Chapter Twenty-Five
God Speed Ye Merry Gentlemen
Let Nothing You Delay
Dusk had fallen and the Christmas lights shone from their suspended strings above the heads of the people still thronging around the streets, although it had quietened down a little.
Gemma avoided Matt’s gaze as she joined him and Oliver. Music could be heard from someone performing their own spirited if somewhat inaccurate rendition of ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’.
Oliver eyed Gemma’s bag of shopping.
‘All done? We’re heading back to the pub now if you’d like to join us?’
I can’t… I just can’t…
‘I… er. That’s kind, thank you, but I’ll go and find my aunts, see if either of them needs a hand on their stalls.’ Then she frowned. ‘Why isn’t Anna with you?’
A sound came from Matt, and Gemma forced herself to look at him, attempting a nonchalant expression, in hopes it would conceal how she felt. Could it be read in someone’s face that you were falling for them?
‘She’s being taken advantage of.’ He said nothing further, however, merely holding Gemma’s gaze with his own.
‘She can’t help herself,’ Oliver explained. ‘She’s been roped into helping Seb and Gavin, serving dishes and clearing tables. They’re booked to the rafters and there’s been no let-up as the afternoon’s gone on.’
‘We were sent packing – by Anna, I might add – so our table could accommodate some visitors who hadn’t reserved one.’ Matt looked disgruntled. ‘Still,’ he added to Oliver. ‘At least it gave you the chance to talk to Dev about—’
‘Things. Yes. So?’ Oliver turned to Gemma. ‘Fancy a drink? It’s winding down a bit now.’
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She smiled at Oliver. ‘Say goodbye to Anna for me.’
‘As you wish.’ Oliver clapped Matt on the shoulder. ‘Come on, you owe me a pint.’
Matt’s expression was inscrutable as he turned to walk back with Oliver, and Gemma – her chest taut with emotion – swallowed hard and made her way through the village back to where Jean had her stall.
An hour later, the streets had emptied considerably, though people spilled out from the Three Fishes onto the harbour, several people sitting on the benches, well wrapped up and nursing their drinks.
‘Think we’ll close up now.’ Jean placed a steel lid on the ice cream container in the purpose-made stand. ‘Can you bring the scoops, Gemma?’
Doing as she was bid, Gemma placed them in soapy water, and half an hour later everything was put away, with the special stand stowed in the back room, ready for the next event.
They went along to see her great-aunt, Phoenix and Old Patrick, but they were busy packing up their wares.
‘I’ll see Mrs L home, Jean. She can pop her leftovers in my trolley.’ Phoenix indicated the wooden, four-wheel cart to one side. ‘Mrs Clegg went a while back, only managed an hour, bless her.’
‘I could murder a drink,’ Jean said, laughing as she and Gemma passed the heaving bar attached to the bistro. ‘But everywhere’s full.’
Gemma almost suggested they drop their bags at the house on the hill and continue up to the hotel, which would surely be quieter, but, not knowing what time Matt planned to arrive to claim his room, she kept quiet.
‘Tell you what, Auntie Jay. I’ll treat us to some wine from the Spar, and we’ll have it with our dinner.’
It was during their meal that a message came through from Matt, and Gemma snatched up her phone to read it.
Thank you.
Her brow furrowed.
For what?
She picked up her fork and took a mouthful of creamy lasagne as Jean topped up their wine glasses. Did it even matter what Matt was referring to? Seeing his name pop up in her phone was sufficient for her mood to lift.
Jean eyed her across the table. ‘You okay? You’ve not been yourself this evening. Did something happen at the fayre? I saw you with an elderly gentleman.’
Gemma swallowed the last morsel in her mouth and licked her lips. ‘That’s the man who gave me a lift here from the station, do you remember? Turns out he’s related to the chap who lives in Harbourwatch. It’s a big house to rattle round in on your own, although I suppose Oliver did.’
Gemma’s phone pinged again and she picked it up in a more leisurely way, her skin tingling on seeing it was from Matt again.
For today. Will explain more when we’re home.
If Gemma’s heart hadn’t already been Matt’s, it would have been now. The only trouble was, she now had to face leaving their ‘home’ as well as leaving him.
‘Gemma?’
With a sigh, she pocketed her phone and picked up her glass. ‘Sorry, Auntie Jay. It’s rude of me to have my phone at the table.’
‘It’s not that.’ Jean leaned forward. ‘I’m not a fool, and I’m not blind. I do, however, feel I’m in loco parentis right now, and I’m here if you ever need to talk about whatever it is that is making you look miserable one minute, then happy, then in the pits of despair.’
Worrying her aunt was not an option. Gemma pulled herself together, summoning a smile.
‘I’m fine, I promise, and I’ll ask for help if I need it. There’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t put right.’
If only…
Gemma slept surprisingly well, despite her inner conflict, but woke before dawn broke. She lay on her back against the pillows, scrolling through her social media accounts. She created a reel of the Christmas market but, when she went to Instagram to upload it, she was immediately distracted by Harry popping up on her stories feed.
He’d been busy. There was a reel, soundtracked by the bitterness of Justin Timberlake’s rendition of ‘Cry Me a River’, and a lengthy post.
Skimming through them, Gemma felt a whisper of sympathy for the man. He was clearly hurting deep inside, but the lyrics were ambiguous. Was he referring to his wife’s infidelity or what he saw as Matt’s betrayal?
Gemma wriggled up in bed, switching on the bedside lamp. Reading through the responses to his post, she could see his fans had instinctively opted for the former, offering support, adoration and – in some cases – to replace his ex.
Was it worth trying a different approach and, if so, how to word it?
‘Ah, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ Gemma said softly to the bedroom curtains, through which the streetlight glowed.
