Chapter Thirteen #2
‘Well, I didn’t like to say … though you are a very cool auntie.’
‘Ha ha! I’m not sure whether I like the auntie part too much but cool I will take.’ Sybil’s eyes sparkled. Zennor smiled but then spoke more seriously.
‘With me losing Dad and Mum living away, I’ve needed someone older and wiser to talk to. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘Well, I can hardly deny I’m older but as for wiser? Hmm. I’m not sure I can lay claim to that … I have tried to be there when you needed me.’ Sybil sighed. ‘Even if I did miss the reception.’
‘You couldn’t turn down the role of a lifetime.’
‘Ha!’ Sybil laughed out loud, attracting the attention of a nearby jester and wizard.
She lowered her tone slightly. ‘I’m not sure you’d call being a backstabbing restaurant owner in a fifth-rate soap the “role of a lifetime” but it did earn me enough money to put a deposit on the Shack.
It’s a shame I was killed off so soon …’ She sighed.
‘You can’t have everything, though, and I’m sure you didn’t miss me at the wedding.
It would have been awkward … with me being close to both you and Matt.
I’m not sorry I missed that part of the reception. ’
‘I needed you afterwards. I needed a shoulder to cry on.’
‘You had your own mum,’ Sybil said gently.
‘She was … sympathetic but it seemed like she couldn’t be there for me as much as she wanted. Dad too.’ She paused. ‘They were having a few money worries, and my mum’s dad wasn’t well and – they were upset but they just wanted me to get on with my life with Trev.’
‘Yes, they had a lot on their plate. I’m sorry you didn’t have much time with your father after your marriage.
He really should be here now so he could see what you’ve achieved,’ Sybil said quietly.
She patted Zennor on the arm. ‘Which only makes it more important that you try to think kindly of Matt for both your sakes. Life is far too short to spend it bearing grudges.’
Zennor swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘I know. You’re right and I will try.’
‘Even if Matt’s presence is difficult for you.’
In more ways than one, Zennor thought.
‘How are your mum – and André?’ Sybil asked. ‘I rarely hear from them now.’
‘They’re OK.’
Her mum had met André only a year after her dad’s death. It had felt very soon but Zennor liked André, who was a retired fireman. He was funny and kind and clearly adored her mother so Zennor couldn’t begrudge her mother some consolation and happiness.
Deep in her heart, the memory of her childhood and teens remained powerfully bittersweet. Overall, they had been happy, carefree days when she felt secure and loved.
‘I’m going home to see Mum and André for Nan’s eightieth birthday,’ Zennor said. ‘They love when I visit but it’s hard for me to find a time to get away from the business, especially now. I think they’ll have to visit me more often, though the flat is small.’
Sybil was prevented from answering by a performer dressed as the Green Man who threw his arms around her, declaring, ‘Dahling, it’s been toooo long!’
While they were hugging, Zennor checked her phone and came across an old message from Matt, asking how she was after the mermaid incident.
Her mind slid back to him, his body glistening with water, the trail of hair arrowing down below his navel …
An electric thrill ran through her every time she thought about his arms around her, despite the humiliating circumstances she’d found herself in. No matter how hard she tried, he kept spilling over into her consciousness, invading every thought.
Sybil finished chatting to the Green Man but by then, one of Zennor’s own clients needed a word with her.
They said their goodbyes and as late afternoon moved into evening, Zennor watched her other performers and hung out with Roo and her family until they left at seven thirty.
She had wondered if Matt might turn up, and was annoyed with herself for how often she’d scanned the crowds hoping to see his face.
She didn’t even know if it was his scene.
The light mellowed, and older kids, teens and couples replaced the families who had left. Queues snaking back from the bars and food outlets lengthened and the volume of music from the main stage swelled. When the shadows deepened, lanterns and fairy lights glowed in the trees.
Zennor found a seat at the rear of the Woodland Stage. The smoke rose again and the spooky music began.
The moment Sybil emerged from the smoke, bewildered and blinking, Zennor knew this was going to be good; she had butterflies of anticipation herself. The audience was in for a treat.
Sybil had the audience on the edge of their log seats, and drew gasps when she related some of the creepier tales from Cornwall: pacts with the devil, maidens going missing on the moors, young men lured to watery deaths by mermaids and ghostly sailors rising from the sea bed to stalk the streets of fishing villages, hell-bent on revenge.
Even though she’d heard some of the tales before, she shuddered at the details of rotting corpses, clanking chains and innocent fishermen driven mad by the horrors they’d seen.
The smoke and shadows combined with some clever sound effects sent shivers up her spine.
By the end of the performance, even Zennor was ready to believe that malign spirits walked the moors and clifftops.
As the smoke cleared and a smiling Sybil emerged to take the enthusiastic applause, Zennor felt a light tap on her shoulder. A whiff of expensive aftershave reached her and a deep voice came from behind. ‘Hello, Zennor.’
Her heart seemed to stop. She didn’t need to turn around to know that the hand on her shoulder belonged to Trev.