Page 16 of The Perfect Blend
Although I hadn’t seen Zach in person, we had been texting and calling back and forth as we worked through our plans. Whilst I was busy at work, he’d been buzzing around visiting and schmoozing potential vendors and suppliers. We’d set the date and had contacted all the key people. Quite a few of the people I’d reached out to had already bought into the gossip surrounding Zach and the Farm, and I ended up feeling more like Sharon doing PR work than someone organising a fairly straightforward event. I’d sent some of the more curious minds on to Zach, and the rest seemed content with the pitch I’d now perfected about the plan for the farm.
The next step was to actually get up to the Farm and plan out the layout of the market. That would be the first time seeing Zach all week and I was curious about seeing him again in person. Focusing on the practical matters of the market had given me little room to be anything but professional, but there was always a frisson of something in the background when I spoke to him. What would it be like in person? How could I juggle this crush of mine while prioritising the exciting opportunity in front of me?
A horn honking from outside interrupted my musings, and I glanced down at my outfit. I’d decided to put a little effort into looking cute. My skirt, blouse and jumper combo was completed with a pair of knee-high boots. I’d layered the look with a calf length dark wool coat belted tight at the waist and the softest cashmere scarf fluffed up around my face. My hair was clipped atop my head and Christmas earrings dangled from my ears. As well as a light touch of makeup to highlight my face I'd shaded my eyes smokily with some golden tones to highlight my chocolate brown eyes and lined and glossed my lips in a festive shade of red.
With my faux fur trimmed gloves and my fluffy beautiful dog next to me on her bejewelled Christmas lead - a gift from Zoe, of course - we looked almost too good for some casual shopping.
"Come on, girl," I said, and followed Beanie as she scampered eagerly to the door.
Down the stairs and out the back door we went, throwing a wave in the general direction of the shop, aimed at Jamie and Bex, a local teenager who worked with us part time. I trotted round the side of the building to where Zoe was waiting. She was in her one and only vehicle, her grooming van. It was bright turquoise and had her logo and business name on the side. She said it was ideal cheap advertising, and I was inclined to agree. I popped open the back doors and, knowing the drill, Beanie jumped straight in. Once I unclipped her lead, she immediately settled down in the crate next to Ruby. I smiled as I shut the door and made my way around to the passenger side and got in.
I fastened my seatbelt and glanced at Zoe. "You're something else Zoe - Ruby looks incredible."
She grinned at me from the driver's seat.
"I know."
"You're going to win. I really don't see there being any competition that will be able to top that."
"I hope so! The competition is being covered by a TV crew as part of some rural life show, can you believe it?" she exclaimed as she started the van and moved off.
"No way, that's exciting! I can’t believe you didn’t open with that when you were trying to convince me to come with you."
“I didn’t know myself until I signed up for the competition. I had to sign a waiver, and it never specified what show it’s for. Gossip on the local Facebook group is that some big celeb is coming to judge, but I think that’s going a bit too far. I think it’s just going to be some shots for Countryfile or something.”
“Still, pretty cool. Once they see Ruby, there’s no way she won’t feature, and who knows where that might lead,” I grinned. I honestly thought Zoe’s skill at animal grooming was something special and deserved to be recognised.
Zoe laughed and turned onto the main road that would wind up through the town, past a couple of villages, and up over the moors to Buxton. “Ruby does make it frequently known to me that she simplyyearnsto leave this small town behind and be a big shot in the city. Maybe we start here and next thing you know, it’s Britain's Got Talent.”
“I was thinking more… UK’s next top dog groomer.”
“Ah, great idea. I’ll get right on pitching that.” Zoe chuckled, before turning on the radio and blaring some cheesy pop classics, which Zoe and I sang along to at the top of our voices for the rest of the drive.
Twenty minutes of winding roads and stunning countryside later, we arrived. On a day like today the drive over was especially spectacular. The sweeping moors and patchwork fields looked like a beautiful painting, the sun’s path almost brushed with gold. We parked up, put the dogs on their leads and headed out through the gardens towards the Pavillion and Opera House, where the event was being held partly inside and partly outside. Even in winter the gardens still looked beautiful.
I had always loved this place ever since I’d been a little girl. Created when Buxton was building itself into a spa town for holidaying Victorians in the Peak District, the restored pleasure gardens had plenty of gently curving paths through interesting gardens, children's playgrounds, ponds, a boating lake and bandstands. Critically, to me as a child, it also had a miniature railway that ran every weekend. If you had generous parents, for the princely sum of £1, you could hop on for two laps of the middle of the park. As we passed it I glanced over at the board advertising prices.
“£2.50 a ride!” I exclaimed, whistling, “that’s inflation for you right there. Daylight robbery.”
“I wonder if they would charge for the dogs,” Zoe pondered, and together we chuckled at the thought of the two of us plus two big dogs - one of them very brightly and elaborately groomed - crammed into a tiny carriage sedately chugging round the park like big kids.
“We should ask on the way back,” I said.
We moved up the path toward the ornate cast iron and glass Pavilion building. People walking by looked at Ruby, and small children pointed her out to their parents.
“She’s already a rockstar,” I said, and then turned to look at my own dog, “don’t worry Beanie, you might not be as flashy, but you’re still absolutely gorgeous.” Beanie looked utterly unconcerned and wagged her tail at me before going back to sniffing the path.
“Of course she does,” said Zoe. “After all, I groomed her too.”
The broad path area outside the building was packed. Stalls lined the sides, signs showcased what was in each of the buildings, and people, children and animals were everywhere. I spotted a man carrying a weasel - or was that a stoat?
“Is that a sparkly stoat?” I asked as we walked into the throng of people.
“A ferret,” Zoe informed me, “I hope that’s animal safe glitter he’s used. Ah, look!” She pointed to the big open doors off to the side and the board advertising the ‘Buxton Christmas Animal Grooming Competition’.
We wove through the crowd and entered the hexagonal building, pausing to scan the sea of stalls for the registration desk. It was positioned by a temporary stage erected in a space clear of stalls. There was so much going on the space would have felt claustrophobic were it not for the building’s soaring ceilings a couple stories high. Zoe registered Ruby and got her picture taken for the ‘People’s Choice’ board, where market-goers could peruse the entrants and choose their favourites. I wandered over to the board to look at the animals who had already been entered. Mainly dogs and cats, but I did spot the sparkly ferret from before and also a miniature pig. It wasn't obvious how exactly the pig had been groomed, but it did look clean and had a Christmas bow tie on. There was a small crowd by the board and I hung back beside a stall a little ways away to let people take a look at the entrants. Voting would open in a few minutes and by the end of the event I understood that there was a prize up for grabs for whoever won the popular vote, as well as the more formally judged awards.
“How am I meant to know which one to pick?” A disgruntled, vaguely familiar, male voice came from the other side of the stall. It had a particular accent that rang a bell, but I couldn’t quite place it. I always was terrible at discerning accents. The table I was standing by had a bushy Christmas tree displaying personalised wooden tree decorations, and it was blocking my line of sight. I couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of who was talking.
