Brainstorming.
Well,
not so much brainstorming, as brain-draining, Vera thought. Petronella
had suggested holding the session so they could decide on a design for June’s
post box topper display.
The
alien coronation topper they’d created for May would be hard to beat, and many
eyes would be upon them. Petronella was now poised with a felt tip pen over the
large piece of paper laid on their usual table in Bonzer Buns. Much of it was
covered in words and arrows but little of it would be any use.
Stuart
puffed himself up to his most pompous. ‘Well, obviously, we’ll have lots of
flowers, and since my roses were so successful in the February Valentine's Day
Topper, I’ll volunteer to knit some more.’
Vera’s
sharp eyes intercepted the dismayed gazes between Petronella, Levi and Sally.
Stuart’s knitted creations had borne as much similarity to delicate, velvet
roses, as frayed, tarry rope did to silk thread. But thankfully, no one had pointed
that out – so far. Vera thought it was probably only a matter of time...
‘Flowers?
No,’ said Levi firmly. ‘That's too predictable.’
‘But
nothing says June like summer flowers,’ Stuart protested.
‘How
about saying June in poetry?’ Sally asked.
Stuart
scoffed, ‘You mean like the moon in June? The only other things I can think of
to rhyme with June are spoon and croon.’
‘Well
recently I've been trying my hand at poetry,’ said Sally. ‘And I think it can
be done.’
Vera
barely suppressed a groan. She suspected Sally had been writing love poems and
her fears were confirmed when Sally gazed lovingly at Levi and pointed out his
name didn't rhyme with anything. Thankfully, if he'd noticed he said nothing.
Am
I getting too old for this?
Vera wondered. Her position as chairperson of the Creaping Bottom Post Box
Topper Society was becoming harder to maintain. There was so much to think
about, especially since the May topper had been featured in the national press.
Stuart was becoming increasingly difficult to control… She was growing weary.
Perhaps one more month and then she’d resign?
‘June,
soon, moon, spoon, croon.’ Petronella wrote the words on her brainstorming
paper.
Stuart
wore his most patronising expression. ‘Are you suggesting we knit a moon and a
spoon? I suppose someone with a lot of experience like me might manage that,
but how do you propose we represent croon?’
‘Where
there’s a will…’ said Levi.
‘Let’s
move on,’ Vera said hoping to steer the conversation away from Sally’s poetry,
as well as from random objects that rhymed with June.
There
was silence for a few moments as everyone pursued their own thoughts.
‘Tune?’
suggested Levi.
‘How
do you knit a tune?’ Stuart asked.
‘I
was just saying, tune rhymes with June.’
More
silence.
Beryl
approached the table. ‘More coffee anyone?’
Well,
thank goodness for that,
thought Vera. By the time everyone had ordered coffee and Darwin Dream Puffs –
Beryl’s cake of the day – all thoughts of moons, spoons, and crooning tunes
would be forgotten.
Beryl
brought their order and as she placed the last mug on the table, she said, ‘Prune.
And balloon. Oh, and baboon.’
Vera
decided enough was enough.
‘Well,
since this is only a brainstorming session, let’s not get carried away along
one avenue of possibility. Would someone care to come up with something else
that screams June, but doesn’t rhyme with it?’
‘Weddings,’
said Sally with a gaze from beneath her lashes at Levi. ‘June is the month for
weddings.’
Like
a tyre with a puncture, Vera felt her enthusiasm – and her will to live –
escape in a whoosh. This was turning into Sally’s veiled declaration of love to
Levi. Surely Petronella, the practical one, would steer them back towards
sense.
‘I
think that’s a marvellous idea,’ Petronella said. ‘We could knit all the
figures in a wedding ceremony.’
‘With
lots of summer flowers like roses,’ Stuart added, his eyes alight with
excitement.
Even
Levi nodded his approval.
Vera
considered bringing forward her resignation as chairperson. She’d almost lost
control of the meeting again. Surely, it was time for her to go? On the other
hand, the more she thought about it, the more Sally had a point. June was a
month for weddings. And perhaps, with a little imagination, she could rein in
Sally’s overexuberance.
