“It’s nice to have the three of you back in the village again,” said Betty as she spritzed antibacterial spray onto a table just left by a group of gym mummies.
“Yeah,” Maggie agreed. “I like having them around.” She was surprised to find she actually meant it.
“I can’t put my finger on it, but it feels right somehow. Balances the energy of the place. Used to feel the same when your father was back from his travels. But then I have always been very in tune with elemental energies.”
She could well believe it. Betty had a sideline in herbal remedies and made her own essential oil blend candles to sell in the café.
“Betty, what do you know about winter solstice celebrations?”
Betty snickered. “What don’t I know, more’s to the point.”
“You must have been too young to remember the ones held here, though.”
Betty patted her short gray hair, flattered. “Nice of you to say. I was six when the last solstice celebration was held in Rowan Thorp, but oh, how well I remember them. Good memories stick. Old Bob Taylor had a veritable orchard at the end of his garden, and he would make the cider that would be used for the wassail. I kid you not, by early evening on the solstice you could have gotten pissed on the air alone with all that mulled cider brewing in cauldrons. Of course, everything feels like magic when you’re knee high to a grasshopper, but what with all the candles and the smell of the bonfire, and oh my goodness the roast boar turning on the spit, makes my mouth water just thinking about it. I don’t mind telling you: I am excited that you North girls are going to bring it back.”
Maggie puffed her cheeks out. “If we can get our act together in time.”
“It’s the talk of the village.” Betty was not making her feel better. “The Women’s Institute have been champing at the bit waiting for you to ask for their cakes-pertise . . . See what I did there!”
“You think they’d help, then?”
“Course they would. At our last meeting, your winter solstice festival was at the top of our agenda. Just say the word, my girl. Everyone wants to help, but nobody wants to tread on your toes, so we’re giving you space. Ask and you’ll be inundated with offers.”
“Really?”
Betty tutted. “That’s the trouble with you young’uns. You think you’re so connected, with your snappy-chats and your clock-toks. You’re more likely to ask a virtual friend in Guatemala for advice than the people on your own doorstep.”
Maggie could barely navigate Instagram, but she didn’t bother to correct her, because she made a good point. She’d learned more about the winter solstice celebration through two minutes of idle chitchat with Betty than she had in the two hours spent trawling through Google in bed last night.
The bell above the door tinkled, and Simone and Star weaved their way through the café to the table.
“Took your time!” said Betty. “Your coffees are half-cold.”
“Sorry, Betty,” they mumbled together as they took off their coats and hung them on the coat stand next to the radiator.
Betty bustled off toward the kitchen with a tray laden with empty coffee mugs and plates. Simone sat down, smoothed first her hair, then her skirt, then opened her notebook and smoothed the pages on that too.
“So,” she began, as though calling a meeting to order. “Where are we on how to actually start this thing? I was looking at the photographs again last night, and it looks like the bonfire used to be set up in the middle of the street, but I’m not sure the council would allow that now. Health and safety and all that.”
“What about if we have it in Dad’s garden? It’s got access from the street, and we could have the celebration down near the woods,” Star suggested.
“Not too near,” said Maggie. “We don’t want to start a forest fire.”
“Halfway down, then. The council can’t complain if it’s on private land, can they? And we own the land now, so we only need our own permission.”
Simone tapped her pen to her red lips and then nodded and made a note in her book. “We’ll need to figure out a route for the procession as well,” she mused.
“Maybe we could hold the banquet in the garden too, I mean it’s probably long enough. Although I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have a marquee near an open fire.” Star was pondering.
“A marquee?” asked Maggie. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
“I reckon most of the village is going to turn out for it,” said Star. “We need to think big.”
“Plus, it’s the middle of December in England, so there’s a good chance it’ll be raining,” Simone countered. “If we have a marquee, we can get some of those patio heaters in to keep people warm.”
“Couldn’t we just hold it in the village hall?” Maggie asked.
Star screwed her face up. “It’s not very inspiring, is it?”
“We could spruce it up a bit.”
Betty set down a plate with three sweet and salty chocolate tiffin bars between them.
“Brain food,” she offered. “The village hall is booked out on the twenty-first of December every year for the annual Wealden Darts Tournament.”
“Oh, of course, dammit,” Maggie agreed.
“So the village hall is not an option,” said Star brightly. “Ooh, thanks for these, Betty.”
“Marquee it is, then. This is starting to look expensive,” said Maggie, chewing her pen. “I wish we knew how much money was in Dad’s solstice fund. I don’t want to be a party pooper, but I really haven’t got the money to be renting marquees or patio heaters, and I’m pretty sure neither of you have either. We need to figure out a way to do this on a shoestring budget, just in case the fund doesn’t cover it all.”
“Is there anyone in the village who could loan us one?” asked Simone.
“I reckon we could ask Troy and Kev if we can borrow their patio heaters for the evening. I’m sure they won’t mind, especially if we promise to make sure the procession ends up in the pubs,” Star suggested.
“Now that is a good idea.” Simone approved, and Maggie saw Star’s shoulders straighten a little at the praise.
“Maybe we could ask the parish council if we could have the banquet on Holy Trinity Green. They do it for the summer fete every year. It’s plenty big enough.” Star was on a roll.
“Yeah, but the incentive is that all money goes toward the church restoration fund,” Maggie replied.
“Plus, the whole pagan aspect of it might be a step too far, even for Belinda.”
Belinda had come from a parish in North London, and due to her inclusive views and her launching of the annual Rowan Thorp Pride March in conjunction with the Women’s Institute, congregation numbers had grown exponentially.
“The way I see it,” Star began, “if God is supposed to have created everything, she must also have had a hand in the seasons and the sun’s position in the hemisphere and the pagans who celebrated it. So to not support the winter solstice is kind of rude to God.”
Simone and Maggie studied their sister for a long moment.