Page 44 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

Jo took out her phone, opened Instagram and typed #Scrabble into the search bar. She clicked on a photo and held her phone out to show him. It was a framed picture with hearts and flowers and the words LOVE and YOU spelled out in letter tiles, intersecting as they would on a Scrabble board.

‘Love. You,’ Ras read out loud and then cleared his throat. ‘It’s pretty.’

‘They’re popular,’ she said. ‘They sell for quite a bit on Etsy but they’d be easy enough to make. You can buy bulk bags of letter tiles on eBay and people could create their own versions. Pictures, greeting cards and so on. Personalise them with names. Make them as gifts. And before you say that we don’t have the budget, we’d charge them something. Not much but enough to cover our costs. We’d have to shell out a little at the beginning, but we’d make the money back.’

‘If enough people come.’

He sighed. He wasn’t interested. He wanted his small event. Jo wasn’t sure why he’d tried to rope her in in the first place if all he wanted to do was hold Scrabble club on a Saturday afternoon.

She swigged the wine. Might as well call it a night and go home. She’d be far happier back on the sofa, playing a few games of WordPals, than trying to persuade someone who clearly wasn’t up for being persuaded.

‘If you build it, they will come,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘It’s from Field of Dreams.’

She must have looked blank.

‘The 1989 film with Kevin Costner. It’s a classic.’

‘Hmm… 1989,’ she said. ‘Well, these days, if you build it, then promote it like crazy on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, then yes, they might come.’

‘Are you any good with social media?’ he said.

‘Not especially.’

‘The guy I work with, Ludek, his other half’s best friend, Kate, works in marketing. She might lend a hand.’

‘I know Kate.’

‘Small world. Do you think she’ll agree?’

‘I’m sure she will,’ said Jo, crossing her fingers under the table. She didn’t know Kate well enough yet to be sure. ‘So is that a yes? A yes to the festival?’

‘It’s a yes.’

She wanted to lean over and hug him, but since she was perched on a tiny stool that was a bit too small for her arse, it would have been risky. Instead, she said, ‘Hebbleswick Scrabble Festival. It has a bit of a ring to it, doesn’t it?’

18

‘You sound more cheerful than yesterday, said Gemma. ‘Was the Scrabble club good?’

‘I’m organising a festival.’

‘A festival? I didn’t think festivals were your kind of thing.’

It was Saturday morning and Jo was sprawled on the sofa. She wanted to tell Gemma her big news before taking a wander down to Hebbleswick to scan the shelves of the library on the off chance that they had A Dummy’s Guide to Organising a Festival or Festival Organisation Made Simple.

‘It’s a Scrabble festival,’ Jo said, as if Scrabble festivals were a completely normal thing.

‘Wow. And how did this come about?’

‘Well, the guy who organises the Scrabble club turned out to be Ras.’

‘Ras?’

‘Gaping Gill man.’