No,
she wasn’t ready to relinquish her grasp of the society. And realistically what
else would she do with her time if she resigned her chairpersonship? As soon as
A Godbin learnt she’d moved on, he’d divert his complaining emails to whoever
took over. With surprise, Vera realised she’d miss them. They made her hackles
rise, but they gave her a reason to get up in the morning with the
determination to carry on.
‘But
it can’t be just any old wedding,’ Petronella said. ‘Remember, the eyes of the
world are upon us after our alien coronation topper. We need something with
just as much je ne sais quoi. And even more pzazz.’
Vera’s
voice came out in a squeak. ‘You’re not suggesting an alien wedding, are you? Or
a wedding between an alien and a human?’ That would throw up all sorts of moral
issues. What would Reverend Prendergast say?
‘No,’
said Petronella. ‘Definitely not. I’d rather forget about aliens. What I mean
is we need an extra ingredient that nobody else has thought of.’
Four
pairs of eyes stared at her blankly.
How
could they come up with something nobody had ever thought of? Gradually,
everyone’s gaze slid towards Levi, who was now staring at the ceiling as if
receiving a message from above.
Well,
he was the creative one. If anyone could know quoi and come up
with an idea that nobody else could think of, it would be Levi.
‘How
about something that would ensure people wanted to have their photograph taken
next to our topper?’ he said finally.
‘Such
as?’ Vera was disappointed. People already did selfies by their post box toppers.
She’d hoped for something more pzazzy than that.
With
a faraway look in his eyes, Levi added, ‘I was thinking we could knit a bride
and a groom—’
‘Well,
obviously,’ Stuart said snippily. ‘How can you have a wedding without a bride
and groom?’
‘No,
wait!’ Levi stretched out one arm, his finger pointing as if he could see a
vision. ‘What I mean is an almost life-size bride and groom – well, post box
sized, anyway.’
Vera
had bought into his vision so completely that on hearing such stupidity, she
once again felt like a deflated tyre. ‘We can’t possibly have anything so large
on top of a post box. The wind will simply blow it over.’
‘Not
3-D stuffed figures on top of the post box. I meant 2-D, knitted bride and
groom panels dangling down either side. What we’d do is attach their heads to
the topper bonnet and let them hang down. We’ll attach some weights on their feet,
so they won’t blow about. Passers-by can link arms with the knitted figure and
have their photos taken.
‘I
think that’s a Bonzer idea,’ said Beryl, who’d crept up to listen. ‘That would certainly
bring the crowds.’ Her eyes lit up at the prospect of all those thirsty, hungry
potential customers in her café.
The
more Vera thought about it, the more Levi’s idea appealed.
‘Well
done, Levi, I think your idea has legs,’ said witty, Petronella.
Everyone
laughed except Stuart. ‘Well of course they’ll have legs. You can’t have a
legless bride and groom. But d’you think we’ll be allowed to attach anything to
the side of the post box?’
‘Well,
we’re not blocking the aperture, so I don’t see why not. And I can always check
with the postmistress first,’ Petronella said.
Tilly pushed open the door to the café, her usual
bored expression replaced by a look of astonishment.
‘You’re late,’ Beryl growled. ‘I don’t pay you to
bludge.’
‘I’ve just been at Hurrah House seeing Nan and
you’ll never guess what…’
‘I
don’t pay you to keep me guessing, either,’ Beryl said. ‘There are tables to
clean.’
‘There
was nearly a punch-up between your cleaner, Effie, and one of the old dears,’
Tilly blurted out.
That
caught Beryl’s attention. ‘Fair dinkum?’
‘Yeah.
It was Effie and the weird old bag who lives next to my Nan. They almost ended
up in a fight. Apparently, Effie snuck into her flat to empty the bin. You know
how she can’t keep her hands off rubbish. And the old bag, who’d been down to
check the post, came back and found her. You should have heard the language…’
Ten minutes later, during which time Levi had drawn
several sketches of the knitted bride and groom panels that would dangle from
the topper’s bonnet, Effie entered the café.
She
was quivering. Her face contorted with rage.
‘I’ve
never been so insulted in my life,’ she said, one sausage-fingered hand against
her chest. ‘I think I’ll have an oat milk latte with honey and two shots of
caramel syrup, please Beryl. I need something to calm myself down. That Alice
woman is the rudest person I’ve ever met. I was trying to do her a favour. And
she turned on me.
