“Hello, one and all. I’m positive you all know who I am and why you are here. As chairman, I’m supposed to explain this all to you in an inspiring speech, but my golf tournament starts in five minutes, so I’m not going to.”

This was not the speech Ambrose had been expecting from the chairman when he arrived at the inaugural meeting of the Jubilee Planning Committee. Then again, considering Eustace Frye was involved… it actually wasn’t all that surprising.

How had Eustace become chairman? Ambrose wasn’t entirely sure, but he suspected it had something to do with never listening to other people and bossing them into submission, coupled with a strong sense of entitlement.

“Any questions, anyone?”

As he had predicted, nobody spoke up. (Bossed into submission.) Although, looking around, most of the people at this meeting were hardly likely to speak up at the best of times. There was his cousin, Fliss, of course, but she was only there because she was forced to do “community service” for school. Currently, she was scowling at everybody and trying to hide behind her hair.

Then there was Elizabeth Bell, who had been in his class at school three years in a row and had hardly spoken in that time. Everyone had still wanted to work with her due to her organisational skills and efficiency.

If only certain other committee members were so sensible.

Anyway, next was Thomas Iremonger, a man in his mid-thirties who lived on Ambrose’s street. He was currently doing a bad impression of Eustace which Ambrose was trying desperately not to laugh at. The last person was a woman he had never met before who introduced herself as Maryam. She was older than him and younger than Eustace, perhaps in her late forties or early fifties. He vaguely recognised her from when she had moved in a few months ago.

“I can tell already that this is going to be a smash,” Fliss murmured under her breath.

Okay, fine. “What’s the first item on the agenda?” Ambrose asked.

Eustace looked puzzled.

“I emailed it to you this morning,” Elizabeth said tersely.

“Oh, that thing. I thought it might be a scam message. You never can tell with emails - dangerous things.”

Ambrose paused. “So, what were you planning on doing at this meeting?”

“Hmm? Oh, I was going to let you lot sort that out - I need to go right now or I’ll be late for the match!” With that, he left.

“Did he appoint a deputy chairperson?” Ambrose asked hopefully.

Elizabeth shook her head.

There was general silence.

“Well, who wants the job?”

More silence. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him, like “You have to ask?”

“Who votes that I become deputy chairman.”

Everyone raised their hand.

“Excellent.”

And he had been the one wishing that Eustace would leave… these meetings were going to be difficult. What was the point of a committee where nobody talked?

The point was that the town’s sesquicentenary was in two months’ time, and the celebrations desperately needed planning. There was so much to be planned - they were going to hold a festival, but they needed to figure out the logistics, purchase the decorations and equipment… and of course, there was the complete theatrical reenactment of the town’s history.

The theatrical reenactment was of vital importance.

“Elizabeth, will you be the secretary?” He could see that she was already taking minutes.

She nodded and typed that up.

“We need a treasurer.”

Ambrose made eye contact with each person, hoping that they would twitch or do some other gesture that he could jump on. At least Elizabeth’s face was expressive… the other three were just fidgety. They were hard to read. (Well, Fliss was easy, but not very encouraging.) In fact, they were downright-

Maryam raised her hand.

“Great!” Ambrose said, grinning. (Already grinning. His expectations for this committee had plummeted.) “You can be treasurer! That’s settled then. Elizabeth, what’s the first item on the agenda?”

“We’re out of time.”

“What do you mean, out of time?”

“This was only meant to be a fifteen-minute meeting. It’s been fifteen minutes.”

Yeah… this was going to be fun.

“Well, can we at least decide on a genre for the theatrical reenactment? Please?”

This was clearly a contentious issue, because everyone actually started to speak up.

“Stage show,” Thomas said firmly.

“Why not make it a movie?” Fliss suggested.

“I’m not sure about ‘theatrical…’ couldn’t we just do a PowerPoint?” Elizabeth asked.

“Topiary,” Maryam said.

They were shocked into silence.

“That’s the right word, yes? Topiary? When you cut hedges into exciting shapes?”

“It’s the right word, but…” Ambrose couldn’t actually think of an objection to it, but it was just so bizarre…

Then he remembered. “Mr. Lawn will have a fit.”

“Who is Mr. Lawn?”

Ambrose sighed, envying her naivety. He wished he could be new to town and not know who Mr. Lawn was, because he was terrifying.

“You’ll find out. I’ve invited him to our next meeting,” Ambrose said, already steeling himself.