Chapter Eleven
The old town hall smelled as it always did; of varnished wood, instant coffee, biscuits and a hint of damp.
Ivy knew that smell from childhood. The playgroups she had attended as a toddler and then the countless bake sales and school shows that had taken place here over the years.
She knew the battered plastic chairs, the thick, faded red velvet curtains and the temperamental trapdoor in the floor of the stage that had once catapulted Ivy into darkness during a primary school nativity.
The space where the audience would sit in only a couple of short weeks had been cleared; a tuneless upright piano sat off to one side.
Other than that, it was hard to imagine a show taking place here at all.
Ivy slunk in behind Trip, taking in the scene.
There was Mr Trenwith (cargo trousers and all) talking loudly and gesturing angrily at the script.
Kids scurried about, one shaking a tambourine, another tangled in a fishing net.
A group of parents sat on the stage, drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and idly chatting, clearly tuning out the whole mess.
Mr Hargreaves pleaded with everyone for silence and was roundly ignored.
Pages of the script were scattered like leaves in the wind.
Liv, Bethie and their friends were sitting on a ladder, watching with wide eyes.
‘Look at this,’ said Trip, sounding genuinely thrilled. ‘This is great.’
‘Is it?’ whispered Ivy. ‘It looks like this is one step away from Lord of the Flies.’
Trip shook his head firmly. ‘They just need direction. Don’t worry, Ivy. I thrive on chaos.’
Ivy took in a child hitting one of the parents around the ankles with a wooden spade and another eating what she thought was papier-maché from a bucket. ‘Then it looks like you’re in for a treat.’
Mr Hargreaves saw them and scuttled over, hands outstretched.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he said, casting a hunted look over his shoulder.
‘Mr Trenwith says the twins need more lines, but they already have the bulk of the dialogue. And two of the seagulls are off sick. The folk band are refusing to work under these conditions. And—’
A shrill whistle rang out and the crowd, startled, fell silent.
Trip clapped his hands loudly. ‘Quiet, everyone,’ he called, a note of authority in his voice that Ivy had not yet heard.
‘Now, my name is Trip –’ he ignored the chorus of sniggers from the older kids – ‘and I’m going to be taking the reins while Mr Patterson is in hospital.
I have a lot of experience with community theatre –’ Ivy saw the dull-eyed parents look up with interest – ‘and I’ve familiarised myself with the concept.
Interesting stuff. I know that we can pull this into a great show. ’
‘In less than two weeks?’ called one of the parents.
‘Absolutely,’ said Trip firmly. He dug a huge ring-bound folder out of his backpack, stuffed with paper.
‘Mr Hargreaves has given me a copy of the working script and, in my opinion, we have the makings of a hit on our hands. We just need to work together and, er, make some adjustments.’ There was a flurry of murmurs and he held up a hand, again with such authority that everyone fell silent.
‘But before we do anything, we need to go back to basics. Get to know each other.’ He pointed to Mr Trenwith.
‘Can you help Mr H carry this table into the centre of the room? And you guys,’ he pointed at Bethie and Liv, ‘bring some chairs.’ He smiled around at them all.
‘We’re going to start with a table-read. ’
It turned out that Ivy shouldn’t have worried. Trip had, naturally, been a hit.
Less than three minutes into the table-read, he had gently interrupted the painfully shy second lobster’s inaudible monologue with his first tactful, encouraging suggestion.
He had slashed seven pages of exposition about the rock formation of Cornwall.
Then he had suggested shifting the mermaid chorus to the start, thrilling the Year 4s and, when he added that the smugglers should enter accompanied by claps of lightning, there was a round of applause.
He was authoritative, decisive, tactful.
It was a whole new Trip that Ivy hadn’t seen before.
Ivy, listening in while painting a stormy backdrop, could practically feel the hall draw a collective sigh of relief at being in safe hands at last. Mr Hargreaves nodded enthusiastically every time Trip spoke.
Even Mr Trenwith seemed to decompress, especially when the twins were allotted the key roles of narrator.
The PTA parents, previously bristling with competing agendas and what appeared to be decades of barely hidden grudges, softened.
