The Big Little Festival

With only weeks until the little Devon village of Rabbits Leap holds its first ever festival, Jody McArthur is desperate. She – more than anyone – wants to raise the funds to rebuild the local swimming pool as, when she fell pregnant with her twin boys, it was the villagers who were there to support her. So, to stop disaster in its tracks, she brings in bigshot London events manager Christian Middlemore to make The Big Little Festival the huge success everyone deserves.

But Jody is totally unprepared for the impact reserved-but-gorgeous Christian has on Rabbit’s Leap – and her heart! Except Jody has avoided relationships for so long, and anyway, she’s sure romance between a country-born-and-bred single mum and a career-focused city boy would be impossible – wouldn’t it?

As tensions rise along with the home-baked scones and miles and miles of bunting, Jody is about to find out!

Join the whole village at The Big Little Festival for the perfect summer day out! The second book set in the picture-perfect Rabbits Leap… perfect for fans of Cathy Bramley, Holly Hepburn and Cressida McLaughlin.

Also by Kellie Hailes

The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises (Rabbits Leap, Book 1)

The Big Little Festival

Kellie Hailes

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

At the age of five, KELLIE HAILES declared she was going to write books when she grew up. It took a while for her to get there, with a career as a radio copywriter, freelance copywriter and web writer filling the dream-hole, until now. Kellie lives on an island-that’s-not-really-an-island in New Zealand with her patient husband, funny little human and neurotic cat. When the characters in her head aren’t dictating their story to her, she can be found taking short walks, eating good cheese and jonesing for her next coffee fix.

To all those who read, blogged, tweeted and showed support for The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises, thank you, thank you, thank you. Your love for Rabbits Leap means the world to me, and I really can’t thank you enough. Here’s a few more though… thank you, thank you, thank you!

To my husband. Thanks for your continued support, and for putting up with the clickety clack of the keyboard going off in your ear during early mornings and into the depths of night.

Natalie Gillespie. What would I do without you? Every single time I ask ‘how do you say this in England’ you put me right and correct my Kiwi-isms. Bless your cotton socks.

To my wonderful editor, Victoria Oundjian. Your suggestions, your advice, your thoughts are invaluable. You’re a treasure, and working with you is truly a pleasure.

For Daisy,

I love you to the ends of the ever-expanding universe.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Excerpt

Endpages

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Let’s have a festival, they said. It’ll be great for the town, they said. You’re head of the PTA, you’ll make a great festival committee head, they said.

Finally, she’d thought, relief easing the ever-present guilt that years ago had settled in the back of her mind, and deep in her heart. The chance I’ve been waiting for to right my wrongs.

Jody sank back into the village hall’s burnt-orange-coloured plastic chair and resisted the urge to bang her forehead repeatedly on the dirty, cream-coloured foldaway table before her. She’d known taking on the festival was going to be a big job, but she’d had no idea just how big. The admin alone was mind-boggling, but it was a walk in the park compared to dealing with the two women sitting before her.

‘People. Won’t. Come. If. We. Don’t. Have. Clowns.’ With every word, Shirley Harper banged the table with the flat of her palm, as if hoping she might knock some sense into her fellow festival committee members.

‘People. Won’t. Come. If. We. Do. Have. Clowns.’ Marjorie Hunter jabbed the air in Shirley’s direction, punctuating her point. ‘Clowns. Scare. People.’

Jody rubbed her temples, hoping to ease the throb that appeared every time they held a meeting. ‘What if we had one clown? A friendly looking one. They could juggle, make balloon animals. Do magic tricks?’ She put the idea out there and prayed it would stick.

‘One clown makes us look cheap.’ Mrs Harper folded her arms across her bosomy chest. ‘And we don’t do cheap in Rabbits Leap.’

Jody stifled a snort. Rabbits Leap didn’t do cheap? Since when? The town had been living on a shoestring for as long as she could remember. That was until her brother, Tony, and his fiancée, Mel, had breathed life into the old pub and attracted the attention of outsiders. Their success had seen the whole town wanting a bit of the action, and they’d decided the five-hundredth anniversary of the Rabbit Revolt was the perfect opportunity to bring people into the village – in the form of a festival. A way to bring money into businesses while fundraising to revive the community pool.

