Chapter Thirty
So, this was it: the Daddy of them all. The season finale of the summer events calendar: St Eia Festival. It was already under way and the town was at its boiling point as more and more people poured in for the celebration of arts, literature, music and drama that would round off the summer season.
Since the Surf Club relaunch, Matt and his revelations had barely been out of her mind.
There was no one she could talk to about it, either – not Roo, her mum or even Sybil.
With the added stress of a hectic festival programme and the constant rushing around, it was hardly surprising that she’d run herself into the ground and landed herself with a splitting headache.
‘Ow!’
On the corner of the Digey, she literally bumped into Paul from the theatre, who was emerging from the bakery with a large bag of pasties.
Judging by his red face and harassed expression, he was feeling the pressure.
Zennor guessed he might need an encouraging word and, despite her throbbing head, was swift to offer it.
‘How’s it going, Paul? Or should I even ask?’
He let out a long breath. ‘You want the media answer or the real answer?’
‘The real one.’
He gave a dramatic sigh. ‘It’s doing my head in. It’s great that the theatre is one of the main venues, but I feel like I’m spinning a hundred plates and dropping most of them. There’s so much that can, will and has gone wrong.’
‘We’re trying to coordinate a load of performers for Sea Fever,’ Zennor said, ‘but it’ll be all right on the night.’
‘I keep telling people that but I wish I believed it!’
Paul’s phone, which had been buzzing like an angry wasp since she’d bumped into him, finally claimed his attention.
He stuck his tongue out when he saw the screen.
‘Sorry, darling, I have to call this woman from the council. Even though I’d rather eat a cow-pat pasty than deal with her.
She’d be perfect as Miss Trunchbull just by being herself! ’
Picturing the terrifying headmistress from Matilda looming over the gentle Paul, Zennor had to smile. ‘OK. It’s fine. I should get back to work. Good luck with Miss Trunchbull.’
‘Thanks. Oh, before you go, I absolutely must thank you for the theatre donation. In fact, I’d like to give you a big hug.
’ He put the pasty bag on the cobbles so he could throw his arms around her, ignoring the mutters of a family trying to get past and into the bakery.
Zennor allowed herself to be hugged even though being compressed by a bear of a man, however lovely, wasn’t helping her headache – and neither was the confusion about a donation she was sure she hadn’t made.
‘This is very kind of you,’ Zennor said, moving away from the bakery entrance, ‘but I’m not sure I deserve it. Can you tell me more about this donation? Is it something Roo has organised and not had a chance to tell me about yet?’ She was trying to be as diplomatic as she could.
Paul gathered up his pasty bag. ‘Oh, it’s not Roo. It’s from Trev. He’s made a very generous and ongoing contribution to the youth theatre fund. In fact, he’s become one of our leading patrons.’
‘Trev? I – I—’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Whoops.’ Paul clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘I assumed he’d discussed it with you because he said it was solely because of you that he’d decided to get involved.’ Paul grimaced. ‘Oh dear. Me and my big mouth.’
‘Don’t worry. Trev was probably going to tell me all about it when I next see him. I’ll act as if I didn’t know.’ She zipped her lip and forced a smile.
‘Phew! OK. And again, I do apologise for spoiling the surprise. He went on about how much it meant to you and how you’d love to get more involved if you could.
’ He lowered his voice, not that anyone in the crowds would have the slightest clue who Trev was.
‘I didn’t know that you and he were, you know, again.
’ He smiled. ‘He clearly cares a lot about you.’
‘Um …’ Zennor murmured, flooded with dismay.
Trev had apparently decided to act on her comments about supporting the theatre but linked her name to it.
She’d never asked him to, but she couldn’t possibly discuss her private life with Paul.
‘I’m glad you have another patron,’ she managed. ‘You and the theatre deserve it.’
‘Thanks. I’d better get back before these pasties are stone cold and everyone hates me.’
Zennor waved her farewell as Paul hurried off, clutching his bag of goodies.
Even as she walked slowly back to the office, she wondered. Was she “you know” with Trev again – is that what people thought? That they were back together?
It was definitely what Matt had suspected.
Zennor stopped by the railings of the harbour. The tide was going out and boats rested on the creamy sand, their weed-covered lines tethered to the harbour walls. Turnstones pecked around her feet while Eric’s seagull friends perched on the railings and lampposts, ready to swoop on the unwary.
Zennor would be glad when the crowds had thinned and winter storms rolled in so the place was left to Eric, his mates and locals like herself.
She was debating if she should call on Trev and ask him what was going on, but a confrontation was the last thing she needed.
Besides, she had enough on her plate with the festival climax, Sea Fever, happening tomorrow.
Her phone buzzed with a WhatsApp from Roo.
Help!
The moment she walked back into the office, Roo was on her mobile, frantically gesturing to Zennor and pulling faces.
‘Yes, Shilpa. I’m sure we can find a replacement … I know you’re sold out. Please don’t worry. Zen and I will fix it. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible … Yes, I promise.’
She ended the call and let out a squeak of panic. ‘Zen! Thank God you’re back. That was Shilpa. The jazz quartet has phoned her to say they have norovirus and can’t do the show this evening. We need to find someone to head up to White Rocks for six thirty.’
‘OK … I’ll get on the contacts list right away.’
‘Thank you! I’d arrange it myself but the fire jugglers are stuck on the bloody A30 near Chiverton. Their van broke down and they can hardly call a taxi with a load of flammable materials in the back. I left a message for Jake and he offered to fetch them in his van.’
‘That’s very good of him.’ Zennor sank into her chair and hoped her head would soon stop pulsating.
‘Yeah, but I’ll have to take the kids to their summer club.
’ Roo stared at her. ‘You look very pale. It’s not noro, is it?
That’s the last thing any of us needs right now.
It must be spreading like wildfire with so many people at this festival …
Oh, I am so glad tomorrow is the last day and we only have to get through Sea Fever. ’
Half an hour later, the painkillers had kicked in and Zennor had managed to persuade an up-and-coming singer-musician to head to White Rocks to stand in for the jazz quartet.
It wasn’t ideal but the solo guy played guitar and keyboards, so at least Shilpa wouldn’t have to cancel. It was a great opportunity for him too.
Roo had organised transport for the fire jugglers and was now fussing around Zennor like a mother hen, having realised that she’d had a thumping headache.
‘I am so sorry about wittering on about work when you were feeling so rough. You did look awful. I should have sent you home.’
‘No way was I going home to lie down and leave you to deal with all this. It was only a headache and it’s eased off. I’m fine.’
One thing was for sure: Trev would have to wait. Kernow Entz and its clients came first today, and after tomorrow they could all have a bit of a breather – at least in work terms.