‘She’s
just a weirdo,’ Tilly said in an unfamiliar show of solidarity with Effie. ‘I
shouldn’t take no notice. My nan says she’s a right old misery. Never joins in
with anyone. And if someone knocks at her door, she won’t open it. She talks to
them through the crack. I reckon she’s got dead bodies hidden in there.’
‘That
wouldn’t surprise me at all.’ Effie sniffed with the air of a martyr. ‘It
didn’t smell too good in there either, which is why I wanted to clear out her
bin for her. My brother, Des, who’s in the flat on the other side of her, says
she might be quiet when she’s in the lounge with everyone else, but when she’s
in her flat, she’s really noisy. Tapping and whirring. He thinks she chops up
fruit and puts the bits in one of them blenders what you make smoothies in. A
health nut. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was right. She’s stronger than she
looks – she had my arm up behind my back before I knew it and frogmarched me
out of her flat.’
‘I
bet she’s a secret mass murderer,’ Tilly said. ‘She probably chops up the
bodies and then puts the bits in the—’
‘That’s
enough!’ Beryl said. ‘This is a respectable establishment we don’t need to talk
about…’ She mouthed, dead bodies. ‘I’m sure you’ve got tables to clear,
Tilly. And, Effie, I’ll get you a double espresso with oat milk and all the
trimmings. And a Darwin Dream Puff. And if you stop talking about…’ She mouthed,
dead bodies, ‘I’ll bring you two puffs.’
Despite the inauspicious start of
the brainstorming session, everyone agreed, the June, wedding-themed topper was
a huge success. Even the Reverend Prendergast had stopped Vera in Snyde’s Butchers
and complimented her on the display. It appeared to have prompted several
couples to book their ceremonies at All Saints’ Church.
Thankfully,
as far as Vera was concerned, Levi and Sally had not been one of those couples.
Not that Vera wanted to keep them apart, but their relationship – such as it
was – could be thought of as very one-sided, and eventually, Sally was bound to
be disappointed. Levi lived for his art And Vera was certain it would never
have worked out.
Once
again, tourists had begun to arrive in Creaping Bottom to have a photograph
taken next to the post box. Men and women queued up to link arms with either
the bride panel on one side of the post box, or the groom panel on the other.
Although
the postmistress, Miss Witter, had initially given her permission, she later
claimed she hadn’t understood exactly what would be involved. She was often to
be found outside the post office with hands planted on hips, frowning at the
queue next to her post box. But nobody else had complained.
Well,
that wasn’t quite true. Of course, A. Godbin had sent Vera an angry email. She
grinned at the thought. He’d accused the June post box topper of being
sacrilegious and had told her he intended to inform the Archbishop of
Canterbury who’d personally put a stop to the nonsense.
Vera
had laughed out loud. She assumed the archbishop had more important things on
his mind. And anyway, unknown to A. Godbin, the Reverend Prendergast, one of
the archbishop’s minions, had already praised her for extolling the virtues of
marriage.
Vera
wasn’t sure the topper was such a wonderful example for marriage, anyway. It
appeared to be more of an excuse for putting a photo on the Instagram –
whatever that was. Tilly had explained, but it still made no sense to Vera. Tilly
also stressed photos must be accompanied by some sort of hashtag code –
#CreapingBottomWedding. Vera took her word for it. She had no idea what, nor
where the Instagram was. Neither did she know what trending meant. But Tilly
had been impressed and had even posed next to the groom. She’d wrapped his
knitted arm around hers and with the silly pout she assumed when she took a
selfie, she’d snapped herself.
The month of June also saw a bizarre alliance form
between Tilly and Effie. They’d joined forces, both firmly believing that
Alice, the woman who lived between Effie’s brother, Des, and Tilly’s Nan, Dora,
was a mass murderer. They were taking it in turns to keep her under
surveillance.
When
Vera pointed out, there had been no murders in the area, for as long as she
could remember, the unlikely pair of sleuths were forced to reconsider. The
following day, a dog went missing, and they suggested Alice was the culprit.
After all, they pointed out, how many pets went missing each week? She could be
responsible for all of them.
Privately,
Vera didn’t think many pets went missing at all. Certainly not enough to feed
the blender that both Des and Dora could hear whirring away, well into the
night, as well as the tapping and chopping.