‘Are you sure we don’t do cheap, Shirley?’ Mrs Hunter’s eyes widened. An innocent look that belied the snide tone of her words. ‘Because those court shoes of yours hardly look like they’ve come from some fancy high-end store. Or maybe they did and I didn’t realise scuffed vinyl was in fashion…’

Mrs Harper’s chest puffed out in outrage. ‘I always thought you were a bit of a hoity-toity co—’

‘Ladies, ladies…’ Jody raised her hands in the hope of bringing the sniping to a halt. ‘Let’s not let something that’s meant to be fun become the opposite. We’re all friends, remember? And if we’re not friends, we’re still neighbours and we still have to—’

‘You two. Get off there. At once.’

The authoritative voice rumbled through the hall’s open doors, stopping Jody’s attempt at peacemaking in its tracks. She knew immediately who the directive was aimed at.

Oh God, what had the boys done now?

Jody scraped the chair back. The ugly screech of metal legs on wood had the unexpected affect of stopping Mrs Harper and Mrs Hunter from staring at each other mutinously, instead making them turn their attention to her.

‘I’ve got to go check on the boys. I’ll be back. Play nice,’ she ordered as she stalked out of the gloomy hall into the bright summer sun and hurried across the road to the park where she’d left the boys to play during the meeting.

‘If you two don’t get off there right now I shall come over and take you down myself.’

Jody broke into a trot. There was no way she was letting anyone touch her boys, whether they were misbehaving or not.

‘What’s going on over there?’ she called out, slowing down as she approached the back of Tyler and Jordan’s accuser – tall, broad shouldered and far too well dressed, in a crisp white polo shirt and khaki-coloured tailored cargo shorts, to be a local.

‘These two are climbing all over that sculpture. What if they damage it? Where are their parents? And shouldn’t they be in school?’

Jody stifled a snort as she looked at the ‘artwork’. The boys were hardly going to damage it considering it was made from stainless steel and built to withstand at least ten times their weight. When the parish council had decided to turn an empty lot into a communal area for people to relax or have picnics, she’d offered to donate an artwork that not only represented Rabbits Leap but also doubled as a piece of playground equipment. Why slide on a slide when you could slip down the back of a big steel rabbit in mid leap?

‘Do you know who they are? Can you get them off?’

The stranger turned to face Jody. His coffee-coloured eyes blazed with intensity, wiping the amused grin off her face. Who was this man, with those eyes that could pin a woman to a wall, lush lips that looked entirely too kissable, and… and why was she thinking about him like this? She didn’t do that. She’d trained herself to see men as women with an extra appendage. They weren’t sexy. She didn’t want to kiss them. And pinning her to the wall was out of the question.

Jody swallowed, hoping the act would return moisture to her parched throat. Return sanity. No such luck.

She forced herself to look away from the man, who was unknowingly questioning her parenting ability, and turned her attention to the boys.

‘Boys! You get your little backsides off there, right this instant.’ She watched the stranger’s reaction out of the corner of her eye as her mum-tone caught Jordan and Tyler’s attention.

‘Do we have to?’ Jordan pouted.

‘The slide’s the best thing about this park.’ Tyler made no effort to get down, and instead clambered up towards the top of the rabbit and sat between its ears.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t make me tell you twice.’

‘Oh, so these are your charges? You’re their nanny?’

Jody mashed her lips together and forced the laugh down. Nanny? Who had nannies in Rabbits Leap? Seriously, what world did this guy come from?

‘I’m their something,’ she replied, trying to keep a straight face.

One thump. Another. Followed by the soft patter of bare feet on lush green grass.

‘Mum.’ Jordan folded his skinny arms across his thin chest in disapproval. ‘You suck. That rabbit’s the only thing to play on.’