The Year 5 boys, who had sat through everything so far with crossed arms and expressions of utter disdain, were soon animatedly explaining the rules of Cornish wrestling to him, basking in his genuine interest.
About half an hour in, Ivy noticed the door opening and Mei sticking her head round it, followed by Erin and Callum. ‘Hiya!’ Mei said tentatively. ‘Is it still okay to come in?’
‘Sure!’ said Trip, bounding over and ushering them inside.
‘Come in! Everyone, this is Callum, Mei and Erin. They’re going to be joining us on the backstage team.
’ He produced a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve got your spec here.
Callum, all the sound tech is over there in the corner and the Year Fives are up for helping.
Mei, here’s the script and the lighting cues.
And Erin, I thought you could vet this for historical accuracy?
’ He squinted at the script. ‘I’m not sure this bit about King Arthur surfing to victory can be right? ’
As they went off to their respective corners of the hall, Ivy, who had been staring open-mouthed, turned to glare at Trip.
‘What are they doing here?’ she asked.
‘What?’ he said, shrugging. ‘I asked them to come. They seemed keen the other night. I thought it would be nice for us all to hang out.’
It felt like all of Fox Bay was getting involved. Even Simi turned up halfway through with a tray of sausage rolls ‘for the creative team,’ she said. ‘I told Lou to hold off on the carrots this time. I don’t know what’s got into her. Her tastebuds are all over the shop these days.’
Ivy, painting on the sidelines but unable to resist watching, began to feel a tingle of optimism as the rehearsal unfolded.
Somewhere, underneath the confusion, she could sense Trip pulling it all together.
Yes, it was chaotic. Yes, the show was still completely unhinged in concept.
But somehow, in spite (or perhaps because of) Trip’s bizarre and boundless optimism, for the first time it was … working. Taking shape.
‘Okay, folks, nice work today. I think we’ve narrowed down what everyone is doing,’ Trip called as the rehearsal drew to a close. He hopped up on one of the wobbly plastic chairs. ‘The final scene list. Ready?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Here we have the official running order of Fox Bay Primary’s Celebration of Cornwall.
Reception – Food and the Fishing industry.
Year One – Music, including a Fleetwood Mac medley in honour of Mick Fleetwood’s roots.
Year Two – Dance, with traditional Cornish folk dancing.
Year Three – Literature, a chilling scene from Daphne Du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn.
Year Four – Language, including a lesson in Kernewek.
Year Five – Sport, a demonstration of Cornish wrestling.
Year Six – Mythology and story, the Legend of Tom Bawcock.
The Finale will be a dramatic reenactment of Arthurian legend adapted by Year 4. ’
‘Basically Game of Thrones but with eight-year-olds,’ Erin whispered to Ivy and she found herself giggling.
Trip drew a deep breath. ‘How does that sound?’
There was a hearty round of applause. The parents came to collect their children and everyone else began to tidy up.
‘I’m going to get Liv home,’ her mum called. ‘She’s shattered. See you later, Ivy.’
‘Bye, Ivy!’ called Mei, scooping up her coat and bag and following Erin and Callum out into the night. ‘See you soon! Looking forward to hanging out!’
‘Yeah, me too,’ called Ivy. It actually hadn’t been too bad, she thought to herself.
The hall had all but emptied, and Trip and Ivy found each other alone, stacking chairs. There was a small silence.
‘I mean,’ Ivy said eventually, ‘it’s going to be a complete train wreck.’
Trip grinned. ‘And I, for one, cannot wait. Don’t tell me that wasn’t kind of fun.’
‘It was surreal,’ said Ivy, dragging a stool over. She caught Trip’s eye and smiled. ‘Okay, I admit it. Yes. It was kind of fun. I’m impressed. You got the committee under control in the space of one evening.’
‘I have just one question,’ said Trip. ‘Before I commit.’
‘Go on,’ said Ivy cautiously.
‘What on earth is a Stargazy pie?’
Ivy was still explaining the pie, fish heads and all, to a fascinated-looking Trip when Mr Hargreaves came bustling in from the back room.