But
so long as Effie and Tilly were on friendly terms, Beryl was reasonably content
– and as for Vera, she didn’t care. She had problems of her own. The bride and
groom knitted panels were proving so popular they’d become rather tatty.
The
members of the society had already replaced both figures twice and there were
still another few days of June left.
Would
they last until the July topper was ready? It was looking unlikely. And what’s
more the wedding ceremony taking place on the top had been disturbed too. Not
vandalised, exactly – just disturbed. The figures hadn’t been removed, but they
were somewhat…well… crushed. Why somebody would squash their post box topper
figures wasn’t clear. And there had been rubbish on the topper too. Bits of
vegetation too heavy to have blown up there, so, somebody must’ve deliberately
dumped it on top. It was very disappointing that someone could be so spiteful.
Each
morning Vera arrived in Creaping Bottom High Road with a dustpan and brush. She
carefully plumped up the knitted figures in the wedding ceremony on the top and
brushed away the debris.
But
at last, some good news. Ravi from Gadgets-A-Go-Go promised Beryl her laptop
would be ready by the last Thursday in June. The technician would then return
to ensure the CCTV camera worked and recorded footage.
By
Friday morning, Vera would know who the culprit was. Assuming Beryl’s laptop
didn’t blow up again, of course. Vera controlled her urge to skip as she made
her way, handbag over her arm, and dustpan and brush in her hand, towards the
post box. She would soon know the identity of A. Godbin.
On Friday morning, Sally,
Petronella, Stuart, Levi and Vera sat around the laptop in Bonzer Buns, holding
their breath as Beryl located the CCTV software and rewound the footage.
That
morning there’d been a hole in the bride panel as if someone had slashed it
with something sharp. The groom had also been torn and there’d been quite a lot
of rubbish as if someone had picked up a handful of leaves and other litter and
thrown it on the top of the post box.
Could
A. Godbin have been so petty? Honestly, what was wrong with the man?
All
eyes were on Beryl’s screen.
So
far so good. The laptop whirred gently and although Vera sniffed, afraid of detecting
the smell of hot plastic or metal, it appeared to be working perfectly.
‘Here,’
said Beryl, stopping the video and pressing play. They all leaned in, their
heads side-by-side. Vera noted Sally had sat next to Levi and leaned her head
against his, but Vera wasn’t concerned. Everyone’s undivided attention was on
the laptop screen. They watched in silence as the perpetrators… yes, not one,
but several – damaged their June post box topper display. When all had become
clear, they leaned back in their seats.
‘Well,’
Vera said finally. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
Her
words prompted everyone to speak at once. Beryl went to fetch coffee and slices
of Adelaide Angel Cake.
Vera
sighed. She’d been so certain she’d uncover the identity of A. Godbin. On the
other hand – and quite perversely – she wondered whether it was a good thing he
hadn’t been involved. She still had that mystery to solve. And solve it she
would.
But
in the meantime, the vandals of the June topper had been uncovered.
Squirrels.
They’d
used the two knitted panels as ladders and had scrambled to the top, to sit up
there eating nuts and doing whatever squirrels do in the middle of the night.
Vera
began to laugh, and the others joined in. Well, there were only a few more days
left in June and then they’d replace the wedding scene with the July topper. And
A. Godbin was still out there, possibly poised to send her another aggravating
email. One day, she’d have the satisfaction of tracking him down and exposing
him.
Vera
raised a toast with her coffee to the Creaping Bottom Post Box Society. The
others echoed her words.
Oh
yes, Vera
thought to herself, as aggravating as the post of chairperson is, I love
every minute.
To read the previous stories in this series:
Part 1 – Post Box Topper Outrage – https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2023/02/the-post-box-topper-outrage-by-dawn.html
Part 2 – Post Box Topper Surveillance – https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2023/02/post-box-topper-surveillance-by-dawn.html
Part 3 – Post Box Topper Confusion – https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2023/03/post-box-topper-confusion-by-dawn-knox.html
Part 4 – Post Box Topper Shock – https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2023/04/the-post-box-topper-shock-by-dawn-knox.html
Part 5 – Post Box Topper Triumph
– https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2023/04/the-post-box-topper-triumph-by-dawn.html
