[Churchminster #3] Wild Things (16 page)

The door to the side of the building suddenly flew open. Clementine could see contestants lining up in the narrow corridor. Jack and Beryl were at the front, he looking very jaunty in his magician’s hat, and she
dressed
in a glittery bodice and long skirt. Behind them was an explosion of noise and colour as everyone practised their act for the last time and made sure their costumes were right.

‘Granny Clem, it’s eight o’clock,’ whispered Calypso. She, Freddie and Clementine were standing together, waiting to go on. Calypso’s hair was piled in a sexy updo and the new dress clung to her like a second skin. Beside her, Freddie was looking very jolly in a multicoloured waistcoat.

Ted Briggs, in a dusty dinner jacket and bow tie, pressed
play
on the antiquated stereo system. As the entrance music started the three judges stepped out. The crowd began whooping and clapping.

Clementine waited for the noise to die down. ‘Good evening, and welcome to
Churchminster’s Got Talent
. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Clementine Standington-Fulthrope. Judging beside me tonight are Freddie Fox-Titt, and my granddaughter Calypso.’

There were a few wolf whistles as Calypso stepped forward to take her bow.

‘I’d like a performance with you, love!’ a male voice shouted.

Clementine shot a disapproving look in the direction of the heckler. ‘While we are all here to enjoy ourselves, I would like to remind everyone why we are putting this evening on in the first place: to raise money for St Bartholomew’s and improve the village. As I am sure all of you are aware, Churchminster has beaten off stiff competition to land a place in the final of Britain’s Best Village.’

More clapping and cheering.

Clementine permitted herself a smile. ‘As head of the Garden Party – the committee that has been formed to get this village ready – I know what a huge task we have taken on. We can leave no stone unturned, no hedge untrimmed to make Churchminster look the best it possibly can. This however, takes a lot of time and money. So I’d like to thank everyone who has bought a ticket for tonight, as well as my fellow committee-members for all their efforts over the past few weeks.’

There was an ear-splitting shriek of static from one of the speakers. Everyone winced. With a final plea for people to buy raffle tickets, Clementine wished all the contestants good luck and sat down behind the judges’ desk.

‘Bloody good atmosphere,’ Freddie whispered. He gave his buzzer a honk for good measure.

‘Freddie! I haven’t started yet,’ Clementine scolded.

He gave her a boyish grin. ‘Sorry, Clementine, just warming it up!’

Clementine looked at the first name on her list. ‘I take great pleasure in introducing master magician, the Grand Supremo!’

The speakers crackled into life and a jet of smoke started to shoot across the stage, gradually turning into a dense cloud. As the judges coughed and spluttered, Jack Turner strode on, hand in hand with Beryl.

‘Greetings!’ he announced in a funny, Transylvanian-sounding accent. ‘I am the Grand Supremo, master of
all
things magical, and this is my stunning assistant, Violetta.’

Brenda did a provocative little jiggle. Behind Angie, the Blackford-under-Bridge Women’s Institute gasped collectively.

‘A woman of that age shouldn’t be showing off so much flesh!’ said one.

‘That corset doesn’t give much support,’ exclaimed another.

Angie Fox-Titt turned around and smiled sweetly at them, shutting them up.

On stage Jack had produced a white rabbit from his black silk cape. ‘For my first trick, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the exploding rabbit! Three, two, one …’

For the next ten minutes, the Grand Supremo thoroughly entertained the audience with a variety of half-decent magic tricks, from Violetta being sawed in half to the Jolly Boot’s pub cat Pebbles seemingly vanishing into thin air. None of the three judges pressed their buzzers until the end, and the Grand Supremo exited the stage to loud cheers.

Next on was a dog trainer from Bedlington whose ‘break-dancing fox terrier’ got an attack of stage fright and dived under the judges’ table, only to be cajoled out when Angie found an old Hobnob in her handbag. Ted Briggs then stunned everyone when he got up and sang ‘Nessun Dorma’ in a beautiful tenor. There was hardly a dry eye in the house.

‘He used to be in the operatic society,’ a proud Brenda Briggs told Angie.

