I don’t believe this “meeting in Tucson” story for a minute. Alicia’s up to something, I’m convinced of it. And if I could, I’d keep tabs on her. But I can’t, because: 1. I have to go to the fair, and 2. She’s already left for the day in a limo.
Suze is sitting on a chair made out of a barrel, hunched over her phone, frantically texting. Presumably she’s texting Alicia, because they’ve been apart for, like, twenty minutes. She looks absolutely deathly, and I want to put an arm round her or shake her out of her cloud of misery. But I don’t even dare approach her. Not only is Suze not my three-A.M. friend, I think dolefully, she’s not even my nine-A.M. sitting-five-feet-away friend.
“OK?” Luke interrupts my thoughts. “Everyone ready? Ready, Jane?”
“Oh, I’m ready,” says Mum, with a meaningful, almost ominous look. “I’m ready.”
—
We hear the fair before we see it. There’s music blasting as we snake along in the queue to the RV park. Once we’re parked we have to buy passes, and then we have to find the right entrance, and we’re all quite hot and bothered as, finally, we make it through Gate B.
(You’d think Gate B would be next to Gate A. You’d think.)
“Goodness!” says Janice, as we all look around. “It’s very…fulsome!”
I know what she means. Everywhere there’s something bright or blaring or plain extraordinary. There are tents and stalls as far as the eye can see. Every loudspeaker seems to be playing a different tune. A blimp above us in the sky reads WILDERNESS COUNTY FAIR, and beneath it soar a couple of helium balloons, silver dots against the blue, which must have been let go by mistake. A troop of cheerleader-ish girls in aquamarine costumes is hurrying into a nearby tent, and I can see Minnie watching them in awe. A man leads a massive woolly sheep past us on a rope, and I instinctively take a step back.
“Bex!” Suze rolls her eyes. “It’s only a sheep.”
Hmph. She may say “only a sheep.” But that animal has huge curly horns and an evil eye. It’s probably the prizewinning exhibit in the killer-sheep event.
The air is full of mingled smells—fuel, animal dung, roasting meat, and the sweet pungent aroma of freshly made doughnuts, which is particularly strong, as we’re standing right by a doughnut stand.
“Cake!” says Minnie, spotting the stall. “I like it, Mummy.” She tugs on my arm yearningly, almost pulling me over.
“No cake,” I say hurriedly, and start leading her away. “Come on, let’s find these ceramics.”
Even though it’s early, there are already crowds of people everywhere: clustering to get into tents, queuing for food, wandering along the lanes between the attractions, and suddenly stopping to consult their fair maps. So it takes us a little time to make it all the way to the Creative Village, and then we can’t work out which tent we want. Mum is totally focused, barging along, her chin set, but Janice keeps getting distracted by exhibits, and I have to tug her away, saying, “You can look at the embroidered pot holders later.” Honestly, she’s worse than Minnie.
At last we make it to the ceramics tent and consult the exhibitors’ guide. Raymond is in the adult ceramics and china section and has entered the bowl class, the container-with-lid class, and the miscellaneous class. He’s also got some pieces in the for-sale gallery. It’s easy to tell which are his, because they’re about five times the size of anyone else’s. It’s also obvious that he’s not here, because apart from us only seven people are in the tent, and they’re all women.
For a couple of minutes, Mum and I circle the exhibits in silence, pausing by each of Raymond’s pieces as though it might give us a clue. He’s put a piece of paper by each entry, which goes on about the influence of the French ceramicist Pauline Audette (who?) and how he takes inspiration from nature and some other waffle about glazes.
“Well, he’s not here,” says Mum finally, as we reach a wide bowl with green glaze on it, which takes up nearly a whole table.
“But he must have been here,” I point out. “Maybe he’ll come back. Um, excuse me?” I address a lady in a strappy tank top, who’s standing at the next table. “We’re looking for Raymond Earle. Do you know him? Do you think he’ll come to the tent today?”
“Oh, Raymond,” says the woman, and rolls her eyes slightly. “He was here earlier. He might be along later. But he doesn’t hang around.”
“Thank you. Is that your vase?” I add. “It’s beautiful.”
This is a total lie, as it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. But I’m thinking we should make a few friends and allies in case we have to tackle Raymond to the ground or anything.
“Why, thank you,” says the woman, and pats it protectively. “I have pieces in the gallery for sale too, if you’re interested.” She points to the gallery, which is at the far end.
“Great!” I say, trying to sound enthused. “I’ll look at those later. So, are you influenced by Pauline Audette too?”
“Pauline Audette?” the woman says sharply. “What is it with this Pauline Audette? I’d never even heard of her before I met Raymond. You know he wrote her in France? Asked her to come and judge the contest? Never heard back, not that he’ll admit it.” Her eyes glitter at me. “You ask me, it’s pretentious.”
“Totally pretentious,” I hastily agree.
“Why do we need a French judge when we have Erica Fromm living right here in Tucson?”
“Erica Fromm.” I nod. “Totally.”
“Do you throw yourself?” She focuses on me with renewed interest.
“Oh…Um…” I can’t bring myself to say a flat no. “Well…a bit. You know, when I have time.”
Which is sort of almost true. I mean, I did pottery at school, and maybe I’ll take it up again. I have a sudden image of myself in a potter’s smock, making some fabulous vase while Luke stands behind me, nuzzling my neck. And of everybody opening their presents on Christmas Day and saying, Wow, Becky, we didn’t realize you were so artistic! I don’t know why I’ve never thought of doing pottery before.
“So…good luck,” I add. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Becky, by the way.”
“Dee.” She shakes my hand and I beat a retreat to Mum, who is looking at a collection of tiny clay dolls.
“Well?” She looks up eagerly. “Did you learn anything?”
“Apparently Raymond might be back later,” I tell her. “We’ll just have to stake out the tent.”
—
It’s Luke who takes charge of the stakeout rota. Mum and Janice will do the first hour, because they both want to look at the pottery anyway. Danny will be on second, but first he’s going to the refreshments tent for a traditional Wilderness iced tea, which is apparently 80 percent bourbon.
“I’ll take Minnie to Toddlerville and buy her a balloon, and we’ll be on third,” says Luke in that commanding way he has. “And, Becky, why don’t you and Suze take the fourth hour? You could just hang out meanwhile. Enjoy the fair together. That OK by you, Suze?”
Oh God. I know exactly what Luke’s doing. He’s trying to push Suze and me together so we can make up. Which is really sweet of him. But I feel like a panda being told to mate with another panda that clearly doesn’t fancy me. Suze looks totally unenthusiastic at the idea of hanging out with me. Her forehead is puckered in a frown, and she shoots me a dark, unfriendly look.
“I don’t mind staking out the tent on my own,” she says. “You and Becky and Minnie should stay together.”
I feel a little stabbing pain in my heart. Is she really that anti-me? She can’t even bear to spend a couple of hours in my company?
“No, it’s better to do it this way,” says Luke briskly. “And as we’re walking round the fair, we can all keep an eye out for Raymond.”