The tenth book in the Lois Meade series, 2010

WE SHALL NEED A SUBCOMMITTEE, OF COURSE,” SAID MRS. Tollervey-Jones.

Derek groaned inwardly. He waited for the chair’s eagle eye to fall on him. Sure enough, she said that the one person who knew all about organising was Derek Meade. He ran a successful one-man electrical business in Long Farnden, a small village in the heart of England, and was, so said Mrs. T-J, just the man to mastermind the centenary celebration event.

This would celebrate the hundredth birthday of the village hall, a wooden structure that had miraculously survived rising damp, woodworm and rot. But without serious attention, its days were now numbered. Estimates for repair and renovation had been sought, and the most conservative of those submitted was still a very large sum of money. This would need to be raised. In the present climate of financial belt-tightening they could not rely on grants.

“So the event has to be really spectacular, Derek,” said Mrs. T-J. She added that she was sure the subcommittee would come up with something remarkable, which they would submit to the parish council at the next meeting in a month’s time.

The subject was then thrown open for discussion, and, as expected by most of the eight members of the council, was at once hectic to the point of violent disagreement. In other words, Mrs. T-J was faced with a punch-up. In her best justice of the peace voice, she quelled the riot. “Now settle down, all of you,” she said severely. “I am well aware we have two factions in this matter.”

“Three,” said Derek glumly. “There’s us, and them, and then the others.”