Ted was followed by a very good string quartet, and then a middle-aged stand-up in a tiara, who had them all in stitches with an endless supply of rude jokes about the royal family. Clementine resolutely pressed her buzzer when he made a particularly risqué one about Prince Philip and one of the Queen’s corgis, but Calypso and Freddie let the comic stay on. Unfortunately things started to go downhill from then, when Lucinda Reinard’s precocious daughter Hero came on to do the Riverdance. Unfortunately 15-year-old Hero, who seemed to be taking after her mother in the hips and bum department, tripped over a cable and had to be heaved offstage by a sweating Ted Briggs. It got even worse when Reverend Bellows and Joyce took to the stage dressed as Sonny and Cher to do a toe-curling rendition of ‘I Got You Babe’. Clementine had only just recovered before she had to announce the next act, a thankfully rather good trumpet player from the other side of the Cotswolds.

An hour and a half later, nearly everyone had performed. Only Stacey Turner was left. Her mother and father had changed back into their normal clothes and were sitting with Angie in the audience, waiting expectantly. The booze from the bar had been flowing freely and things were getting more raucous, especially amongst the younger people at the back.

‘Stacey has been so secretive about what she’s doing, I’m dying to find out,’ Brenda told Angie. ‘Jack thinks it’s going to be a ballet recital.’

The lights had been dimmed and sultry music was playing softly in the background.

Ted Briggs walked on to the stage carrying a large metal pole.

Jack frowned as he watched it being screwed it into place. ‘What’s all this, then?’

The music got louder and Clementine had to shout to be heard. ‘Our last act of the evening is Stacey Turner.’ She paused and shot a worried look in the direction of the Turners. ‘Otherwise known as “Harem”.’

The lights went off and the hall was plunged into darkness. The audience held their breath expectantly. There was a crash backstage and someone shouted ‘Shit!’ as they walked into something.

Thirty seconds passed. Everyone was starting to fidget when the stage lit up in a crescendo of light and music. In the middle stood Stacey Turner, wearing a tiny two-piece costume made from latex and diamanté. In her navel was a glittering jewel, and her eyes were heavily made-up and mysterious-looking. A feathered headdress and six-inch heels made up the rest.

A babble of male voices erupted, calling and cheering. Jack was out of his seat like a shot, but his wife pulled him down warningly.

‘Jack! She’s been practising like mad for this. You
can’t
go up there.’

‘She’s practically bleeding naked!’ he spluttered.

‘Stacey’s an adult now, you’ve got to trust her!’ Beryl warned, but she did look a bit concerned when her daughter turned and shook her assets at the judging panel.

As the hypnotic music started to play, Stacey writhed and wiggled her nubile young body. The shouts from
the
back of the hall got even louder. Stacey smiled and flashed her eyes, enjoying the effect she was having. Throwing her head back, she arched her spine and started sliding up and down the pole.

Jaws dropped with a collective clang.

‘She’s got wonderful rhythm,’ Angie remarked over-brightly, feeling she should say something. Two seats down Jack was stiff with shock and anger, a vein in his forehead pulsating.

Stacey sped faster and faster round the pole. The music reached fever pitch. As the final crescendo built, she turned her back on the crowd and pulled off her top. Throwing the garment to one side, she held her arms aloft, framed like a Middle Eastern nymph.

‘Bleeding Nora!’ Jack spluttered. But just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Stacey whipped round to give a full frontal of the most famous D cups in Gloucestershire, their modesty barely protected by a pair of nipple tassels. Stacey gave one final, saucy jiggle before the lights went off.

It was too much for Jack. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he howled, leaping up.

A few moments later, the lights came back on again to reveal Stacey, this time covered up with a silk kimono. Jack’s fury was drowned out by shouting and jeering from the back of the hall. Angie turned, frowning, it looked like a bad lot from Bedlington had turned up.

As Stacey went to take a bow, someone threw a beer glass and it shattered yards from her feet. She stumbled back, looking shocked. A shard had struck her face and blood was seeping down her cheek.

‘Show us yer tits, you slag!’ someone shouted.

Stacey put her hand up to feel the cut, looked at the blood on her hand and burst into tears. It was enough for her father. With the agility of someone half his age, Jack vaulted over his chair and ran towards the back of the hall.

‘Christ alive, someone stop him!’ wailed Beryl, running up onstage to comfort her daughter.

Jack squared up to the rowdy youths. ‘Which one of you bastards threw that glass?’

‘Fuck off, wanker!’ one of them jeered. Making a disgusting noise in the back of his throat, he opened his mouth and spat at the landlord.

