the youth, dragging the goat away.
‘Great. I hope I don’t win now,’ said Daisy, as they watched the goats being taken round to the starting line.
‘Mr Templeton will honour your bet anyway. He always liked you at school,’ said Tamsyn. The truth was, like all the teachers, he pitied Daisy. She was always the poor little girl whose mother died. She could tell what they were thinking by the way they looked at her.
They squeezed through the crowd to get a spot where they could see down the track to the finish line.
‘Runners and riders ready?’ asked the compère to nobody in particular. ‘On your marks, get set, go!’ A length of board was dropped and the goats were free to run the course. It appeared they all knew the drill as they set off at a good pace with only one stopping to try and steal a child’s ice-cream.
‘And I’m a Llama takes an early lead with Billy the Kid and Vincent Van Goat close behind …’
‘Oh great, I’m second,’ said Daisy, unsure if she was pleased or already worrying about the conversation she would have to have with Mr Templeton: Sorry Sir, the goat ate my homework … I mean betting slip.
‘I think mine’s at the back,’ said Tamsyn, trying to lean over for a better view.
The commentator continued ‘… and Hot to Trot and Norfolk Enchants are the back-markers as we start the second and final lap. The carrots are now on the course so watch those runners gallop home.’
He wasn’t wrong. The goats seemed to sense the arrival of the treats now in a tub at the end of the course and they went even faster.
‘… and as they come to the line the winner is Billy the Kid, with Goaty McGoatface in second and I’m a Llama in third.’
‘Ooh, you’ve won a fiver,’ said Tamsyn happily.
Perhaps it was worth an embarrassing conversation with Mr Templeton after all. As it turned out he was completely lovely about it and she hadn’t been the first that day to have their ticket eaten, which made her feel a little better, especially when he reassured her the goat would be fine. Daisy put her five pounds away quickly to avoid a similar incident.
They saw a crowd gathering nearby for another event and made their way to the front. They got there just in time to see a man raise his arm and say ‘Take the strain.’ Followed almost immediately by ‘Pull!’
‘Now this is something I am happy to pay fifty pence to see,’ said Daisy, whilst she and Tamsyn admired the sixteen men in straining shorts and tight t-shirts battling in the Tug of War competition.
‘There’s Jason,’ hollered Tamsyn, wildly pointing to the middle of the team on the right. Daisy was distracted by the person behind him. She was working her way up from his muscular thighs and perfectly rounded backside when she realised it was Max. His biceps were literally bulging as his team started to inch backwards. It was a most appealing sight to witness. Their anchor stumbled and in the confusion to get everyone back on their feet the other team took the advantage and pulled them over the line. Max looked like he was swearing under his breath until he glanced up and saw Daisy. She felt caught out and threw up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, which was behind her, but hopefully he wouldn’t think she was ogling him.
The second round was over all too quickly but thankfully Jason and Max’s team won so it all hung on the final pull.
‘This is really exciting,’ said Tamsyn, her face total proof of her statement.
‘Take the strain,’ said the judge and both Daisy and Tamsyn tilted their heads to one side in unison as they watched the men’s muscles swell in anticipation. ‘Pull!’ The other team must have had a lucky first round because within seconds Jason and Max were inching backwards and the contest was over. Daisy was quite disappointed, she had been comparing muscles along the row and now they were all dispersing.
‘Best of five?’ shouted Daisy and everyone turned around including Max. He strode over, a frown etched on his forehead.
‘You’re still here then,’ he said.
‘Obviously,’ said Daisy, sensing the hostility emanating from him.
‘Thought you’d have run off by now.’ He indicated running with his fingers and chuckled. What had she done to him? It was him who had let her walk half the way home with two heavy boxes, she should be mad at him. And now she thought of it, she was.
‘I’m not stopping long though. I’ve far better things to do than hang around this provincial backwater.’
Max’s eye twitched. ‘Don’t let us simple folk keep you from your big ambitions.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, you won’t,’ said Daisy firmly. Why did Max irritate her so much and how did it escalate so quickly?
‘We should go and get seats for the falconry display.’ Tamsyn tugged at Daisy’s arm pulling her away.
Despite the altercation with Max, Daisy was enjoying the fête. It wasn’t what she had initially thought, or what the events schedule had led her to believe, it was far more entertaining. She chuckled as she passed a wheelbarrow full of cans of beer surrounded by disappointed men checking raffle tickets.
A little girl skipped past with a bright pink teddy bear, hugging it so tightly Daisy feared it might pop its stuffing. Her mind filled with a memory of being seven years old and at the fête with her mother, the last summer before she died. Her dad had been working and it had taken her mum many goes to knock over the cans and win her a teddy. Her teddy had been white with a large yellow bow and she’d loved it dearly. Daisy was cheered by the memory but a lump caught in her throat and she realised she was crying. Even her happy memories made her sad, that was why she couldn’t stay. Daisy hastily wiped her eyes.
The seats at the falconry display were a place on a hay bale, but Daisy wasn’t complaining. The cloudless sky was paint pot blue and the sun was gloriously warm. The falconry display was in a large arena and a series of T-shaped wooden posts had been knocked into the ground at various intervals. Daisy looked around, the ‘seats’ were filling up fast. An elderly man walked slowly into the arena dwarfed by a huge bird of prey on his gloved arm.
Daisy looked closer. ‘That’s never Old Man Burgess. Is it?’
‘It is,’ said Tamsyn.
‘Bloody hell, have they embalmed him already? He must be at least a hundred.’ Daisy remembered the man being seriously old when she was a child and he appeared to have shrivelled up further and become even more prune-like.
‘Ninety-five,’ said Tamsyn. ‘He had a party just after Easter.’
He had always reminded the children of a character from Scooby Doo and, true to their beliefs, he would regularly shout at the kids to get out of his garden, which only perpetuated the myth that he was up to no good. He looked frailer now, wobbling precariously when the large bird disembarked his arm and took to the first post.
‘Testing,’ came the Devonian voice with an added loud screech from the sound system. ‘Ahh that’s better. Good afternoon ladies … and gentleman, and welcome to the Ottercombe Bay … falconry display.’ He spoke as slowly as he walked. This could be a very long afternoon, thought Daisy.
‘Now,
