Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year. Bella Osborne
little town was humming with activity as yet more cars squeezed into the already overfilled place. Daisy had wrestled her wayward hair into a flowery bandana and put on the only summer dress she owned. They joined the throng of people heading towards the recreation ground.
Daisy was stopped at the gates by an overly smiley woman. ‘Fifty pence entry, please.’
‘What?’ said Daisy astonished. ‘You’re charging people actual money to come in?’ Daisy chuckled but she handed over her entrance fee and took the proffered leaflet.
‘It’s a shame Coral couldn’t come,’ said Tamsyn, appearing at her side. Today she was wearing a bustier top, floaty skirt and flip-flops that didn’t match.
‘She’s saved herself fifty pence – that’s very wise.’ Daisy scanned the leaflet. It was a timetable of events. ‘Events’ seemed a bit grand for the local fête.
‘I’m going to look at the buggy racing first and later the falconry display,’ said Tamsyn. ‘You coming?’
‘Buggy racing?’ It was like being in a parallel universe where Ottercombe Bay had woken up to the wonders of the twentieth century – still a century behind but, hey, it was progress, thought Daisy. Clearly the fête had advanced somewhat since she’d last been. She followed Tamsyn with a spring in her step and her expectations raised.
Although Daisy couldn’t argue that there was buggy racing it was on a smaller scale than she’d been expecting. ‘They’re model cars.’ Daisy pointed at one speeding past and watched it hit a bump, momentarily leaving the grass.
‘No, they’re remote control,’ said Tamsyn, waving at someone she knew who was grappling with a controller. They both watched as a buggy on the other side of the course crashed into a tyre wall. ‘Whoops, let’s check out the other racing,’ said Tamsyn striding off.
The other racing had Daisy standing there literally open-mouthed. ‘Goat racing? Since when did you get racing goats?’ she asked.
‘Oh, they’ve been doing this for a few years. It’s great. They used to have teddies for jockeys but they kept getting eaten. You can bet on them,’ said Tamsyn pulling out her purse and heading over to a large blackboard where their old head teacher was frantically updating odds on an interesting list of names.
‘Hiya, Mr Templeton,’ said Tamsyn.
‘Oh, hello Tamsyn. Who are you betting on?’
‘Any top tips?’ she asked with an exaggerated wink.
‘Couldn’t say but Hairy Potter has failed to finish twice so you might want to steer clear of him,’ he said, with a tap of his nose. He looked past Tamsyn and watched Daisy for a minute while she giggled at the names on the board.
‘I know you as well don’t I?’ He narrowed his eyes. Daisy stopped giggling and swallowed hard.
‘Daisy Wickens. Hello Sir,’ she said feeling seven years old again.
‘Lovely to see you again, Daisy. And where did life after Ottercombe Primary take you?’ He was looking genuinely interested, which made the very unimpressive answer all the harder to muster.
Thankfully Tamsyn stepped in. ‘She’s been travelling round the whole of Europe.’ She emphasised this by waving her arms in a giant circle and almost knocking off Mr Templeton’s glasses.
‘Careful there, Tamsyn. That is wonderful, Daisy, well done you for continuing your education by taking in some of this wonderful planet. Will you be having a bet with us today?’
Daisy opened her mouth and closed it again. Everyone always assumed that travelling meant she’d been on one long holiday when in reality she’d been an itinerant worker living on a sporadic and pitiful income, which wasn’t the sort of education he meant but she loved his optimism. ‘Thanks. I’ll have a pound on Billy the Kid, please.’
‘Good choice,’ he said, taking her money and giving her a ticket.
‘One pound on Barb. E. Cue and a pound on Hot to Trot. Thanks, Mr T,’ said Tamsyn, taking her tickets and leading Daisy over to a roped-off area. In the ring were some miserable-looking teenagers hanging on to a number of recalcitrant goats of varying sizes. Daisy was about to put her ticket away when a large goat snatched it from her hand and promptly ate it.
‘Hey Gollum!’ said the youth on the other end of the goat’s rope.
‘He’s eaten my betting slip!’ said Daisy, throwing up her arms.
‘Sorry,’ said the youth, dragging the goat away.
‘Great. I hope I don’t win now,’ said Daisy, as they watched the goats being taken round to the starting line.
‘Mr Templeton will honour your bet anyway. He always liked you at school,’ said Tamsyn. The truth was, like all the teachers, he pitied Daisy. She was always the poor little girl whose mother died. She could tell what they were thinking by the way they looked at her.
They squeezed through the crowd to get a spot where they could see down the track to the finish line.
‘Runners and riders ready?’ asked the compère to nobody in particular. ‘On your marks, get set, go!’ A length of board was dropped and the goats were free to run the course. It appeared they all knew the drill as they set off at a good pace with only one stopping to try and steal a child’s ice-cream.
‘And I’m a Llama takes an early lead with Billy the Kid and Vincent Van Goat close behind …’
‘Oh great, I’m second,’ said Daisy, unsure if she was pleased or already worrying about the conversation she would have to have with Mr Templeton: Sorry Sir, the goat ate my homework … I mean betting slip.
‘I think mine’s at the back,’ said Tamsyn, trying to lean over for a better view.
The commentator continued ‘… and Hot to Trot and Norfolk Enchants are the back-markers as we start the second and final lap. The carrots are now on the course so watch those runners gallop home.’
He wasn’t wrong. The goats seemed to sense the arrival of the treats now in a tub at the end of the course and they went even faster.
‘… and as they come to the line the winner is Billy the Kid, with Goaty McGoatface in second and I’m a Llama in third.’
‘Ooh, you’ve won a fiver,’ said Tamsyn happily.
Perhaps it was worth an embarrassing conversation with Mr Templeton after all. As it turned out he was completely lovely about it and she hadn’t been the first that day to have their ticket eaten, which made her feel a little better, especially when he reassured her the goat would be fine. Daisy put her five pounds away quickly to avoid a similar incident.
They saw a crowd gathering nearby for another event and made their way to the front. They got there just in time to see a man raise his arm and say ‘Take the strain.’ Followed almost immediately by ‘Pull!’
‘Now this is something I am happy to pay fifty pence to see,’ said Daisy, whilst she and Tamsyn admired the sixteen men in straining shorts and tight t-shirts battling in the Tug of War competition.
‘There’s Jason,’ hollered Tamsyn, wildly pointing to the middle of the team on the right. Daisy was distracted by the person behind him. She was working her way up from his muscular thighs and perfectly rounded backside when she realised it was Max. His biceps were literally bulging as his team started to inch backwards. It was a most appealing sight to witness. Their anchor stumbled and in the confusion to get everyone back on their feet the other team took the advantage and pulled them over the line. Max looked like he was swearing under his breath until he glanced up and saw Daisy. She felt caught out and threw up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, which was behind her, but hopefully he wouldn’t think she was ogling him.
The second round was over all too quickly but thankfully Jason and Max’s team won so it all hung on the final pull.