Cravendish
CHAPTER FIVE
A big bold gaudy poster bullied smaller ones on the notice board of the Council Committee Meeting Room, demanding the attention of idle eyes, such as Cravendish's right at that moment, with the sure and certain knowledge that there was an argument under way, with some distance left to run. 'Blooming Towns Competition', the big poster said. 'Is your town blooming?', it asked. Cravendish didn't have a ready answer for this question, so turned his attention to the conflict before him. The room echoed uncomfortably amongst the chipboard tables, linked together with nothing to hold them in place, that made up the paper-strewn Committee Table. No expense was spent. It never was, but the Christmas Bonuses remained profitable, however.
Cravendish caught the argument mid-flow.
"Well, the whole place needs renovating! Just look at the seafront -" This man was unnecessarily grumpy, if his loud yellow trousers were anything of an indication to the contrary.
"You'd have us dig up the beach, just so there's more carparking space!" The second man looked as though he either worked for a funeral directors, or had recently returned from a grave side.
"Rubbish! You know, you make these suppositions about me -"
"That's because I know you, Sid!" said the one who was not Sid.
"And I know you too, Dutch!" explained the one who was Sid.
Dutch was incensed, "Don't call me that! You know I don't like that name!"
"Aww poor Dutch!" mocked Sid.
"Right, that's it!" said the one called, but didn't like to be referred to as such, Dutch, rising from his plastic seated chair. The orange contraption was marked in places by obvious stress of over-active use.
Another of the small group in the Meeting-cum-Activity Room, somewhat older than the other two, and bearing a familiarity borne of genetics, spoke up. His name was, unsurprisingly, Colin, "Okay, okay! Let's all just calm it down a notch, huh?"
Dutch couldn't help stick one final nail into a very long running and once youthful piece of wood, "Stick it up your nose, Sid!"
Cravendish felt they were largely getting off the point and responded in the only way he knew how, "Uhm -"
Thankfully there were people with more volume, vocabulary and very loud whistles to call the warring factions to peace, "Come on people!" said Claire Ditherall, "A bit of decorum, eh?"
Cravendish wished one of two things would happened right at that moment - that either the ground would open up and swallow him whole, or that he could command that much respect, or at least loudness in a whistle, "Yes, thanks Claire. Uhm -"
But she wasn't finished, "I've got work to get back to, okay?" she expressed to those present.
Joyce Kindling rather revelled in the arthritic dealings of Council Department budget limits, and represented the part of the Council's stance that was solidly against progress in every innovative venture in the betterance of Brayburn for its people. She took her opportunity to speak, "Right. You're right. Now that's done, we turn our attention to item thirty-seven-bee; yes, the coastline is in desperate need of rapid renovation, including the caves - of that at least, are we all agreed?"
Sid didn't read the memorandums sent to the Committee Members. He didn't trust his email account, since he sent some money to African Royalty a few years back, "What about the 'Blooming Towns' Competition? Are we to talk about that too?"
Dutch rolled his eyes ceiling-ward, "Of course we are Sid! You really are as stupid as you look."
"Hush Dutch." spat Sid contemptuously.
Dutch flashed violence in his staccato reply, "One more time and I swear -"
Sid was relentless, and ever so slightly childish in his approach, "Dutch, Dutch, Dutch, Dutch, Dutch, Dutch, Dutch, Dutch, Dutch!"
"I hate you!"
"Feeling's mutual."
Colin's intervention was needed for amelioration, "If you two aren't going to take this seriously, then so help me -"
"Sorry Dad." chorused the boys.
"Alright. After you." Colin gestured for Joyce to continue.
Her face showed Joyce was as tangled in confusion as much as the next person, who happened to be Cravendish, "Well, right, okay."
Like the meeting of two people in similar minds, Claire and Cravendish exchanged a look, suggestive on Claire's behalf of the amusement that was so obviously felt in the room, crowned with one of her trademark smiles. She turned back, but Cravendish was transfixed, feeling a moment of mutual understanding had passed between the two of them in some kind of soul simpatico that fed his heart with longing and a renewed desire, only broken by the insistent and unsympathetic tones of Joyce The Councillor.
"So, we are all agreed? Show of hands? Passed. See you there, Cravendish. Or should I say, I won't see you there?"
Cravendish shook the fluff from his brain with the rapidity of confusion, "Right! Erm -"
Claire reached over and put her gentle hand on Cravendish's sleeve, like she was about to leave an indelible print of her palm there. She leaned over conspiratorially and smiled once more, "Wish I could be there with you, but its like the middle of the night for me." Cravendish smiled a reply, and felt something had been decided in his absentia from compos mentis. But, oh, what a smile!
No comments:
Post a Comment