Pearly had given his speech from the deck of an articulated Mack truck with the props of the Rotary Club float about him, and he remained standing there for a time as the loudspeaker system was dismantled. Selwyn Ogilvie, the show committee chairman, stood with him. ‘I did tell all the amusements,’ Selwyn said. ‘I did say a twenty-minute shut down at ten-thirty for the official stuff.’

‘I might as well have been talking Japanese,’ said Pearly.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry. They always say that they’re halfway through a paid session and can’t short-change the punters.’

‘Right,’ said Pearly.

‘Thanks anyway. I know you speak up for us on council and we appreciate that. We understand these things don’t just happen. A hell of a lot of work goes in, but of course those who never help don’t realise, or care, about that.’

‘Well, the event brings town and country together,’ said Pearly. It was a platitude that came easily as he gazed over the showgrounds: the colours, the movement, the people still coming in good numbers from cars parked on the racecourse. He would walk among them and be friendly, not just because that was politically advantageous, but because he liked to see any council-supported enterprise succeed, and he came from a farming family himself.

Selwyn put a hand on the truck deck and jumped neatly to the ground. Pearly, twenty years older, followed in a more laboured manner and with a little grunt of exhalation as he landed. ‘Come over to the tent,’ said Selwyn. ‘You’ve earned a drink at least. It’s just such a relief to have a good day, isn’t it? It pissed down last year.’

‘It’s always a bit of a gamble when you’ve got an outside event and there’s no plan B.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Selwyn.

Already the dry grass showed a track to the committee and volunteers’ refreshment tent. Pearly would have liked a dark ale, but it was barely past eleven, there were women in the tent and always he was under scrutiny as mayor. So he accepted a mug of tea and sat in the marquee on a tubular form looking wistfully at Selwyn’s beer as the chairman sought his support for the building of a large shed on racecourse land to house the sideshows when not in use. ‘It’s expensive and time-wasting,’ Selwyn said, ‘carting the stuff away by truck each year and then back again the next. Most of it isn’t needed anywhere else and it gets dispersed during storage. Sometimes there’s vandalism, the buggers.’ The sunlight filtering through the fabric roof had a subdued, luminous quality, and substance too, drifting like pool water as the tent breathed. Pearly felt for a moment as a goldfish must, immersed, suspended, gazing at a surface from the underside.