Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [66]
Just as well the fish hadn’t been a prize winner.
With owners and pets lined up in front of the terrace with Miss McEwan head and shoulders below but several feet ahead of the others, the last, excruciating notes of the band faded away.
The vicar strode forward, a large benevolent smile curled across a full-moon face framed in a shock of sandy hair. ‘So sorry not to have introduced myself earlier,’ he whispered, shaking my hand vigorously while thrusting a mike in the other. ‘But please do announce the winners.’ He stepped back and stood, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted to one side, waiting.
Miss McEwan waved her purse to and fro, Mr Lucas bared his gleaming white tombstones while Jane Bradshaw’s right forefinger repeatedly jabbed the beefy biceps of her left arm.
‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure …’ I said, waving the microphone inches below my chin. The Tannoy hissed and crackled feebly.
‘Speak up, mate,’ someone called out from the back. ‘We can’t hear you.’
The vicar jolted from his meditative stance and sprung behind the band. ‘Is that any better?’ I heard him call out.
I cleared the frog in my throat. The sound leapt out of the Tannoy like an army of frogs in jack boots. The front row visibly flinched, but I continued, saying how gratifying it was to have had so many entries – a raspberry from Cedric here – and what a high standard and how difficult it had been to decide on the three winners – another raspberry – but here were the three winners in reverse order – silence from Cedric at this point. I called out the third and second prize winners and they received their envelopes of money amidst polite applause.
‘And now for the Champion Pet …’ I paused for dramatic effect, keeping my eyes off the three mafiosi in front of me. ‘This goes to a little lad and his Labrador, Cindy. Would Thomas Venables kindly step up.’
An audible murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. I looked at the vicar whose mouth had dropped open, his face rapidly turning puce.
The lad emerged from the crowd and trotted up on to the terrace, Cindy trotting beside him. ‘Here, Dad, could you hold on to Cindy while I collect my prize?’ he said, handing the Labrador’s lead to the vicar, who dithered a moment before taking the dog. Cindy greeted him with a frenzied wag of her tail.
The applause was muted as Thomas received his envelope of money and I even thought I heard someone shout, ‘Fixed!’ Certainly Miss McEwan, Mr Lucas and Jane Bradshaw never clapped. They were mentally knifing me by the look of daggers in their eyes. And even Reverend Charles had a hint of steel in the look he gave me as he bade me farewell. Clearly, he was not over the moon about my decision despite the beneficent smile fixed to his face.
If I expected sympathy for my faux pas, I was sadly mistaken. Beryl crowed with laughter when I related the events of the afternoon. Eric bounced up and down with a chuckle. Lucy and Mandy just showed how immature they both were by rolling around, clutching themselves and howling, tears streaming down their faces.
Only Crystal showed a decent level of concern and sympathy – just as I would have expected of such a cool, calm, elegant lady.
‘Poor boy,’ she said, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder, those gorgeous blue eyes of hers gazing tenderly into mine. ‘What an ordeal it must have been.’ Her lips started to quiver, her eyes began to glisten. ‘I’m sorry, Paul … but …’ she choked. She bit her lip … a tear rolled down. There, see? She knew just how I’d felt. Any minute now, more tears of sympathy would begin to roll. And they did – in bucketloads