Beau Death

16

Parking was a problem. Every space in the nearby roads had been taken and Charlotte Street car park was teeming. In the end Paloma had to leave the car at Green Park.

‘Worse than a football match,’ Diamond said.

‘These last few evenings of fireworks were all publicity,’ Paloma said. ‘It’s going to be crowded. I thought all that rain might have put people off, but it stopped before dark, like they said in the forecast.’

‘Shame. I was banking on staying indoors and watching from your bedroom.’

‘Less of that, please.’

It was dark by the time they reached Royal Victoria Park and got a sense of the size of the crowd, surely the biggest since the Three Tenors attracted more than thirty thousand in 2003. The difference was that this time no seating was provided. Those who wanted to be close to the action had arrived early and stood shoulder to shoulder below the ha-ha, the sunken six-foot barrier between the performance area and the crowd. A few yards back some brave souls had spread blankets for picnics at the risk of getting trampled. Vendors of drinks and snacks were doing good business where they could weave their way in.

As was the custom for big events, every light in the Royal Crescent was switched on — notably in the squatters’ house as well as all the others — making a memorable spectacle in itself. The residents’ lawn above the ha-ha was reserved for the fireworks teams and scaffolding was in place.

‘Should be starting soon,’ Diamond said when he and Paloma had chosen a place to stand in front of the trees in Royal Avenue. ‘The finalists are France and China, and Bath is putting on some kind of extra display at the end.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll last that long,’ Paloma said. ‘I should have brought ear plugs. I’ve got some at home.’

The public-address system was already pumping out high-decibel canned music. Presently it stopped and after some painful audio feedback a human voice was heard imploring the crowd to take some steps backwards for the safety of people at the front. The appeal seemed to be heeded.

‘Seen any police yet?’ Diamond asked Paloma. ‘Most of Bath Central is here.’

‘On duty?’

‘They’ll be in high-vis jackets.’

She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want their job.’

A new voice welcomed everyone to the World Fireworks Championships and explained about the rules for competition and the earlier rounds at the Rec.

‘This’ll be Perry the Pyro,’ Diamond said. ‘Can you spot him? White hat, long dark hair.’

‘No chance from this distance. I wish they’d stop talking and get on with it.’

The national anthems of France and China blared from the amplifiers but no one at the back took much notice. A man to Diamond’s left offered him the use of binoculars. He was able to pick out Perry with a hand-held microphone strutting along the edge of the ha-ha like Mick Jagger. ‘And now, dudes,’ he was saying, ‘it’s over to the teams. First up is France. As you know, the French do three things better than anyone else: wine, cheese and sex. Now let’s see if they can make it four. Put your hands together for our cousins from across the Channel.’

If anyone actually clapped it wasn’t heard because a volley of mortar blasts got the French programme under way. Finally all attention focused on the fireworks. Patriotic red, white and blue in cascades lit up the night, multiplied into millions of sparks curving outwards over the crescent. The crowd responded with the obligatory oooooghs and aaaaaghs. There was stirring synchronised music from Bizet as well, but the real treats were in the sky.

‘Worth coming for?’ Diamond said.

If Paloma answered it was lost in the next explosions.

The French display took almost half an hour, but seemed longer, such was the intensity. Everyone seemed to agree the show was worthy of the finale and better than anything seen on previous nights.

Smoke could be seen along the length of the lawn and teams were at work rigging the next display. The smell of sulphur spread across the park.

The interval was welcome and the drinks vendors did a good trade.

‘The Chinese should give us something special considering they invented fireworks,’ Diamond said. ‘Are you up for it?’

‘I am, but my ears aren’t,’ Paloma said. ‘I think I’ll be deaf for the next twenty-four hours.’

At the front, Perry was working the crowd, asking them how amazing the French display had been and whether China could top it.

‘He’s good at this,’ Diamond said. ‘It’s a rare talent.’

Paloma didn’t seem to have heard. He took out a tube of mints and handed it to her.

Huge aerial shells announced the start of China’s effort. This time the sky turned red as lithium atoms showered over the crescent. What followed was exceptional. How the effect of a silver brocade waterfall was achieved was a mystery and that was just the start of a programme that had the crowd gasping between cries of appreciation. When it finished there was little doubt that China was the winner, but the announcement was delayed. Instead, ‘Greensleeves’ suddenly boomed from the public address system. Could there be a dispute over the result? Perry the Pyro was nowhere to be seen. It transpired that in the hiatus the city of Bath was about to make its own contribution to the evening.

‘Can your eardrums stand any more?’ Diamond asked Paloma.

‘If we start walking now, we might escape the worst of it,’ she said.

‘Good idea.’

But they hadn’t got far before a fusillade of mortars shook the ground. Diamond looked over his shoulder. ‘How do they follow that?’

‘With an anticlimax,’ she said. ‘Just look at it.’

Somewhere in front of the scaffolding, a set-piece tableau outlined in fizzing light had appeared. The figure of a woman in Georgian costume appeared to be curtsying to a bowing man in frock coat and wig.

‘If I’m not mistaken that’s Jane Austen and bloody Beau Nash,’ he said. ‘The bugger follows me everywhere.’