Fete Accompli

© 2025 Thefireflies, for Literotica

~0~

A door opened at Sandalwood Crescent, releasing a great hound into the new day. Arthur's long legs seemingly spun in the air as his paws failed to gain traction on the smooth tiles, claws scraping until they finally found purchase, and the blur of red fur bounded into the yard, possessed with a serious case of the zoomies.

Dylan sat on the front step lacing his running shoes and watching his blurry maniac run around. Arthur sensed Dylan's gaze and stopped, his mouth forming a crazy grin with tongue barely poking past his canines. Dylan cocked his head and Arthur mimicked him. He snapped a photo on his phone and the big pup closed his mouth. Dylan smiled at how Arthur's narrow face looked comical and serious at the same time. His hazel eyes were large and thoughtful and ears ridiculously long and silky.

"Come on, ya big fancy bastard, go take a piss before we get this show on the road."

The saluki reached the front gate in two leaping bounds. Dylan tethered his running partner, who promptly cocked his leg and let out a long steaming stream onto the leaves of the Hibiscus bush. Moments later Dylan pushed the gate open and out they went. Few words were spoken, both man and dog on a mission.

Rays of sunlight peeked above rooftops of iron and tile, filtering through leaves of trees. A magpie chortled a lovely morning chorus, while somewhere in the distance a cockatoo screeched a more chaotic welcome to the day. A fat tortoiseshell cat flushed from a bush, and Dylan pulled Arthur back on the path with a strong growl of "

leave

," testing Dylan's grip and biceps and Arthur's training.

This was their habit most mornings, an hour's run at sun up, taking a different route each time. They traversed concrete paths cracked and stained with time, past houses familiar to Dylan, some he'd known quite well both inside and out as a kid because they were the former homes of childhood friends. Some houses looked worn and tired, others proudly displayed new roofs or fresh coats of paint or a complete renovation to their exterior.

Some houses present in his memory were missing in real life, replaced with duplexes, town houses and blocks of units. Corflute

For Sale

signs were out in force all over the city, but Dylan no longer bothered to look up the price unless he saw something extra special or practical. Over a million dollars for a three bedroom town house with little-to-no yard was absurd, especially in this suburb, where he wondered how anyone beyond the mega rich could afford even a simple house with the current state of the real estate market.

The day was well and truly starting when they jogged back to Sandalwood Crescent. A couple of tradies in filthy orange hi vis shirts were chatting outside their lifted dual cab utes, presumably doing weekend work on the construction site at number ten, where four town houses were going up. This property used to belong to Mr and Mrs Peters, who'd moved into an aged care home about a year ago after almost fifty years at the same address. Dylan recalled how their daughter, Kerry, sometimes baby sat he and his sister when they were young, remembering how the house was identical to his parent's in design. It was only recently demolished.

Across the road Mrs Bošković was watering her flowers. Dylan returned her wave, thinking how ancient and kind Mrs Bošković looked, recalling how when growing up in the street, Mr and Mrs Bošković used to yell at and threaten kids riding bikes on their section of footpath, or if kids were retrieving a ball from the front yard. Her husband passed away several years back, the grumpy old bastard, but Dylan and his father occasionally helped the old woman out and she was very fond of his children.

Times certainly change

, he thought, not for the first or even hundredth time.

There was no time for small talk with neighbours this morning, however, and he and Arthur were through the gate quick smart. The gate slammed shut and Dylan began his stretching routine, bracing against the fence with right leg out behind him. He felt the wet tickle of Arthur licking behind his sweaty knee.

"Enough of that, mate," Dylan said, "I've gotta stretch me calves." Arthur stopped and cocked his head and gave a whine like cry.

"I know, mate, it's a tough life. Look, I know, you'd love for me to spend the day with you, which I would, but I've promised to help out at today's sausage sizzle. Hey, don't look at me like that, you know I'd take you with me if I could. But they won't let dogs in the school yard, and anyway, you'd steal all the sausages from the barbecue. You know you would."

Arthur listened to every word and wore an expression suggesting, yes, he would absolutely love to spend the day with Dylan at the school's fundraiser, where he would not cause any trouble whatsoever, nor would he eat many sausages. After all, he is the goodest boy. He was told this as a fact by the entire family all the time.

