Charlie couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt happier, and in such a pleasingly strange context, too. Who’d have thought that he’d be wandering the High Street with his arm slung around the most beautiful redhead in the world, listening to crumhorns in one ear and pan pipes in the other as the residents of Willowbury celebrated their musical and spiritual origins long through the day and into the night? Everywhere he looked, there were people in fairy wings, face paint and fantastical costumes; he’d even caught a glimpse of someone dressed in a full suit of chainmail, bearing a remarkably authentic-looking longsword, purporting to be the spirit of King Arthur reincarnated. Tellingly, he didn’t seem to have a Guinevere with him, but Charlie was sure he’d find one among the many attendees. He’d already seen a couple of Lancelots, too.
Looking down at Holly, who kept breaking away from him to embrace friends who were passing, he felt utterly relaxed and strangely exhilarated. This was living, this was life, he thought. And it was as far away from the corridors of Westminster as could be imagined.
‘All right?’ Holly stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear. ‘You seem a little bit away with the fairies.’ Her breath on the back of his neck sent a tingle down his spine and reminded him, as if he needed reminding, that, despite the fact they’d not known each other very long, they were getting closer to the next level of their relationship.
Charlie grinned as his eye was caught by two little blonde girls dressed as actual fairies. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, pulling her a little closer. ‘I’ve just never seen anything quite like this before.’
‘Willowbury’s proud of its roots,’ Holly replied. ‘And, I promise you, once you’ve done one Folk Festival, you’ll keep this weekend free every year.’ She tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear with her free hand. Charlie was struck with erotic thoughts about just what else he wanted her hands to touch.
As the band at the top of the High Street struck up a fast-paced fiddle tune, Charlie pulled Holly closer to him so that they were face to face. ‘Fancy a dance?’ he teased as his arms tightened around her. She was wearing a strappy, flowing summer dress which kept catching in the breeze, and as he drew her towards him, he was instantly aware of the heat from her body pressing against his. Trying to mentally talk himself down from the effect that having Holly so close to him was having, he whirled her around in a loose approximation of a jig until she was helpless with laughter in his arms and her hair, loosely tied back in her habitual messy bun, had all but come down.
Slowing down as the music calmed, Charlie looked at Holly. Her face was flushed from the heat and the dancing, and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. As if his mouth had a mind of its own, he dipped his head, searching for her lips. They’d kissed a lot, but he was still slightly nervous of her response. Feeling her breath quicken, he met her mouth gently, tasting the sweetness of the elderflower wine, organic of course, that she’d been drinking. He closed his eyes in pure pleasure as her mouth opened to deepen the kiss, lifting a hand to run it through her hair.
‘Isn’t this a little too public for your liking?’ Holly breathed as they broke a millimetre or two apart. ‘You’ll be all over Twitter before you know it.’
‘I don’t care,’ Charlie murmured. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong.’
Holly smiled into the kiss. ‘I’m glad you feel that way.’
As his arms tightened around her, everything else but the heat from their bodies seemed to melt away. Charlie had never felt such a sense of rightness, of coming home, as he did with Holly in his arms.
‘Break it up, you two!’ Rachel’s voice interrupted their private world as she tapped her sister on the shoulder. ‘You’ve both got a rep to protect, remember? And Charlie’s got a speech to make after the fancy-dress competition.’
‘Bugger, I’d forgotten I’d agreed to that,’ murmured Charlie. ‘What do I have to say again?’
‘Oh, something diplomatic and bland, as usual,’ Holly teased. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage.’
If he’d had more blood flow to his brain at that moment, rather than other areas, Charlie would have been able to think of a suitable pithy response, but as it was, he let it slide.
Slipping a hand into Holly’s, he smiled back at her and Rachel. ‘I’d better have a look around, then, hadn’t I? Get a feel for the standard of fancy dress.’ Although, he thought, it would be difficult to tell who was actually going to be entering the competition and who just dressed that way normally, as far as Willowbury was concerned. As a bearded, barefooted, purple-cloaked man strolled past them, tambourine in hand, Charlie shook his head. No matter how well he thought he’d settled into Willowbury, the place and its people never failed to surprise him. As he and Holly watched Rachel walking, or, rather, being dragged away, by Harry to see a stall that was selling a wide variety of sugary treats, especially designed, it seemed, to attract younger visitors to Willowfest, he really did feel as though he was becoming a part of this friendly but unusual place.
The bunting that flapped between the lamp posts on the High Street paled in comparison to the multitude of colours that the people of Willowbury themselves were wearing. Everywhere Charlie looked, there were jugglers, stilt walkers, people wearing jesters’ hats, fairy wings, medieval costumes, and sometimes all three at once. The air was alive with the different sounds of folk music blended with more Eastern-inspired cymbals and instruments, and, rising above it all, some plainsong emanating from the ruins of the Priory behind the High Street. It was a riot of sounds, colours and activity, and Charlie, who should have been overwhelmed, felt strangely at ease.
Of course, that may have been more to do with having Holly beside him to guide him through the town. She pointed out things as they wended their way towards the grounds of the Priory, where a more structured concert was due to start in the mid-afternoon.
‘You were right,’ Charlie said, eyes still on stalks as they wandered. ‘This really is like nothing else I’ve ever seen before.’
‘It must give Westminster a run for its money,’ Holly smiled. ‘I can’t remember ever seeing Hugo here.’
‘He probably barricaded himself in at home with a bottle of Scotch and the weekend papers!’ Charlie laughed.
‘Or a batch of Miles’ scones,’ Holly said, smiling wryly. ‘Probably wouldn’t trust anything he could buy here.’ She regarded him levelly. ‘You seem far more suited to this place than he was, even in the short time you’ve been here.’
‘I think he was definitely more Stavenham than Willowbury,’ Charlie said. ‘Although, to be fair, it’s a fine line to walk between the two places, as I’m finding out.’ He reached out a hand to take one of the tempting-looking chocolate brownies that a trader, armed with a ribboned tray, was handing out as she wandered up the street, but Holly grabbed his hand.
‘I, er, wouldn’t, if I were you.’ Her eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘Elsinore’s Artisan Confectionary is notorious around here for including somewhat, er, alternative, ingredients in her brownies.’
Charlie was struck with a vision of the little old lady from The Vicar of Dibley who provided the refreshments for the parish meetings. ‘As in, sardine and chilli-flavoured brownies?’ he asked.