Page 41 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

Peggy continued to sit on the wall, cold, damp and miserable.

It was now an unavoidable fact: the village knew.

If Bunny knew, so did Jake, Gen, her friend Tina and all the rest. Did Gen know when we bumped into each other yesterday?

She’d shown no sign of it. But Peggy was so focused on not upsetting Gen about her night with Liam that she hadn’t been thinking of the email at that precise moment.

Did Jake know when he greeted me at the coffee van?

Only a handful of people by themselves, but with multiple connections across the village, like the Tube map.

So plenty of opportunity to indulge in idle speculation about whether Peggy– ‘who seems so nice’, she could just hear them– was really a bully or not.

She shook herself. If Jake did know, he was still his normal self with her the other day.

If Gen knew, she still wanted her to come to yoga with her.

Maybe it didn’t matter what people had been told.

All that mattered was what they believed to be true.

But this thought did not bring the comfort it should have supplied: Peggy didn’t want people even to speculate about her integrity.

Her eyes fell on Morvoren, who had emerged from the sea now the tide was going out.

The mermaid looked untroubled, as usual, her cheek smooth, her tail curving gracefully towards the sand, still shiny-wet from the waves.

Peggy got up, thinking of mad Ken’s warning.

Something about ignoring the spirits at your peril?

She couldn’t remember his exact words, only that they’d unsettled her at the time.

Now, feeling a little foolish, she approached the mermaid.

It was early and no one was about, except the occasional dog-walker in the distance, but she still felt self-conscious as she knelt on the sand at Morvoren’s feet and respectfully laid her hand on the wet tail– the granite feeling oddly warm to her chilly hand, as if it really was flesh and not stone.

Pressing gently, Peggy closed her eyes and fervently whispered her plea to Morvoren.

Time stood still. Tormenting thoughts– which had been rummaging about in her head for weeks– fled.

A gentle breeze seemed to flow through her body.

For a blissful moment, she was at peace as she kept her hand lightly on the warm rock, her eyes closed.

A series of loud, high-pitched barks startled her. She whipped away her hand, leaped to her feet. A young woman in joggers and a T-shirt was running after a small terrier charging towards the waves. Luckily she took no interest in Peggy or the mermaid.

Peggy quickly packed her towel into her basket and pulled on her fleece, shorts and trainers, not caring that her bum was still damp, her feet encrusted with sand, and made her escape, cheeks flaming with embarrassment that she might have been seen talking to a stone mermaid. But she found she was glad she had.

In no hurry to get back to the house and face Ted– home had become such a battleground recently– she walked the long way round the village, past the haunted house and up to the farm shop.

As she drew level with the huge barn, she saw Paul sitting on the bench outside, nursing a cup of coffee. He grinned and waved at her. ‘Good swim?’ he asked, indicating her damp hair and sandy legs.

‘Gorgeous,’ she replied.

‘Just made coffee.’ He got to his feet, which were bare as usual. ‘Get you some?’

There was nothing in the world Peggy would have liked more in that moment. ‘If it’s easy,’ she said, with a smile.

‘Sit, I’ll be right back. Black? White? I do award-winning froth.’

‘Black would be lovely. Thanks.’

‘There’s even a croissant just out of the oven. Not homemade, but not bad.’

Peggy nodded enthusiastically. ‘Love one.’

It was heaven, sitting in the sunshine sipping a delicious cup of coffee and munching a croissant– the swim had given her a fierce appetite. Paul was so relaxed, such easy company. There seemed no pressure to make conversation.

After a while, she found herself asking, ‘Do you believe in spirits, Paul? Piskies and the like?’ She wasn’t entirely serious, but that morning, holding her hand to Morvoren’s tail had felt like a special moment. It seemed to steady her, give her strength.

He laughed, turned on the bench, laying his arm along the back.

‘Leading question. Married to Sienna, I wouldn’t dare flout the little fellas.