"Unfortunately, my friend, you will have to stay here."

Dylan planted a firm pat on Arthur's side, the hound's face breaking into a broad grin as if he understood and agreed with everything. Moments later Dylan sat on the path to stretch his hamstring, where he copped a full post run slobbery tongue to the face.

~0~

The carpark was desolate except for two other vehicles. Dylan parked his Subaru, climbed out and walked through the gate to the quadrangle. He marvelled how the school appeared significantly smaller than his memory suggested. Maybe it was because he was no longer seeing the school through child's eyes, and perhaps it was the addition of new paths and covered walkways connecting most buildings, making the yard look smaller.

However, the quadrangle in the centre of the school's main buildings looked almost exactly like Dylan recalled. Except today at this early hour because there were no kids shooting hoops into basketball rings at each end, nor were there games of handball on the square concrete pavers. And no one was playing chasing games of tiggy, and therefore no one running and inevitably tripping on the inhospitable surface, leading to tears and a trip to the sick bay.

You just scraped a little bark off

, the old ladies in the office used to say,

we'll patch you up, good as new

.

It all happened right here

, Dylan thought, his mind's eye picturing it like yesterday.

Almost forty fucking years ago...

Sue Mathers approached from across the quadrangle, a clip board in one hand and her phone in the other. "Dylan, thank goodness you're here. I'm so glad you could help out."

"Hey, no worries. What do you need me to do?"

Removing a lanyard with a key from around her neck, she said, "You can start setting up the barbeque stall. The barbeques are in the main storage room."

"Under the back of the main hall?" Dylan asked, taking the offered key.

"That's right. You were a student here, weren't you?"

"Yep," he said with a short intake of breath. "A lifetime ago."

"Nothing's changed, the store room hasn't moved," Sue replied, getting straight to the point. "Once you get the barbecues out, you can get the marquees. You'll need to ensure their legs are weighted down in case the wind blows through. The BOM said there won't be much wind but it might rain later in the day, but I don't trust these forecasts, so we need to be prepared for anything. Oh, and also, the tables should be behind the door. Don't go lifting heavy things on your own, though. I'll send Chris to help you once he's finished faffing about. I just saw Kai arrive. He'll help you on barbeque duties. Other volunteers should be here soon, too."

"No worries, I'm onto it."

A tight smile from Sue before she walked away in the direction of the gate to greet the man, presumably Kai, who was walking in from the carpark.

Dylan didn't wait, walking towards the main hall. The school was built on a low hill, where one side of the long hall was at the natural ground level, and the other side was down slope, the veranda circling the building approximately two-and-a-half metres above the ground here. The hall could be accessed on both sides through French doors, which opened to give the hall's inner room the appearance of a much larger space and to allow airflow in the humid subtropical summers. The end of the building faced the quadrangle, where a single flight of timber stairs connected the ground to the veranda for further access.

Dylan skirted these stairs, walking under the veranda on a concrete path, past rows of bubblers over their stainless steel trough. Foursquare handball courts were painted on the concrete path here, which Dylan thought were much too small for a proper game. This was one of the few covered areas back when he'd attended school, a place to shelter on rainy days.

The paint looked much fresher than Dylan's recollection, but still typical school beige. At some point in the last thirty plus years many of the school's buildings were renovated. By all accounts, the authorities found extensive termite damage at the school, which led to discoveries of significant amounts of asbestos, and someone in the education department decided the school would get a massive overhaul. Apparently the renovations took over a decade to complete, at least according to his father.

The key Sue provided fit the lock, and he pushed the door open and went in. The musty atmosphere was heavy in Dylan's nose and lungs, and he concluded the renovations and humans in general missed the storage room altogether. The door began to close on its own, so he pushed it open again, propping a dusty plastic chair against it.

Light barely revealed two barbeques parked a few metres in from the door, exposing red-brown rust on once black lids and pipe steel stands. Dylan wondered if these museum pieces would make the journey from the store to the quad without rattling apart. He looked into the gloom, making out long folded marquees propped against a storage shelf and sports crashmats further back. The trestle tables were exactly where Sue said he could find them, stacked in the space behind the open door. He ran his finger over the dust on the topmost table, noting they would need a considerable wipe down.