‘Yeah, you suck.’ Tyler echoed his older-by-four-minutes brother and drove the heel of his foot into the lawn, putting a dent in the turf. ‘There’s nothing else to do. We tried lying on the grass and making up cloud animals, but it got boooooring. Besides, it’s not a “sculpture”, it’s a slide. We’re allowed to play on it.’

‘You’re their mother?’ The handsome interloper turned towards Jody, his head angled in surprise. ‘You hardly look old enough. And are you going to just let that one tear up the grass?’

Jody drew in a breath in an attempt to keep her cool. ‘I’m well old enough, thank you very much.’ She raised a warning eyebrow at Tyler, who stilled his feet with an unimpressed glare.

‘You see, with the festival nearly here, everything must look perfect...’ The stranger stopped, and then took a step back. ‘Which is why I’m here, and I’m looking for someone. I don’t suppose you know Jody McArthur and where I could find her?’

Jody wavered between telling a lie and sending the man on his way, or telling the truth and having him save her bacon. An outraged squawk floated on the warm breeze from the direction of the hall. Damn it. She’d have to tell the truth.

‘Christian Middlemore, I presume?’

His eyes flared in surprise. ‘And you’ve come to this conclusion how?’

‘You’re the man who’s going to sort out this crazy festival mess we’ve got ourselves into. And I’m Jody McArthur, sculptor of that “damn rabbit”, and head of the festival committee.’ She thrust her hand forward. ‘I’m relieved to meet you.’

Christian’s lips parted in shock. ‘You? It was you who built that?’ He looked up at the ten-feet-tall rabbit, and then down at her, his eyebrow cocked in suspicion.

A knot of irritation formed in Jody’s stomach. Sure, she wasn’t Amazonian in height, but she was a respectable five-feet-six and knew her way around scaffolding.

She dropped her unshook hand to her side. ‘Yes, I sculpted it. You think I would lie?’ She gritted her teeth. What had she been thinking, bringing in this arrogant arse? Worse, using her own money – another act of quiet penance – to do it. Maybe the best idea would be to send him back to London. She’d just have to put her foot down and sort the festival out with an ‘it’s my way or the highway’ speech to the two Mrs H’s. ‘Look, Mr Middlemore…’

‘Call me Christian.’

‘Mr Middlemore. I’m sorry to do this to you, but we’re no longer in need of an event manager. I’m happy to pay the cost of your transport down here, and reimburse you for time lost, but—’

‘You’re firing me?’ Christian’s eyebrows arrowed together in surprise. ‘Already? Your online listing sounded desperate. And in your emails you said you were in need of a major bailout, and that if you didn’t get an event manager in soon the festival would be a flop. Something’s changed?’

Jody focused her gaze on the fairy lights dancing around Mel’s Café. Afraid if she glanced up at Christian he’d see the lies in her eyes. ‘That’s right. Everything is back on track.’

‘So, you don’t need help finding entertainment?’

‘It’s sorted.’

‘And you’ve organised parking and how tickets are to be taken.’

A pebble-shaped ball of anxiety formed in Jody’s stomach.

‘Uh-huh.’ She gave a little nod of agreement.

‘And you have someone who can work a sound system?’

The pebble began to take on a stone-like quality.

‘And the MC has been properly briefed?’

Stone? More like a boulder. A boulder that was making her feel more ill by the second.

‘And do you know you’ve gone quite green? Do you need to sit down? Shall I pop over to that café and get a takeaway cup of tea? A glass of water?’

God, why was he being so concerned? He was being fired. He should be angry with her, not offering to get her a cup of bloody tea.

‘You’ve gone a bit green too, Christian,’ Tyler piped up.

‘Yeah, and you’re sweating,’ said Jordan. ‘And it’s not even that hot. Look, Mum, the edges of his face are all wet.’

Jody snuck a peek at Christian out of the corner of her eye. The boys were right. He did look quite ill. Why? What was she missing?

‘I’m fine, boys. It’s a rather warm day. However, I do think your mother is being rash sending me back to London without having me check everything over. The festival may be looking in tip-top shape right now, it may even be perfect, but the last thing she or the town needs is a cock-up on the big day.’