‘Enough! Let me finish this. Go home, my dears,’ he cried. ‘You’ve worked wonders, dear boy,’ he added happily. ‘Wonders. There’s hope for the show yet.’ He shook Ivy’s hand enthusiastically. ‘I can’t thank you enough for introducing us.’
‘Great,’ said Ivy, extricating her hand. ‘Glad it worked out.’
‘I’ll walk you to your car, Ivy,’ Trip said.
They headed out into the night, which had fallen in earnest while they were inside. ‘Whoa. When did it get so dark?’ he said. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
‘The streetlights are out in this bit,’ said Ivy, groping her way to the pavement. ‘This whole town is an accident waiting to happen. I parked along the harbour. This way. Let’s just hope we don’t bump into anything or any—’
‘Hang on,’ said Trip. ‘Stop a minute.’ He caught Ivy’s hand and she felt an odd shiver run up her arm. ‘Shut your eyes.’
‘Why?’ said Ivy suspiciously.
There was a smile in his voice. ‘My gran always used to tell us this trick when we were scared of the dark. Close your eyes for ten seconds and when you open them, everything will be brighter.’
Ivy hesitated.
‘Go on.’
She shut her eyes obediently and Trip counted slowly under his breath.
‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five …’
She opened one eye a crack. His hand was warm and firm in hers.
‘No peeking,’ he said sternly. She wondered how he knew and shut her eyes again. ‘You have to wait the whole ten or else it doesn’t work. Four, three, two, one. There. Open.’
Ivy opened her eyes and gasped. The harbour was bathed in silver moonlight and Trip was looking right at her, his eyes alight. And he was still holding her hand. He seemed to notice at the same time and let it go.
‘Did you just produce a moon?’ she asked.
He laughed, looking around at the silvered street. ‘Um, no. That part was a coincidence. It must have been hidden behind a cloud and came out while we had our eyes shut.’ He grinned. ‘But you have to admit, it’s brighter.’
He was right about that, Ivy thought. Together they began to walk along the harbour, the moon painting the water in silver, and the noise from the town hall fading behind them until the only sounds were an occasional distant splash and the masts tapping as the boats bobbed in their moorings.
‘Tonight was great,’ Trip said happily, almost to himself.
‘You tamed the show committee,’ said Ivy, shaking her head. ‘No one lit any fires. And no one lost any limbs.’
‘Trust me, with some of those stunts Mr Patterson had in the script, it was close. It all could have gone very Midsommar.’
Trip walked beside her in companionable silence for a while, hands in his pockets, until Ivy spoke.
‘What made you ask Erin and Mei and Callum to help with the show? I mean, you barely know them.’
Trip glanced over at her, his expression thoughtful. ‘People mostly want to join in if you ask them.’
‘So says a life-long joiner. I can tell.’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely. That’s one of the biggest things I learned from my gran.
She always had this way of just assuming people would want to be part of whatever wild project she was doing.
A solstice parade or a spontaneous poetry night or a protest march.
She’d ask everyone, the most unlikely people, and they’d usually say yes. ’
‘She sounds nice,’ said Ivy. She thought of Brooke and Trip at the lighthouse that morning and wondered if they’d been talking about their grandmother then. ‘Like you. I’d be the one saying no or sitting in the corner.’
‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.’ Trip nudged her gently. ‘You’re nice too, Ivy.’
Ivy flushed. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called me nice before.’ Difficult, stubborn, intense, single-minded, yes. She had been called all those things. But nice, no.
‘Well, I think you are,’ Trip said easily.
Ivy could see her car up ahead and was almost sorry the walk was coming to an end. They reached it and stood there, facing each other. Out of nowhere, there it was again, Ivy thought. That odd, unexpected shiver.
Trip rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Night, then. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early for this island excursion.’
‘Yeah. Night. Bring a coat this time? It gets cold on the boat.’
‘Okay.’
Neither moved.
Ivy said, ‘And you’ll bring snacks, right?’
Trip smiled a warm, slightly crooked smile. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You have to have snacks.’