Page 55 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

‘How can I choose what to wear, if you won’t tell me where we’re going?’ Peggy wailed theatrically when Ted declared he was taking her out for supper but refused point blank to tell her the venue. She was excited, though. There was something in the air today.

It was her sixty-third birthday, a hot, sunny Saturday at the end of August, the village alive and buzzing with holidaymakers, the sea aquamarine, the sky cloudless.

They’d been on the beach most of the day, Henri manned by Shona.

Liam and Dan had been in touch that morning, a joint FaceTime, supplemented by a large bunch of fragrant, blush-pink roses from them both.

And she’d chatted at length to Annie. Jamie had sent exploding fireworks and popping balloons in a loving birthday message.

Even her brother Tom had managed to call her from his kindly neighbours’ phone.

He’d sounded a lot more cheerful than usual, she thought.

It had lifted her spirits still further to hear from him.

Peggy, too, was feeling happier than she had in a long while.

The lethargy, post Lindy’s meltdown, had vanished.

In its place was a fizzing excitement about her life in the bay.

She and Sienna were getting together regularly now, Peggy helping her future boss with the education and curriculum side of the forest school: behind schedule, due to open in January now.

She would almost say they were friends. The woman could be vague and rude, fey on occasion, but she was also passionate and intelligent when she met Peggy for coffee– choosing Ted’s van, these days, instead of the planet-wasting services of the Samson George.

The piskies were often wheeled out. But, since the moment at Lindy’s, Peggy had become rather enamoured of the fairy folk.

She’d decided– against her more rational judgement– they might be a real force for good in the natural environment of the school, convincing herself they would help look after the troubled children.

Although she didn’t share this opinion with Ted or anyone else.

And then there was her clarinet…

A couple of days after her encounter with Lindy, Peggy had waited till Ted went off to the van, then quickly run upstairs– before she changed her mind– and pulled down the clanking metal ladder that led to the loft, situated on the landing outside the office.

Gingerly stepping on the dusty rungs, she had pushed open the hatch and heaved herself up into the shadowy space, lit only by a small, mossy skylight and a weak, bare bulb swinging from the central rafter.

She knew what she was looking for and where to find it.

The loft was Ted’s domain. He wasn’t a hoarder, and the place was neat, the boxes and odd items not in a container– a side table belonging to Peggy’s grandmother, a lamp without a shade, some of Lois’s unframed paintings– stacked neatly against the sloping wall.

She went straight to a small, battered canvas trunk in the corner– it had belonged to her father.

Cobwebs ran from the lid to the wool insulation lining the roof and she brushed them off, kneeling on the gritty floorboards and twisting up the rusting metal hasp.

Taking a deep breath, she raised the cover.

Her clarinet case lay on top of two large piles of sheet music, seemingly unaffected by the years of neglect.

For a moment she gazed at it but didn’t touch it.

This instrument had meant so much to her.

It was a powerful link to her musical mother, and a weapon with which to manipulate and hurt her.

If Peggy didn’t practise, Celia would be incandescent, then pleading and tearful.

If she did practise, her mother would be all smiles and praise.

It was like a push-me-pull-you, a guaranteed method of getting attention.

But although Peggy, at the time, had thought she was the one in control, her mother had finally been the more skilful at the game.

Peggy desperately sought her mother’s love and approval through her music.

In the end, though, Celia had had other priorities.

The case was rectangular, made of faux black leather, with a canvas carrying strap and two latches– old-fashioned compared with today’s lightweight, more streamlined versions.

Peggy reached in and flicked the latches, opening the lid to reveal the moulded red velour interior in which nestled the sections of her clarinet.

She inhaled sharply, reached out and lightly stroked the smooth wood, ran her finger across the intricate lacing of metal keys.

Then she began lifting out the pieces, fitting them together from the bell at the bottom up to the mouthpiece.

She could do this in her sleep– like riding a bike, as Paul had insisted.

As she did so, she felt her mouth pucker, her bottom lip draw in across her teeth, as she anticipated the smooth touch of the clarinet in her mouth.

