Read Online Ice Creams at Carrington’s by Alexandra Brown - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alexandra Brown
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lucky dip, wet sponge throwing at the mayor, guess the name of the teddy bear …’
Oh, God help us.
‘Donkey rides?’ someone at the back shouts out.
OK, a bit better. I make a mental note to cross that idea off my list.
‘Don’t forget the mini-music festival.’ This is much more like it. I glance along my row to see who is speaking – it’s a guy with a Bob Marley T-shirt and a big boffin beard.
‘Hmm, a bit ambitious …’ Meredith shakes her head and actually sucks in air, like a plumber denouncing the state of a broken washing machine – I half expect her to launch into a long, boring explanation of what actually constitutes ‘ambitious’ too! But luckily, Bob Marley jumps in instead.
‘Not at all. The radio station has all the equipment and we’ve already got confirmation from a few local bands. But what we really need is a big name to headline …’ Ah, I bet he’s from Mulberry FM. How exciting.
‘Well, let’s not get too hasty, I’m not sure everyone wants—’ Meredith starts, before she’s interrupted by the woman sitting next to me, wearing a leopard-print bomber jacket and denim skinnies, who has the biggest treacle-coloured beehive I’ve ever seen.
‘Oooh, I don’t know, I reckon people love a good knees-up, and we’re always rammed on band night,’ she says in a cracking cockney accent.
‘That may be the case in the …’ Meredith pauses again to check her notes.
‘The Hook, Line and Sinker,’ the beehive woman prompts. ‘It’s a new pub, and we’re right at the entrance to the marina. Oooh, I’ve got an idea!’ A short silence follows.
‘Do enlighten us, dear, we’re not exactly time rich,’ Meredith says in a monotone voice as she glances at the wall clock.
‘Weeeell,’ the woman starts, sounding really excited. ‘We’d be perfect to host the mini-music festival. Our beer garden backs out directly onto the beach, and we could rope off a section and install a stage.’ Fab, this is much more like it . ‘Music and beer on tap, what’s not to love?’ She claps her hands together, seemingly pleased with the plan.
‘Yes, err, Beryl is it?’ Meredith purses her lips.
‘Cheryl, love. But you can call me Cher, everyone does. I’m the landlady.’
‘Hmm, well, OK, err … Cher. But it’s not as simple as just roping off a bit of the beach. You do need to have a proper public performance licence, not to mention that there are all kinds of health and safety laws to adhere to – it really could get quite tricky to manage,’ Meredith continues, tilting her head to one side, and talking as if she’s placating a toddler.
‘No problem, I have that all in place,’ Cher beams, twiddling a finger around the inside of her massive gold hoop earring.
‘And any rubber-stamping will be made a priority, of course.’ A guy in a suit sitting at the end of my row jumps in. ‘Plus I’d like to take this opportunity to assure you all that parking will be free across all of the town’s car parks for the duration of the regatta, and we’ll be liaising with the police, St John Ambulance, etc., and setting up the usual services – mobility scooter hire, children’s security wristbands, etc. And I’m personally in charge of sorting out the Red Arrows – they always go down a treat.’ He pauses. ‘Well, err, not literally of course, because that would be catastrophic. No, a crash landing really wouldn’t do … eek!’ He pulls a face and shrugs apologetically before sitting back down.
‘That’s Matt from the council – he’s all right though,’ Cher whispers, leaning into me. I smile – she seems really nice. Glancing along the row, I catch Matt’s eye and he gives me a welcoming nod. Perhaps this will still be fun, after all.
‘Just need a proper pop star now,’ the Mulberry FM guy says.
‘I might be able to help with that,’ I suggest, eager to do my bit.
‘Oh?’ Meredith quips.
‘He’s not really a mainstream pop star, though.’
Oh, God help us.
‘Donkey rides?’ someone at the back shouts out.
OK, a bit better. I make a mental note to cross that idea off my list.
‘Don’t forget the mini-music festival.’ This is much more like it. I glance along my row to see who is speaking – it’s a guy with a Bob Marley T-shirt and a big boffin beard.
‘Hmm, a bit ambitious …’ Meredith shakes her head and actually sucks in air, like a plumber denouncing the state of a broken washing machine – I half expect her to launch into a long, boring explanation of what actually constitutes ‘ambitious’ too! But luckily, Bob Marley jumps in instead.
‘Not at all. The radio station has all the equipment and we’ve already got confirmation from a few local bands. But what we really need is a big name to headline …’ Ah, I bet he’s from Mulberry FM. How exciting.
‘Well, let’s not get too hasty, I’m not sure everyone wants—’ Meredith starts, before she’s interrupted by the woman sitting next to me, wearing a leopard-print bomber jacket and denim skinnies, who has the biggest treacle-coloured beehive I’ve ever seen.
‘Oooh, I don’t know, I reckon people love a good knees-up, and we’re always rammed on band night,’ she says in a cracking cockney accent.
‘That may be the case in the …’ Meredith pauses again to check her notes.
‘The Hook, Line and Sinker,’ the beehive woman prompts. ‘It’s a new pub, and we’re right at the entrance to the marina. Oooh, I’ve got an idea!’ A short silence follows.
‘Do enlighten us, dear, we’re not exactly time rich,’ Meredith says in a monotone voice as she glances at the wall clock.
‘Weeeell,’ the woman starts, sounding really excited. ‘We’d be perfect to host the mini-music festival. Our beer garden backs out directly onto the beach, and we could rope off a section and install a stage.’ Fab, this is much more like it . ‘Music and beer on tap, what’s not to love?’ She claps her hands together, seemingly pleased with the plan.
‘Yes, err, Beryl is it?’ Meredith purses her lips.
‘Cheryl, love. But you can call me Cher, everyone does. I’m the landlady.’
‘Hmm, well, OK, err … Cher. But it’s not as simple as just roping off a bit of the beach. You do need to have a proper public performance licence, not to mention that there are all kinds of health and safety laws to adhere to – it really could get quite tricky to manage,’ Meredith continues, tilting her head to one side, and talking as if she’s placating a toddler.
‘No problem, I have that all in place,’ Cher beams, twiddling a finger around the inside of her massive gold hoop earring.
‘And any rubber-stamping will be made a priority, of course.’ A guy in a suit sitting at the end of my row jumps in. ‘Plus I’d like to take this opportunity to assure you all that parking will be free across all of the town’s car parks for the duration of the regatta, and we’ll be liaising with the police, St John Ambulance, etc., and setting up the usual services – mobility scooter hire, children’s security wristbands, etc. And I’m personally in charge of sorting out the Red Arrows – they always go down a treat.’ He pauses. ‘Well, err, not literally of course, because that would be catastrophic. No, a crash landing really wouldn’t do … eek!’ He pulls a face and shrugs apologetically before sitting back down.
‘That’s Matt from the council – he’s all right though,’ Cher whispers, leaning into me. I smile – she seems really nice. Glancing along the row, I catch Matt’s eye and he gives me a welcoming nod. Perhaps this will still be fun, after all.
‘Just need a proper pop star now,’ the Mulberry FM guy says.
‘I might be able to help with that,’ I suggest, eager to do my bit.
‘Oh?’ Meredith quips.
‘He’s not really a mainstream pop star, though.’
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