"G'day...," a deep voice called out.

"In here, mate," Dylan replied.

A tall man with sun-darkened skin appeared. He was the same fella Sue walked away to greet minutes before. He wore a BCF t-shirt and Great Northern cap, his tattooed arm extend, holding out his hand. "Kai."

Dylan took Kai's hand in a firm grip, saying, "Dylan."

"Sue said you're replacing Rohan. I don't recognise you from the P and C. How'd she rope you into this at short notice?"

"Sue and Chris are neighbours of mine. I have kids at the school and Sue asked if I could help on the barbeque. Apparently Rohan pulled out and I was free to help, so here I am."

"Sounds like an offer you couldn't refuse," Kai chuckled. "You see, that's where you fucked up. You're here now when you could be elsewhere. What year's your kids in?"

"My daughter's in fourth grade and my son's in second."

"Great. I have twin girls in year five."

The two men began transferring all the required items to the quadrangle, chatting as they went to get to know one another. Amazingly the barbeques survived the journey on their rickety plastic wheels and rusty frames. Chris Mathers, Sue's husband, arrived at the shed to help. More parents from the school community arrived, some helping with marquees and tables, while others brought their own gear. The atmosphere in the quadrangle began to resemble a carnival with all the stalls being erected against the buildings, leaving the centre open like a town square.

Sue paced back and forth between marquees, clipboard and phone in hand. Dylan hardly took notice of her while he screwed the hose nozzle of a barbeque into to a nine kilogram gas bottle, wondering if the hose would leak and the rusty burners ignite. At least the gas bottle appeared full.

Dylan did take note when Sue spoke tersely, "Where the bloody hell is the butcher?"

"It's seven o'clock, babe," Chris replied, his voice barely audible over the crashing of the ice cubes he dumped from a bag into one of the large coolers set against the building wall. "It's early on a Saturday morning. Give him a few moments."

"It might be Saturday morning, but we need meat or this whole thing will be a disaster!"

Kai removed a marquee's blue canvas sleeve cover, and he nodded in Sue's direction while speaking in hushed tones. "I've got a big slab of meat she can have."

Dylan snorted a laugh and couldn't help the juvenile grin spreading across his lips, but immediately another thought sparked, in his ex's voice no less, how it is inappropriate to laugh at any sexually charged jokes. The thought annoyed him, but also, Sue was his friendly neighbour and she did appear stressed and he felt a little bad for her too. He'd heard rumours of Sue's reputation for inflexibility as head of the Parents and Citizens Association, the P&C, where some of the parents grumbled she was a micromanager and super stressy.

Searching for something to say, he whispered back, "The butcher better get here soon if he wants his meat to remain intact." Kai barely snorted and Dylan thought perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. He finished testing the barbeque, which did indeed light, then helped Kai erect the marquee.

"She could actually help people rather than ordering them about and pacing back and forth grumbling about the butcher," Kai murmured.

The two men manoeuvred the first marquee onto its feet on the dark concrete slabs.

"Butcher's here," Chris soon called. Dylan and Kai looked to where the small white Volkswagen van was slowly driving through the gate with its hazard lights flashing. "Go easy on him, babe. Don't forget he's donating the snags, so is entitled to be a few minutes late."

Kai caught Dylan's eye and whispered, "Chris lost any meat he may have had many years ago."

Sue responded to Chris by stopping her pacing and she muttered something before facing Dylan and Kai. "Make sure you put the weights on the marquee's feet, and where's Gabby? She's supposed to help us set up."

She marched to another marquee and Kai chuckled. "Gabby's probably staying home to avoid Sue. I bet this is why Rohan pulled out."

"Careful," Dylan said, gesturing with his eyes towards Chris who was directing the butcher to their stall. "You'll be put on Sue's black list."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

With the comments Kai was making, Dylan wondered why the man bothered to volunteer. They set up the trestle tables and wiped them clean, all the while Kai divulged how he'd lived in the area for the past eight years after moving from north Queensland. He was an electrician now, but was previously a sailor on naval patrol vessels up north for another eight years before moving down. At least they had something in common, Dylan spending six years as an Army Reservist until his mid-twenties. But it didn't take long to discover their experiences were wildly dissimilar. Finally they found common ground over the Rugby League, except Kai was a Cowboys fan and Dylan supported the Broncos.