’ He shrugged. ‘But, yeah, why not? We need all the help we can get in this crazy world.’ Paul’s dark eyes looked at her more closely. ‘Are you after some magic right now?’

She was about to laugh it off, but his question was so genuine she faltered, ended up merely nodding and looking away.

‘Sorry Daz couldn’t come up with something,’ Paul said softly.

‘Yeah, but I really appreciate his trying.’

She finished her coffee and thought she should go. From somewhere inside the shop, she suddenly heard the strains of Gershwin’s ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ and couldn’t help herself twitching in time to the clarinet introduction.

Paul was watching her intently as she rose from the bench. ‘You don’t, by any happy chance, play something, do you?’

‘Like tennis?’ she joked, deflecting his question.

Holding his hands up in mock-outrage, he said, ‘Do I look like a guy who’s interested in tennis ?’

Laughing, Peggy replied reluctantly, ‘I used to play the clarinet.’

He straightened, interest sparking in his eyes. ‘Used to? Really? Any good?’

She pulled a face. ‘Haven’t played in decades. But they told me I was good, back then.’ Even her mother had said so. High praise from a perfectionist musician.

‘Okay… So why did you give it up?’

Peggy plonked herself down again. ‘Long story short, my mother was a violinist. She walked out when I was thirteen.’

He looked puzzled. ‘And you…’

‘Gave up a few years later. A combo of sad memories and petty revenge,’ Peggy finished for him. ‘Mum loved me playing.’

Paul sucked his teeth. ‘Shame. Have you still got the instrument? I just ask, because I’m trying to get together a sort of trad-jazz band, trio… something. Cian from the deli plays the fiddle, and I can do sax or piano, sing, not sing. A clarinet would be awesome.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Peggy squawked. ‘I have still got it in the attic. But I wouldn’t know where to start. Mozart and Brahms with the occasional Copland was my best shot… and that was aeons ago.’

‘I offer the riding-a-bike analogy,’ Paul joked, then added more seriously, ‘I really miss my band.’ She could hear the yearning in his voice. ‘You liked playing, did you?’

She stared at him for a second. ‘I loved it,’ she said quietly, realizing in that moment just how much she had.

His eyes were full of recognition: one musician to another. ‘If you could play Mozart, you can play jazz.’

She shook her head frantically. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘Couldn’t or won’t?’ he asked, with a teasing grin.

‘Both,’ she said firmly. ‘Listen, I should go,’ she added. ‘Thanks so much for breakfast. I really enjoyed it.’

He gave her a lazy, almost flirtatious smile. ‘Oh, any time.’ He rose as she did. ‘I’m not giving up,’ he said, and mimed playing the clarinet.

Waving away his persistence, Peggy turned to go.

‘ Some Like It Hot tomorrow, don’t forget,’ she heard him call behind her. ‘I got my wicked way.’

Peggy laughed. ‘I’ll be there.’

As she strolled towards home, she found she was not thinking about the drive-in movie.

Instead, she was assailed by memories from the distant past. They were of an important fundraising school recital.

Peggy– aged about sixteen– was playing the final piece: the second movement of a Brahms sonata, her friend Malcolm on the piano.

It was a very big deal, Peggy remembered.

And she’d done well, got a standing ovation, in fact.

She could still recall the flood of elation at the realization she’d succeeded in front of all those important people.

Her mother had not been present, she couldn’t recall why not– perhaps because Celia had been playing elsewhere.

Or maybe the second trombone had taken precedence, as usual.

She only knew she’d been pleased in a furious, martyrish, agonized way that her mum had missed the performance of her daughter’s life– like everything else.

The sense of self-righteous hurt was painfully enjoyable to the teenage Peggy.

She wallowed in it. It had been after that night that she decided to put away her clarinet– basically cutting off her nose to spite her face.

Now, the notion of playing with Paul and Cian was unthinkable… but also oddly thrilling to think about.