think this really is the only option – that the event itself must alter in order to secure a new venue. My feeling–- supported by key members of the show committee – is that we make this year’s competition a more selective event. It’s something some of us have been suggesting for some time and it feels that now, with this necessary change, that the time has come.’
While there were a couple of nods up at the front, the general murmurs of the crowd suggested they weren’t entirely convinced by this idea. ‘With this in mind,’ he went on, ‘We find ourselves looking for much smaller spaces for the competition and the possibility of creating something much more upmarket. I’ve already had a word with Barney from The Dog and Cherry and he’s happy to allow his function room to host the event. I know a lot of you have been working very hard to take part in this year’s show, but I think this really is not only the only option, but the best option. Yes, Jane?’ Jonathan nodded towards Jane’s upraised hand.
‘I thought the point of the Cherry Pie Show was exactly that it did include everyone. If we make it select then we make it elitist and the heart goes out of it. Even when my mum could barely get out of bed she would make pie for the bake off—’
‘There won’t be a bake off.’ Jonathan shook his head.
‘Are you kidding?’ Jane frowned. ‘What about the home crafts section?’ Jonathan shook his head. ‘The Young Photographer Award? Jonathan, you can’t just cut certain events that people look forward to all year?’
‘Jane.’ He held up a hand. ‘Let’s not get too emotional—’
‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Jane waved his comment away and took a couple of steps backwards.
Jonathan carried on. ‘We have to work within the parameters, I’m afraid, Jane. I know there are people dabbling in handicraft who want their patchworks to be seen by everyone, but we have to see what the big hitters are and that’s always the flowers and the vegetables. The committee will decide on the select criteria of entry.’
Annie turned away, rubbing her hand over her face. ‘I cannot believe I’m related to him,’ she sighed.
Emily was watching the crowd – Martha shaking her head with her eyes closed, Jane flushed pink on her cheekbones, visibly fuming, two elderly ladies in the middle of the crowd whispering, Annie's mum looking round anxiously, a couple of the guys in the front, including Jack’s brother Ed and his dad, all had their hands raised to ask questions.
She thought of her evening with Annie and Jane the night before and tried to remember when the last time she’d made a new friend was. She had hundreds of acquaintances but who, in the last five years, had she talked to quite so frankly about Giles? No one. She’d seen
“A friend said…”
written in front of enough quotes about her in the papers to stop talking honestly to anyone just in case. Yet last night, as the tea lights flickered and the bunting flapped, they’d sat there into the night talking like they’d all known each other for ever. It wasn’t just Emily who’d opened up, but Annie had talked about what it was like having a new stepson in River and how hard it was to get Matt and him talking like equals. Jane had sipped her wine and slowly said more about what it was like living with her dying mother. And Emily had seen in her – the woman who had turned up in crappy clothes and who she’d instantly judged as having a sweet but dismissible demeanour – a core of strength that came from watching a person you love deteriorate. Her whole life held on pause so her mother could have her final years as she wanted them.
Would Emily have done that for her mum, she had wondered as she lay in bed. Their relationship was full of so many little knots burrowed too deep to even try and untie. A lifetime of Emily’s hatred of the different stepfathers she’d had to endure duelling with her mother’s insistence on getting
While there were a couple of nods up at the front, the general murmurs of the crowd suggested they weren’t entirely convinced by this idea. ‘With this in mind,’ he went on, ‘We find ourselves looking for much smaller spaces for the competition and the possibility of creating something much more upmarket. I’ve already had a word with Barney from The Dog and Cherry and he’s happy to allow his function room to host the event. I know a lot of you have been working very hard to take part in this year’s show, but I think this really is not only the only option, but the best option. Yes, Jane?’ Jonathan nodded towards Jane’s upraised hand.
‘I thought the point of the Cherry Pie Show was exactly that it did include everyone. If we make it select then we make it elitist and the heart goes out of it. Even when my mum could barely get out of bed she would make pie for the bake off—’
‘There won’t be a bake off.’ Jonathan shook his head.
‘Are you kidding?’ Jane frowned. ‘What about the home crafts section?’ Jonathan shook his head. ‘The Young Photographer Award? Jonathan, you can’t just cut certain events that people look forward to all year?’
‘Jane.’ He held up a hand. ‘Let’s not get too emotional—’
‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Jane waved his comment away and took a couple of steps backwards.
Jonathan carried on. ‘We have to work within the parameters, I’m afraid, Jane. I know there are people dabbling in handicraft who want their patchworks to be seen by everyone, but we have to see what the big hitters are and that’s always the flowers and the vegetables. The committee will decide on the select criteria of entry.’
Annie turned away, rubbing her hand over her face. ‘I cannot believe I’m related to him,’ she sighed.
Emily was watching the crowd – Martha shaking her head with her eyes closed, Jane flushed pink on her cheekbones, visibly fuming, two elderly ladies in the middle of the crowd whispering, Annie's mum looking round anxiously, a couple of the guys in the front, including Jack’s brother Ed and his dad, all had their hands raised to ask questions.
She thought of her evening with Annie and Jane the night before and tried to remember when the last time she’d made a new friend was. She had hundreds of acquaintances but who, in the last five years, had she talked to quite so frankly about Giles? No one. She’d seen
“A friend said…”
written in front of enough quotes about her in the papers to stop talking honestly to anyone just in case. Yet last night, as the tea lights flickered and the bunting flapped, they’d sat there into the night talking like they’d all known each other for ever. It wasn’t just Emily who’d opened up, but Annie had talked about what it was like having a new stepson in River and how hard it was to get Matt and him talking like equals. Jane had sipped her wine and slowly said more about what it was like living with her dying mother. And Emily had seen in her – the woman who had turned up in crappy clothes and who she’d instantly judged as having a sweet but dismissible demeanour – a core of strength that came from watching a person you love deteriorate. Her whole life held on pause so her mother could have her final years as she wanted them.
Would Emily have done that for her mum, she had wondered as she lay in bed. Their relationship was full of so many little knots burrowed too deep to even try and untie. A lifetime of Emily’s hatred of the different stepfathers she’d had to endure duelling with her mother’s insistence on getting
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