Back in the storeroom they found the heavy weights to anchor the marquee, both men carrying two at a time to the quad, muscles burning all the way. Kai appeared to love it, lifting the weights like he was pumping iron, saying, "I could do this all day!"

They secured the feet of their marquees, then Kai helped Chris unpack soft drinks into the spare ice coolers next to several foam boxes from the butcher containing the sausages and ice. Dylan briefly paused to admire their set up. The top of the marquee was approximately in line with the classroom windows set in the timber wall above. Colourful paper cut into the shapes of girls in dresses linking hands like a chain spread across the inside of the glass, and there were colourful paper and cellophane stars too, plus a few colourful drawings from the Year Four class who occupied the room in which the window belonged. Dylan knew it was a Year Four classroom because it was his daughter Marion's class room. He wondered if Marion's vivacious teacher, Miss Singleton, would drop by. He wondered if mid-to-late-twenties-something Miss Singleton was indeed single, and if she'd perhaps consider dating a man in his mid-forties...

"Excuse me," a woman's voice said, Dylan almost jumping, turning fast to face the owner of said voice.

He'd noticed the woman setting up a marquee on the adjacent side of the quadrangle close to the school office block, perhaps thirty metres away. At the time he'd been too busy to pay her much attention, but he'd definitely noted her hair was wavy and brown, a little messy in the light breeze, falling a little past her shoulders. He'd noted the colourful apron she wore over a black t-shirt and skirt. Now as she stood in front of him, he noted her blue eyes were like crystals catching the light, fading freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and button nose, and her full lips were smiling impishly. In less than a split second his mind said,

You're cute, and I know you, you look familiar...

Maybe he'd seen her at school drop off or pick up, but he was sure he'd have noticed her because why wouldn't he? She was gorgeous.

"You almost jumped a metre into the air, like you were caught doing something you shouldn't be," the woman said, a little smile lingering on her lips moment before her hand shot to her mouth, "Oh my gosh, this isn't for real...you're Dylan Morris!"

"Michelle Rigby," her name came to him now, like a flash, the sound of her voice completing the picture, "I thought I recognised you!"

"Sure is. I last saw you, like...twenty or more years ago."

The memories flooded back, of his childhood mate, Joshua Rigby, whose little sister, Michelle, was all grown up and standing in front of him, wide eyed with a hand still covering her mouth. "I'm pretty sure it was New Year's Eve for 1999-2000. What's that, twenty-five years ago."

Her eyes seemingly grew larger and she clasped her hand even tighter over her mouth, then pulled it away by force, placing it over her heart. "Yes, you came with our family because Josh broke his leg right before the Y2K New Year!"

"You were just a baby then."

"Pfft, a baby. I was...almost fifteen."

"Wow, Josh and I were eighteen. We were supposed to go to a wild party on New Year's instead..."

"...but Josh pranged Mum and Dad's car the week before Christmas and they were pissed at him despite him being a bit banged up."

"I remember, that's why he was on crutches. I recall your parents didn't ground him because he was an adult, but they didn't have to because he was barely mobile. I'd broken up with my girlfriend right after Christmas and she was going to the party so I didn't go..."

"Rebecca MacFarlane..."

"How'd you remember Rebecca?"

Michelle's face flushed a little but her grin was cheeky and her eyes twinkled when she said, "Some of us crushed pretty hard on our big brother's friends, and some of us hated their girlfriends. Let's just say Rebecca was my least favourite of all my brother's friend's girlfriends. If you know what I mean."

"Rebecca was my first love," Dylan replied, missing Michelle's meaning. "We'd dated for four years and it took me about as many to properly get over her, even though it was mostly my stupid fault. She was going to the party so I didn't go and ended up hanging with your family instead."

"And it was the best New Year's Eve ever," Michelle said with a grin. "Anyway, um, I need a strong man...to help me with the weights for the feet of my gazebo. Commander Sue insists. She suggested one of you could help me."