‘You’re so talented. I don’t think I’ve got a creative bone in my body. I’m not terribly good at anything.’ She sighed. ‘No wonder Jack doesn’t want to visit. He’s meeting all those super clever girls at university.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Ella put the cake down and threw her arms around Bets. ‘He’s so lucky to have you.’ She drew back, still holding on to Bets’ arms. ‘You are one of the nicest, kindest and loveliest people I’ve ever met. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me while I’ve been here.’
‘But I haven’t—’
‘Yes, you have. You made me feel welcome. You gave your friendship, unconditionally and totally without judgement. I was a stuck-up, miserable cow and it didn’t stop you. You always look on the bright side. You help without being asked and when you are asked you never say no. You make me smile even when I don’t want to. Being with you is always fun. You see the good things in people and you’ve mademesee them. I’m a much nicer person for knowing you, so thank you for being my friend.’
‘Aw.’ Bets blinked and sniffed. ‘Blimey, that’s quite a big old speech.’ She hugged Ella back. ‘It’s also one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. I know I can be a bit annoying sometimes . . . ’
‘Shush. You need to be nicer to yourself. If Jack can’t see how wonderful you are, he doesn’t deserve you.’ Ella bent to pick up the cake tin.
Bets straightened up and Ella could see her metaphorically dust herself down. ‘You’re right.’ She linked her arm through Ella’s very gently. ‘Come on. Let’s go. Don’t want to drop the delivery. We’d better get a wiggle on. Poor Elsie, Peter’s wife. She was really hoping that with Magda out of the way, she might win best cake this year. I don’t think she stands a chance.’
‘Really?’ Ella hugged the tin closer. ‘I’m not sure about that. It is the first cake I’ve made since I was about ten.’
Cheerful floral bunting hung from every point of the high beamed ceiling in the village hall and the local craft group had gone yarn-bombing mad by knitting rainbow socks for the four main supporting beams. They’d also covered a bicycle, the wooden benches outside the hall and a wooden rocking chair, on which Doris sat like a queen taking the entrance money.
With her cake deposited in the marquee on the recreation ground at the back of the hall, Ella hurried to take up her post on the tombola stall. A rather harried Audrey had given her a box of change, the float, and instructions not to hand it over to anyone but Peter who was on accounting duty for the day as well as a reminder that she would be relieved at twelve by Mrs Mason, who ran the pre-school. Ella wondered quite how that latter piece of information would help in identifying Mrs Mason when she turned up.
Arranging the bottles took quite some doing as the table was a touch on the small side but she remembered the advice from both Audrey and Bets that it would make life a lot easier to match them up with winning tickets if they were grouped in number order.
It looked as if the whole village had turned out today and the minute the doors officially opened at ten o’clock the hall was suddenly full. No light trickle of people. One minute it was empty, the next full. Obviously, the folk of Wilsgrave didn’t believe in being fashionably late. Going to any event with Britta or Patrick had invariably involved a debate as to the best time to turn up. The official starting time never being an opener for ten.
‘Good morning, m’dear.’
‘George.’ Ella beamed. ‘How are you today?’ She’d popped in to see him every day since he’d come home.
‘Feeling better, bit stiff though.’ He winced. ‘You all right? That vet keeping an eye on you?’
Ella rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, thank you.’ George didn’t miss a thing. ‘He’s an idiot, though.’
George looked mischievous. ‘Men usually are. Good job we have women to keep us on the straight and narrow.’ He patted her hand. ‘And how has the cake turned out?’
He’d been very excited when she’d confessed she’d succumbed and baked a cake.
‘Actually, George, I’m pretty darned pleased with it.’
‘Excellent, I shall look forward to a taste. Now, I’ll have five tickets. How much are they?’
‘A pound a ticket. Are you sure you want five?’
‘Course.’
She took his money and he made a great show of delving into the barrel and counting out his tickets. A passing family watched avidly. To George’s absolute delight – he actually did a little hop skip and a jump – he won a bottle of blue curaçao. ‘Grand. That’s me and Doris sorted for cocktail night.’ With a wave he sauntered off, clutching his booty.
The family of three stared after him.
‘Would you like a ticket?’ asked Ella. It was all for a good cause. They didn’t look as if they had much money but there was a one in five chance of winning which was pretty good odds.
The man ignored her, but the mother and daughter shuffled closer together, the three of them closing ranks.
Ella tried to appear friendly and welcoming but it was rather like smiling down the barrel of a gun, the intensity of their stares was so fierce. After a while it started to intimidate her but thankfully Doris bowled up with a bunch of cronies, all of whom bought lots of tickets. They bore off their assorted bottles very happily, oblivious to the stony stare of the trio behind them.
Then the dad of the family stepped forward and burrowed deep into his shirt pockets before pulling out a rather tatty five pound note.
‘One ticket.’ He handed over the note and held out a fat pudgy hand for the change.
Ella counted out four pound coins, subject to suspicious scrutiny. ‘Here you go.’