There was uproar: chairs were knocked over and drinks went flying. The raffle table collapsed like a soufflé. Fists going like pistons, Jack threw himself at the troublemakers. As punches were thrown and insults traded, the melee spilled out through the doors.

Calypso jumped down from the stage and pushed her way through the crowd. ‘Call the police!’ she screamed.

Outside it was utter bedlam. One of the youths was already sprawled out on the floor and Jack had another held tight in a headlock. A chunky man, who looked like one of the security staff from Seraphina Inc., was rolling his sleeves up and wading in. Jed was dragging an acne-ridden youth away, while the boy screeched blue murder.

‘I know me rights, gerroff!’

Suddenly a car screeched up and a man jumped
out
, the motor still running. The fearful shouts from onlookers turned into ones of astonishment as they recognized the blond good looks, and the muscular physique under the golfing outfit.

‘It’s Rafe Wolfe!’ someone squealed.

Fearlessly the film star strode into the fracas and started pulling the attackers off. ‘All right, that’s enough!’ he shouted. A fist went to hit him and he stopped it with his forearm. ‘I said, “That’s ENOUGH”.’ His voice was so commanding the two youths he was grappling with stopped punching and kicking.

One of them looked up at Rafe, who was easily twice his height and weight. His eyes goggled in sudden recognition. ‘Fuck me!’ he exclaimed, all traces of aggression quickly fading. His face lit up hopefully. ‘Hello, mate! Can I have your autograph?’

A wailing sound heralded the arrival of the police. PC Paul Penny, of Bedlington police station, stepped out of the panda car and drew himself up to his full five feet two inches. ‘What have we got here, then?’

Relatively new to the job, PC Penny still treated every day at work like an episode of
CHiPs
. His enthusiasm for filling his little black book with every incident that had happened within a twenty-mile radius of Bedlington knew no bounds.

‘We should sue you lot,’ spat one of the youths.

‘From what I saw, these gentlemen were merely trying to placate you,’ Rafe told them pleasantly. The yobs glowered but remained inert.

PC Penny looked disappointed. ‘No one wants to press any charges?’ He looked at Jack hopefully, but
the
landlord himself didn’t want any trouble. It was bad for business.

‘No complaint here, officer. It got a bit tasty inside, but it’s all been sorted out now.’

With no imminent arrests on the cards, PC Penny tried to send the gang on their way with a strict warning. ‘I know who you lot all are, any more trouble and I’ll be down on you like a ton of bricks!’

‘Ton of feathers more like,’ mumbled one of them in a last show of defiance. They shuffled towards their car and drove off, exhaust pipe between their legs.

‘Can we please all go back inside!’ cried Clementine. ‘We’ve still got a competition to judge!’

People started to file back in, including a curious PC Penny. He’d always had a thing for amdram.

Only Calypso and a few hangers-on were left outside, the latter anxious to get an autograph from their hero. After the pleased fans had gone back into the hall, Rafe walked over to Calypso.

‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Do you actually do any work or do you just drive around saving people?’

He laughed. ‘I do have a habit of turning up at the right time. Or should it be the wrong time?’ His eyes travelled over her outfit. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look beautiful.’

Calypso found herself blushing. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve come to take part in
Churchminster’s Got Talent
.’

‘Hell, no,’ Rafe said. ‘I imagine the standard is far too high. I was just passing through on my way home and saw the commotion.’

‘Calypso!’ Her grandmother stuck her head out of the door. ‘We’re waiting for you.’

‘I’ve got to go,’ Calypso apologized to Rafe.

Rafe grinned, ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you from your audience. But before you go, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me?’

‘When?’ she blurted stupidly.

‘Tuesday is my next evening off. I’ll pick you up, we can eat back at mine.’

‘Calypso!’ This time Clementine’s voice brokered no discussion.

Calypso laughed. ‘I’ve
really
got to go!’ She grinned at Rafe. ‘Dinner would be cool.’

Chapter 22

IT FELT FUNNY
walking up the familiar drive to Twisty Gables, the house where Camilla had grown up. The Reinards had bought the rambling house on the Bedlington Road from Camilla’s dad Johnnie some years ago, when he and Camilla’s mother had moved to Bermuda. Camilla had had an idyllic childhood growing up at there. As she stood in front of it, remembering playing chase with her sisters through the corridors and concocting imaginary kingdoms in the gardens, Camilla felt a pang of nostalgia.