The following night at the pub, Louis acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened and Harry decided to follow his lead. He knew Louis hadn’t been completely sober last night – his breath not over-poweringly potent but definitely sharp enough to disclose the spiked punch.
Then again Louis hadn’t acted particularly drunk – his coordination perfectly fine, especially when stepping in close. He was probably bevied enough to lower his inhibitions but not enough to lose control.
Either way, Harry didn’t want to cause any awkwardness between them by addressing the moment if Louis felt embarrassed and would rather forget it happened. Anyway, they had more pressing concerns at the moment, namely Guy Fawkes Night!
Harry had been reliably informed that it was an important tradition, every year, that the village threw a bonfire party on the green. Everyone had their part to play. Didn’t matter whether you were a school kid or an elderly farmer, there was something for every one to get involved in.
The Wheatsheaf was one of the main providers; closing its doors and serving drinks on the playing field instead - at minimum price. The pub also supplied the crates that would be used to fuel the bonfire flames. Zayn and some of his cousins would help Liam set both of these out on the day.
The community hall was in charge of providing, acquiring and setting up enough tables and chairs, which got a lot of the different clubs involved. Music was to be provided by the village folk band - who would need a small stage and tent erected in case it rained – for rain would not stop the festivities, not in Oak St James.
Bangless fireworks had to be bought with the community kitty fund (which was mostly made up with the entry money from the previous bonfire night - £1 per person) and set up safely, which was the duty of the local fire-brigade – a one engine unit in the heart of the village. There were to be game stalls too; offering the usual hoopla duck, coconut shy, skittles, quoits, limbo, sponge a parent and darts for the adults. These were run by various residents who owned the required equipment. The prizes were organised by the school via donations from various sources.
The women’s knitting and embroidery club were tasked with the job of sewing up a seven foot guy. The bakers were to provide a candy floss stall, which Niall lamented on about for over an hour.
It was truly a night for the community as a whole and (while he couldn’t drink because it was a Monday and he was on-call) Harry was determined to take part. Virtually all nine hundred odd villagers would be there anyway – so it would make sense that he was there as well. So, his contribution (and Louis and Niall’s) was going to be to the most important function; the free food tent. Food, Harry was told, was made and donated by anyone who could cook or bake. Ergo; the more you could donate, the better. Harry, Louis and Danielle decided that was the team they were going to join. Harry would be in the surgery most of Monday so he wouldn’t be available to help with any of the setting up. So baking over the weekend was probably the best thing he could offer to do. Louis offered to assist him - as best he could anyway. Supposedly he had helped the stall erection team the previous year during a torrential downpour and swore not to ever offer to do that again. “I swear I’m still finding mud in places I shouldn’t,” he groaned when Harry teased him about getting wet.
After lodging his pledge with the church organisation committee, the food tent organiser – a stern middle-age women called Mrs Penndel – popped by the pub on the Thursday evening to give Harry his assignment of baking three large Parkin Cakes and 100 mini quiches. That was no mean task.
