the quintessential philosophy behind this piece.’
‘I’m not sure what our ladies are going to say, though.’ He shook his head and turned to her and then she saw the wicked twinkle dancing in his eyes. ‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’