She posted her reply, then went to Harry’s story – much in the same vein, this time to the soundtrack of Justin Bieber’s ‘Love Yourself’ – and sent a sad emoji, then hesitated. The song was clearly about a woman, but could she hint at its ambiguity? She recalled the story and tapped a line into the box, suggesting she knew the words had hidden meaning. That would have to do for now, but she wasn’t going to give up.
Retrieving her journal and pen from the floor, Gemma sat up against the pillows. She wouldn’t sleep now, so she may as well try to keep her mind occupied before it went in a direction—
A notification on her phone made her jump. It couldn’t be Harry, could it?
She snatched it up and a smile spread freely across her features.
Matt.
Spoke to the tides, they said we have time to eat breakfast. Meet me
at Karma at 8?
Okay, now there was no danger of sleeping again! Gemma selected the camera on her phone and turned it to selfie mode. Rubbing some sleep from her left eye, she viewed her hair, still somewhat flattened from its extended dalliance with her woolly cap.
‘Shower, girl. Now!’
She leapt out of bed, sidestepped her overspilling bag, yesterday’s purchases and Christmas shopping that had arrived in the post, grabbed her towel and shot into the bathroom.
Gemma couldn’t account for the frisson of anticipation gripping her as she frantically packed up her things, picked up the bag for life – into which the patient Jean had stowed all her parcels – and hugged her aunt before shooting out the door and down the hill into Polkerran.
She was out of breath by the time she reached the harbour and walked over to rest her bags on a bench. There was activity everywhere, with people dismantling pergolas, folding tables, picking up litter, and others standing around with paper cups of coffee and calling out unhelpful suggestions.
Gemma checked her phone. Five minutes. She gathered her bags and headed across the road to Karma.
Struggling to open the door with her hands full, she smiled widely at the young woman emerging from the cafe, a takeaway coffee in hand.
‘Thank you.’ She shuffled sideways through the doorway, but then the woman turned back to her.
‘I think there’s someone famous in there,’ she whispered. ‘Can’t work out why I know his face, but two people have already been over and taken selfies with him and one got him to sign a serviette.’
With that, she was gone, and Gemma straightened as the door closed behind her and looked around.
Matt was in a booth furthest from the door, but when he saw her he excused himself from the couple standing beside his table and came over, and Gemma cautioned her erratic heart.
‘Where did all these come from?’ He relieved her of the two carriers. ‘Come on.’
Gemma followed him back to the booth, conscious of the interested stares from the couple as they passed her.
‘I’d ordered some Christmas gifts for people, and those’ – she pointed to the carrier bag – ‘are yesterday’s finds.’
Matt shook his head, stowing the bags under the table with his own. The guitar case was propped against the wall.
‘Is your fame growing?’ Gemma hung her coat on a nearby hook and took a seat opposite Matt. He’d put his sunglasses back on, despite the dull day outside.
‘Word seems to be trickling around. Thankfully, most people in Polkerran don’t have a clue who I was. I’ll be glad to get back to Rivermills.’
Me too. I think. Gemma checked her phone. ‘We’ve got about an hour before we ought to head back.’ She eyed the empty table. ‘Do you want me to order?’
‘No, I’ll get this.’ He shoved the menu card across the table and Gemma took a quick scan and then suppressed the urge to turn round in her seat to watch Matt walk to the counter. After all, it would be rather obvious.
‘They’ll bring it over in about five minutes.’ Matt slid back into the booth.
‘How was the hotel?’
Matt leaned back against the leather seating. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her with the dark glasses on, and for a moment he didn’t answer.
Then, a smile formed. ‘Interesting. Unexpected, if I’m honest.’
Had he met someone, then?
‘Is that why you wanted to meet for breakfast? To tell me about… it?’
‘No. Thanks.’ Matt acknowledged the arrival of their coffees, and offered Gemma the jug of warmed milk. ‘I wanted to say thank you, properly.’
‘I’m not sure I’ve done anything.’ Gemma stirred her coffee, then picked up the mug. Oh Lord, now he’d removed his glasses.
She took a sip, willing her heart to stop its foolish fluttering.
‘I finally had the nerve last night to tell Anna I wasn’t up to singing at the wedding. You know’ – he waved a hand – ‘when they do the “let’s all reflect on how much this cost” thing?’
Gemma rolled her eyes. Men.
Matt leaned across the table, his hazel eyes – holding a warmth she’d only ever seen when he looked at Anna – fastened on Gemma’s. ‘If you hadn’t pointed out that I didn’t have to sing at the fayre, that I could simply play if I wanted…’
He leaned back again, and Gemma released a soft breath of relief.
‘You were a hero, Matt.’
He huffed. ‘I’m not sure about that.’
‘Peggy looked pretty grateful.’
‘She was the one who’d brought the wrong memory stick. Look, I’m serious about having genuine gratitude to you. Since Anna came into my life, I’ve got used to having someone be there for me, be genuinely invested in how I’m feeling, what’s affecting me, and caring enough to want to help.’ He ran a hand through his hair in the way Gemma found so endearing. ‘It’s like I’ve gone from being alone to having two sisters looking out for me.’
Sister? Great. Gemma deflated like a whoopee cushion – though thankfully without the accompanying sound effects – as their breakfasts arrived. She welcomed the distraction, trying to accept she ought to be flattered he felt like that. Who’d have thought they would have come from those two people sharing a lift in Ryther’s car to being this close? Matt considering her a second sibling, and Gemma feeling… well, perhaps she should concentrate on spreading butter on her croissant.
Matt got to his feet. ‘Need to get some jam.’
Giving herself a stern talking-to, Gemma took a bite of her croissant.
A notification pinged on her phone, and she brushed her fingers against her jeans and picked it up. A message on Instagram.
From Harry.