Rowan pointed over to a stall. ‘Don’t you think that stall is too close to the exit route? If there needed to be a quick access from the beach, people with dogs on leads would find it difficult to walk alongside anyone else trying to leave the beach in a hurry.’
Marcus watched Jack’s brow lift, as realisation dawned on him. ‘You’re right, Rowan. Thanks for pointing that out.’ Jack turned to Marcus. ‘Can I catch up with you about the other safety points later? That exit needs to be addressed immediately.’
Marcus nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll catch you later.’
Marcus watched Jack stride away, already calling for Tom, who was wrestling with a roll of bunting near the main marquee.
Rowan stood beside Marcus for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the stall by the exit route. Atlas waited quietly at his side, ears alert, body watchful but calm.
‘Good spot,’ Marcus said.
Rowan gave a small shrug. ‘It might never matter.’
‘But if it did, it would matter a lot.’
Rowan looked at him then, and something softened around his eyes. ‘Exactly.’
Marcus’s chest warmed.
Before he could say anything else, a familiar voice bellowed from the top of the beach steps.
‘Where d’you want all this lot, then?’
Marcus turned to see Old Po making his way carefully down the steps, carrying a cardboard box as if it contained royal treasure. Behind him, two younger men Marcus vaguely recognised from the pub followed with coils of rope, wooden stakes, cable ties, and several hand-painted signs.
Marcus hurried towards him. ‘Po! You shouldn’t be carrying all that yourself.’
Old Po gave him a look over the top of his spectacles. ‘Lad, I’ve been carrying things heavier than this since before you were a twinkle in anyone’s eye.’
‘That doesn’t make it a good idea.’
‘No, but it makes it likely I’ll ignore you.’
Marcus laughed and took the box from him anyway. Inside were rolls of tape, spare pegs, clipboards, chalk, marker pens, laminated arrows, and a battered tin labelled emergency bits and bobs.
‘What’s in that?’ Marcus asked, pointing at the tin.
‘Emergency bits and bobs.’
‘Of course.’
Old Po tapped the side of his nose. ‘Never run an event without emergency bits and bobs. That’s where amateurs fall down.’
Rowan stepped closer, studying the signs. ‘These are good. Clear. Simple.’
Old Po looked him up and down, then nodded once, as if Rowan had passed some private test. ‘You’re the dog man, then.’
Rowan’s mouth twitched. ‘One of them.’
‘Good. You can tell me where these quiet-zone signs need going. Apparently, according to Christine, Marcus here gets excited and puts things where they look pretty.’
‘Rude,’ Marcus said with a smile.
‘Accurate,’ Rowan replied.
Marcus stared at him. ‘You two have known each other for eight seconds and already you’re forming an alliance?’
Old Po’s eyes twinkled. ‘Sensible folk recognise one another.’
