Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Matt, are you ready? Because we’d like to get proceedings under way.’ Dawn’s hand was on his arm, startling him.
Together with the contractors and some of the members, he’d worked day and night over the past week to get the club ready for the launch party. Now it was here, he felt like a fluffy bunny in the headlights of a truck.
‘Are you OK? I can delay a little while if you need a few moments. This must be quite emotional for you …’
‘No. I mean, yes, it’s a big deal but in a good way.’ He smiled at Dawn. ‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’
He accompanied Dawn to the front of the refurbished club function room, where a small area around the plaque on the wall had been cordoned off with chairs and a rope. People had started to gather, making their way in from the terrace and the bar area.
‘I’d no idea so many people would turn up.’ It was a hot and sticky day and more and more bodies were piling in. The smell of fresh paint lingered and made him feel faintly nauseous.
‘Really? This is by far the busiest the club’s been for years. I wish we’d sold tickets. Only joking. OK, let’s call everyone to order.’
‘Hello, everyone! I said: hello, everyone!’ Dawn waved her hands. ‘I know you’re all having a great time, drinking and catching up, but I just want to say a few words before I unveil the plaque to commemorate the Harry Veryan Clubhouse.’
Cheers and whoops rang out, and faces fixed on Dawn and Matt.
The attention was like a fire whose heat grew more oppressive by the moment.
He’d been a performer once, although he hadn’t done it for the attention but to experience the joy of singing alongside his friends and share his love of music with the audience.
And while he’d known this moment was coming, and thought he’d prepared for it, he hadn’t prepared at all.
‘Some of you here had the privilege of knowing Harry and were proud to call him a friend,’ Dawn continued.
‘A few of you won’t remember him, but can’t fail to have heard of this giant of the Cornish lifesaving scene.
He was the founder of this club, and a stalwart throughout its history until he sadly passed away three years ago. ’
Matt had to glance at the ground briefly.
‘It’s thanks to Harry that the town has a Surf Lifesaving Club at all, and thanks to him there are at least forty families whose loved ones are alive today. I am delighted to say that we have several of those families here now.’
Matt’s lips parted in shock. He hadn’t realised that survivors’ families would be there. He looked out on the crowd and noticed faces smiling at him in gratitude. Zennor was also watching him and then, behind her, he saw Trev.
‘Unfortunately, Matt’s parents – Harry’s son and daughter-in-law, Chris and Zoey, can’t be here tonight, but they have sent a message from their home in Australia.’
Dawn read the message out and for this, at least, Matt had been prepared.
His dad had apologised for his absence and said how proud he was of the plaque and of the club being named after Harry.
It was Matt, however, to whom Harry had been really close, with their shared love of singing and the Surf Club.
After the respectful applause following the message had faded, Dawn went on excitedly, ‘So, now, I’d like to ask Matt to unveil the plaque.’
The plaque had been fixed on the wall set in a piece of granite from the beach.
With fingers not quite steady, Matt removed the dark cloth covering the plaque. The bronze plaque read:
THE HARRY VERYAN CLUBHOUSE
IN MEMORY OF THE FOUNDER OF THE ST EIA SURF LIFESAVING CLUB
There was cheering and applause as Matt smiled and tried to keep eye contact with the audience while being dangerously close to crying, running away, or both. He’d had no idea that the launch would have such a powerful effect on him.
Zennor, lips pressed together with suppressed emotion, applauded with her hands high in the air. His heart warmed to her even more. She was a good person – too good for him.
He wished Trev wasn’t behind her, also smiling and applauding. He wished he was at Zennor’s side. He was in love with her – he loved her and there was nothing he could do to change that.
Dawn waited for a lull before continuing.
‘And most of all, I – and the rest of the club – would like to thank Matt himself for funding a substantial amount of the cost of renovating the clubhouse and changing rooms, not to mention project-managing the work. I’m sure that Harry would be delighted that all the members now have modern, up-to-date facilities and would be very proud of Matt’s generosity and hard work.
’ She paused for breath as more cheers rang out.