Tyler giggled and elbowed Jordan. ‘He said “cock-up”!’

Jody closed her eyes and exhaled. Now she was going to be hearing those two words for the next week. Excellent. ‘Could you watch your language around my sons, please? They’re impressionable. And I promise you, we don’t need you. We’re fine. In fact, like you said, we’re perfect.’ She angled her chin upwards, defying him to question her one more time.

A screech of anger filled the air. ‘You’re a mean old cow and I can’t believe I ever forgave you for breaking my best crystal vase. Although I do wish I’d been the one to break it… over your head!’

Christian’s lips quirked.

Jody threw her head back and stared at the brilliant blue sky. ‘Those women are going to be the death of me,’ she muttered before facing Christian again.

Those lush lips of his had gone from quirked to pursed in obvious amusement. Jody itched to clamp her hand over his mouth to hide those twitching lips, the way she did with the boys when they stuck their tongues out or lifted their lips in a sneer.

‘Shall I get back in my car, or shall we go and sort things out?’ he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of those annoying, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-seeing-and-I-find-it-all-too-hilarious-for-words lips.

Jody paused. An image of the fundraising thermometer she’d painted for the town flickered in the back of her mind. The red ‘mercury’ was still sitting at next-to-nothing three years later despite her organising six book sales and monthly bingo nights. She might not want Christian Middlemore, but the town needed him if they were going to get the community pool up and running. Up and running? More like totally rebuilt.

‘Fine,’ she huffed, turning to head back to the hall. ‘Follow me. You boys stay out here. You’re too young to be exposed to what’s going on in there.’

Tyler nodded sagely. ‘Cock-ups. Lots of them.’

The clang of what sounded like a chair being thrown against the wall echoed out through the hall’s doors.

Christian bent down to the boys’ height. ‘Do as your mum says. But if you hear screaming, call the police.’ He winked and straightened up again.

Jody rolled her eyes. Who did this guy think he was telling her boys what to do? Well, if he tried to tell her what to do, he was going to find out very quickly who was in charge.

***

Christian stood beside Jody as she cleared her throat to get the committee’s attention. The committee being two women who looked to be in their mid fifties, and who were currently glaring at each other from across the room, an overturned chair between them.

‘Christian, I’d like you to meet my fellow committee members. In the left corner we have Marjorie Hunter. Marjorie runs a dairy farm with her husband and their daughter, Serena. Marjorie’s also on the committee for the Farmer of the Year Awards.’

A soft snort came from the other woman. ‘More like the Failure of the Year Awards.’

Jody lifted an eyebrow. ‘Shirley.’ Her tone was sharp enough to make the woman drop her eyes to the floor.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

Jody McArthur might look youthful, with her blonde curls bobbing about her shoulders and that spaghetti-strapped sunshine-yellow sundress floating about her tanned and rather firm-looking mid thighs, Christian noted, but she wasn’t to be messed with. Or trifled with. And he got the feeling she wasn’t to be flirted with. Which wasn’t a problem, not when she had two lust-killers playing outside. He didn’t do happy families, he worked. He succeeded. He only ever did his best. The best. Anything less was unacceptable.

‘And in the right corner we have Shirley Harper. Shirley is an active member of Rabbits Leap. She’s raised three sons here. She does a little housekeeping here and there. Volunteers at all the school fundraisers…’

‘And thinks she’s the Queen of the Leap because one of her sons just happens to be a sporting bigwig.’ Marjorie’s lip lifted in a sneer directed at her adversary.

‘Well, at least he’s done something with his life. What’s your girl done? Not a lot from what I can gather. Partied a lot. Travelled the globe at someone else’s expense. Had to come home and work on the farm because of her fail—’

‘Which is where she belongs.’ Mrs Hunter cut her off, nostrils flaring in warning. ‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re wrong and your place is at home. Serena just took some time to come round to the idea. And she’s doing great things on the farm. She’ll be nominated in the Young Farmer category this year for sure. And she’ll win it.’