There was still one reed left in the separate plastic box beside the case and Peggy sucked the cane as she slowly put together the instrument, relishing the familiar woody taste on her tongue.

Finally, she slid the reed inside the ligature, lined it up exactly with the mouthpiece and tightened the screw.

She settled cross-legged on the boards, put the clarinet between her lips, then took a breath and blew.

Gently at first, then with more confidence.

The mellow, melancholy sound ran through her body, vibrated in her cells, filling the small attic space with the sound, her fingers quickly finding the keys as if she’d played only yesterday.

It felt both intensely normal and almost surreal. To Peggy, it was bliss.

She had no idea how long she sat there– she lost time, as always, while playing.

When she finally dismantled the instrument and laid it carefully back in the case, bringing it– and a chosen selection of the sheet music stored in the trunk– down from the loft, she felt a little drunk with her achievement.

Why on earth did I leave it so long? she asked herself.

Nervous as she was of exposing her abilities to Paul and Cian, she knew now that she was capable. She hadn’t forgotten how to play. She would play for them, with them. Not yet– she needed practice– but soon, very soon. The thought made her smile stupidly with anticipation.

‘Wear something celebratory,’ Ted advised now, with a mischievous grin.

Peggy chose a summer maxi-dress in patterned kingfisher blue and white, which she’d bought at Kyma.

Made from a floaty, lightweight georgette, it had three-quarter-length sleeves, an obi belt, and swished satisfactorily when Peggy moved.

She hadn’t had occasion to wear the dress yet, but she’d fallen in love with it when she dropped in one morning to chat to Gen– unintentionally ending up trying on half the shop’s summer stock– and had been dying to test it out.

‘Wow!’ Ted breathed, when she shimmied downstairs later. ‘You look sensational.’

She blushed and twirled. ‘You like?’

‘I love .’

‘Okay. So now you have to tell me,’ she said, going over and smiling flirtatiously as she kissed his cheek. He grabbed her and returned her kiss, hugging her close. He smelt delicious, Peggy picking up the familiar notes of bergamot and lavender in his aftershave.

‘Uh-uh,’ Ted said, releasing her. He was looking very handsome in a white shirt with deep blue trim, which showed off his tan and his silver crew cut, and tailored navy trousers, Nike Air on his feet.

Peggy assumed they’d get into the car, or turn left out of the gate, down to the village.

But Ted guided her past the car and to the right.

She frowned. There were no cafés or eateries this way.

Her suede sandals wouldn’t brook too much walking– the leather always rubbed her toes after a while– but she said nothing, smiling at Ted’s obvious excitement: he could hardly contain himself.

As the farm shop came into view, it was clear something was going on. There was even a car-jockey hovering, and Peggy watched as he guided a vehicle into the field adjacent to the barn.

‘Whoa, Messingers must be having a bash,’ she commented, as they drew level with the huge barn door– whence the distant sound of music and laughter emanated.

Ted, who’d said almost nothing as they strolled along the lane, now came to a halt. Grinning and still not saying a word, he turned her, then pushed her gently towards the maw of the barn.

‘Wait, Ted, wait ,’ Peggy objected, slowing their progress by leaning back against his body. Suspicion was dawning, rendering her instantly terrified. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

Peggy stubbornly refused to move. But she knew it was a lost cause.

So, taking a deep breath, she stopped resisting.

Inside, all was gloomy and dark, strangely empty.

She glanced around, catching the deliciously tempting waft of barbecued meat from somewhere, making her stomach rumble– she was starving, she realized. Where are all the people? she wondered.

As she turned to Ted with another question, the back doors of the barn– as big as the front ones– were suddenly dragged open, revealing the lawn space behind.

Peggy, startled, heard the strains of Stevie Wonder, booming at full volume and echoing around the cavernous space, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ in his inimitable fashion.

Before she could take in what was happening or get her breath, a crowd of people sprang into view, clapping and cheering and shouting her name. It was almost overwhelming.

Clutching Ted’s hand, she felt her cheeks burn, her face break into a grin as, slightly dazed, she began to laugh. Then Paul was by her side, waltzing her outside into the evening sunshine, singing along tunefully with Stevie.