The speech blows away

On Saturday morning the playground smelled of waffles and wet rope. There’d been a short shower. The bunting hung in sagging curves between the stalls. A bucket at the woodworking club’s stall caught a drip from the shelter.

Vera had read her speech three times. She almost knew it by heart. Only the order of the cushions and the crate kept changing. That didn’t matter, her mum said. Cushions couldn’t read and a crate couldn’t sit down.

Her granny put the blue cushions on the table. They were exactly the colour Vera had imagined. One had a small mended corner.

‘I did that myself,’ said Granny.

Vera pointed at it. ‘What happened?’

‘Your dad used to have ideas too.’

Her dad stood on the other side of the table. Suddenly he was very interested in the wood sample.

In Bennie’s garden, the little gate to the grass was open. Miep and the other goose could walk from their usual spot to a patch nearer the school. There was water. Bennie had stretched a ribbon across the visitors’ side. Anybody wanting to see Miep had to stay behind it.

Joep had hung the posters on the school fence. Puk’s potato sat in a box on a separate table. There was a little spot of butter on its cardboard hat.

‘It’s had breakfast,’ Puk explained.

Boris lay under a chair at the baker’s stall. His photograph hung high enough not to fall in his water bowl. Sam went round all three mascots with his notebook. On the potato’s page he wrote that this candidate had not yet commented on the weather.

‘He likes rain,’ said Puk.

‘How do you know?’

‘He’s dirty.’

Sam thought for a moment. Then he wrote that the potato was dirty. At least he could see that.

The speeches would start at eleven. The mayor arrived at five to eleven, walking beside her bicycle. Her back tyre was flat.

‘You’ve got a puncture,’ Joep said.

‘My bicycle has,’ said the mayor. ‘Fortunately, I haven’t.’

Kees took the bicycle and put it by the shed.

‘I’m on time,’ she said. ‘Just not as quick as I expected.’

Bennie came to greet her. He told her there was already an honorary candidate in his garden. The mayor looked at Miep. Miep pulled a feather from under her wing.

‘A colleague,’ said the mayor. ‘She looks calmer than I do.’

Miep sneezed.

‘Or she’s got a cold.’

The platform was low. It held three chairs and a small table. Vera put her speech on the table and weighted it down with a biscuit tin. The tin held the waffle stall’s change. That seemed heavy enough.

Eef had clipped her paper to a board. Joep had his folder. His banner hung between two posts in front of the platform: VOTE FOR A REALLY GOOD GOAL. There was no trophy on it. He’d made REALLY extra bold.

Safia asked the children to sit down. A few parents stood behind them. Vera spotted the boy who’d asked about the roof. He stood beside his sister with a waffle in his hand.

The baker came to fetch the biscuit tin.

‘Somebody needs change. I’ll be right back.’

Vera kept one hand on her pile of paper. With the other, she tried to put the cushion beside the table. The wind tugged at the wet bunting. The right-hand end of Joep’s banner came loose and slapped his leg.

‘My goal!’ he cried.

He jumped up to catch the cloth. His folder knocked the table. Vera’s pile slid from under her fingers. The top sheets rose as though somebody had pulled them up on an invisible string.

Vera reached for the first page. She caught the last.

It had only one line: THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

‘I haven’t even started,’ she said.

One sheet landed under Eef’s chair. Two more flew over the fence. One came down among the lettuces in Bennie’s garden. Joep had caught his banner, but now paper was blowing out of his open folder too. His old speech struck the fence.

Miep walked from the grass towards the vegetable patch. She tugged at the corner of Vera’s paper.

‘Don’t eat it!’ Vera shouted.

She started towards the garden gate. Bennie raised a hand.

‘Stay there. I’ll get it. They’ll get frightened if everyone comes in.’

He calmly walked round the lettuce. Miep released the paper and looked for something more edible by his boot. Bennie picked up the sheets. Safia gathered the rest from around the chairs. Sam held the loose end of the banner while Kees fastened it again.

At the bottom of Joep’s old page were the words I PROMISE WE’LL WIN. A small snail crawled across the last word.

‘It’s taking its time,’ Eef said.

Joep looked at the snail. ‘It obviously hasn’t heard we start at eleven.’

Bennie put the snail back in the garden. The mayor laid two smooth stones on the table. She’d found them by the garden border.

‘At the office my papers go in folders,’ she said. ‘But this works better today.’

Vera’s first page was wet. Two sentences had acquired green streaks. Her mum stood at the back with her arms folded. She didn’t wave or signal. Vera could only glance at her.

Safia asked if the candidates were ready. Eef nodded. Joep put his thumb up. Vera straightened the thank-you page under the stone.

‘I’ll manage,’ she said.

Eef went first. She held up a broken spade. Tape covered the sharp edge.

‘You can’t dig with this any more,’ she said. ‘There are a few more like it in the box. I want new spades and rakes. And a wheelbarrow small enough for the little children.’

Puk raised her hand. ‘I’ve got a bucket.’

‘You can do plenty with a bucket,’ said Eef. ‘But it doesn’t dig.’

Puk looked at hers as if it might answer for itself.

Eef showed the drawing of the low border. She said what everything would cost and that Bram and Kees would help. At the end she forgot to say thank you. She sat down, stood up again, and said it after all.

Vera stepped forward with the blue cushion. She turned it round, putting the mended corner on top. Then she left it that way.

‘I want a bench under the chestnut tree. The trial bench was nice, but it had to go back to the gym. This one can stay. You can read on it. Or draw. Or just sit.’

She looked at the boy with the waffle.

‘There won’t be a roof. If it rains, you’ll have to go indoors. The cushions can go under the bench. The books will be in a crate that goes into school every day. We’ll make a rota.’

She meant to talk about the money, but suddenly couldn’t remember the number. She looked at Bram. He held up his sheet.

‘A hundred and thirty-two euros,’ Vera read. ‘We’ll save the rest for now, in case something costs more or needs mending later.’

She sat with the cushion on her lap. Then she noticed the page under the stone. She didn’t stand up again. There would be time to thank everybody in person afterwards.

Joep stayed in front of the table. He held up the old sheet with its green smear.

‘This says I promise we’ll win. That isn’t true.’

He turned it over.

‘This isn’t right any more either. My plan cost too much. We can mend the old net. Dad’s got a good piece of netting. I’ll help with the knots. Afterwards we’ll play a match to check it all stays together.’

‘With a trophy?’ somebody called.

Joep gave a very short sigh. ‘Not yet.’

He managed to say it without a joke. Vera clapped first. Not too loudly. That would have been strange. Just as long as she’d clapped for Eef. Everybody else joined in.

The mayor thanked all three. Behind her, Miep poked her head out of the hedge and honked loudly.

The mayor turned round. ‘As far as I can tell, she hasn’t much to add.’