Was it Christian’s imagination or did that last statement lack conviction? He glanced at Jody, who was shaking her head, eyes heavenward. She didn’t need a miracle to manage these two. She needed him. Lucky for her, and unfortunately for him, he had nowhere else to be.

‘So that’s the committee? All of them?’ he asked.

‘Well, we do get the odd straggler come and sit in and give us their opinion, which we take onboard. The more the merrier. It’s a democracy and all that. But we’re the core team.’

Christian nodded. ‘I see.’ Except he didn’t. Their festival was being run as a democracy? People wandered in and gave their opinions and expected to be listened to? No wonder Jody had decided to hire an event manager. They didn’t need direction, they needed a director. And he was just that.

He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and marched across the room to where the thrown chair had fallen, set it on its feet and straddled it. ‘So, what have you got for me so far? What’s pinned down? What needs final confirmation?’

The women glanced at each other. Bottom lips were chomped down on. Arms folded defensively. Eyes faced any which way but his.

‘Well…’ The top of Jody’s foot twisted back and forth on the faded oak floors. ‘We’ve had some thoughts. We’ve contacted a couple of people.’

‘And we’ve got town clearance to use the entire main street,’ Mrs Harper added.

‘We’ve nearly got town clearance,’ Mrs Hunter interjected. ‘We’ve got one holdout. The butcher, John Thompson. He’s worried people will be too busy having a good time to bother coming in to buy his meat.’

Mrs Harper tapped the side of her nose. ‘I could threaten to reveal to the town that he likes to wear ladies’ knickers underneath his butcher’s apron.’

‘He doesn’t!’ Mrs Hunter’s jaw dropped.

Mrs Harper shrugged. ‘I did housework for him a couple of times. He asked me not to do the laundry but I had a few minutes spare and figured I may as well help the man out. Didn’t expect to see some rather large lacy numbers in there. I mean, they could’ve been his wife’s, but then he doesn’t have one…’

‘So, does he know you know?’ Mrs Hunter bustled over to the table and picked up her handbag.

‘I’m guessing so. Every time he sees me he goes red as a tomato, and he always throws in an extra pack of sausages with the weekly meat order.’ Mrs Harper shook her head. ‘Not that I’d say anything. It’s none of my business what he wears under his trou. And besides, it’s nice to know the old grump has a softer side. All that killing and processing of meat could harden a man, I’m sure. It’s nice he hasn’t let it. Now, shall we go for a cup of tea, Marj? All this planning has left me quite dry.’

‘A cup of tea would go down a treat, Shirl. Great idea. Maybe even a scone.’

‘With lashings of cream and oodles of jam.’ Mrs Harper rubbed her rounded stomach.

Christian couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Not two minutes ago the two women had been handbags at dawn, and now they had their arms linked and were off for a spot of tea? And they called that fierce argument a discussion? Who were these people and what had he got himself into?

‘Want to come, Jody?’ Mrs Hunter called over her shoulder. ‘We’ll treat the boys to an ice cream.’

‘You go on, we’ll catch up later. I’ll finish briefing Mr Middlemore here.’ She waved goodbye to the women and then turned back to Christian. ‘So, where were we?’

‘We were discussing what’s been confirmed for the festival.’

‘Oh, yeah, that…’ Jody became very interested in the grain of the wooden floors.

Christian’s gut twisted. Not a good thing. His gut only twisted when something very bad was going on, when failure was on the horizon. A feeling he’d only felt once as bad as this… at his most recent event, where disaster had struck due to one moment of inattention. His fault completely. And once word got out he’d be a laughing stock. Not just to those in the industry, but to those who were meant to be his nearest and dearest. This job, this festival, was a way to try and prove to himself he wasn’t washed up, that he was still the best. There was no way he was going to bugger it up. Or let anything or anyone bugger it up for him. Without his career he had nothing, was nothing.

‘So just how much have you got organised. What’s a definite yes?’ Jody’s face, pink with a mixture of embarrassment and shame, gave him his answer. ‘Nothing? Not a single thing?’

‘Well, like I said, it’s a democracy. But we couldn’t decide on anything. Except for Welly-wanging.’