Matt held up his hands as if to quieten the audience. This was too much. He felt exactly like his grandad would have, yet hadn’t the dry quip ready.
Dawn went on: ‘And I’m thrilled to announce another piece of good news.
In addition to the clubhouse renovation, I’m delighted to tell you that the club has also decided to launch a brand-new training bursary resource for young members called the Harry Veryan Fund.
It has been founded thanks to the generous donations from a number of local businesspeople and the fundraising for it will be ongoing. ’
This was the first Matt had heard of the fund in his grandfather’s name. He’d only provided the money for the renovation works, which was a not insignificant sum.
Everyone clapped and cheered, yet Matt felt his face grow fiery with embarrassment. He really didn’t want to be thanked, especially not in public.
‘And now,’ Dawn said, smiling, ‘over to you, Matt.’
Knowing he’d have to say a few words, Matt had thought long and hard about what they might be, yet now he was put on the spot, he struggled to remember any of his prepared speech.
He glanced at the faces watching him expectantly. He saw Zennor near the front and caught her eye briefly. She gave him a warm smile and her eyes telegraphed encouragement. She must care a lot about him, surely …
He tried to speak but his throat was so dry, he could only cough.
‘S-orry,’ he croaked; he swallowed, and began again.
‘Thank you, Dawn, for your kind words. Those who knew my grandad won’t need me to tell them that he was, in the best sense of the word, a character.
He was a proud Cornishman to his boots, yet he was also a very generous man, ready to risk his life for any human soul – and a few non-human ones – who needed help, no matter where they came from and however they’d got themselves into difficulty. ’
‘Hear, hear!’ The cheers came from one of the rescued families. Matt wobbled again, suddenly worried he wouldn’t get through the speech without blubbing. He’d better keep it as short as possible.
‘And while I’m very grateful for Dawn’s kind words about me, tonight isn’t about me.
It never has been. It’s not even about my grandad.
It’s about you – everyone who is now a member and those who will join us in the future.
I don’t need thanks; seeing the club get the attention it deserves is more than enough for me. ’
There was a final round of cheering and applause, with some ‘Well done, mate’s, before Dawn held up her hands.
‘Thank you, everyone! However, we haven’t quite finished. May I ask you all to make your way out to the terrace where we have a small surprise planned for Matt – and for you all.’
More surprises? Matt’s stomach knotted. He’d only just started to relax.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, following her and the rest of the crowd out into the evening sun.
‘Wait and see.’
A few moments later he did see – and hear.
Dawn led him to the front of the crowd where a group of six men had begun to sing the classic tribute to the county: ‘Cornwall, My Home’.
The choir’s voices, at once tender and rugged, seemed to fill the whole bay as they sang about their love for their land.
Matt knew all of them: two were friends who’d been at Zennor’s wedding. The other four were all members of the St Eia Fishermen’s Choir, who performed most summer Fridays on the quayside. His grandad had been a member once – and the leader of the group, Jago, had been a friend of Harry’s.
It was the perfect tribute to his grandad.
He hadn’t heard a fishermen’s choir for years; not since Zennor’s wedding.
He’d actively avoided his mates and anything to do with singing, out of shame.
After that, he’d never had the guts or inclination to return to it.
It made him sad, yet it was his own fault that he’d cut himself off from the thing he used to love.
If he hadn’t decided to make such an idiot of himself at the wedding, he might still be in a band now – still singing.
He’d sabotaged so much of his own life when he’d wrecked Zennor’s wedding.
He willed the pent-up emotions not to spill out in public. There were so many today: among them regret, grief, pride and hope …
The song ended and everyone applauded, including Matt, relieved to vent some of his feelings in cheers and clapping.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Glad to see you haven’t lost your voices.’
Jago roared, ‘Cheeky sod. Of course we haven’t, but have you still got yours?’
Matt rolled his eyes.
Jago grinned, showing a gold tooth. ‘I mean it. Will you come up and join us?’
Sweat broke out on the small of his back. ‘Me? No way. I can’t.’
‘You can. You should.’
‘Yes! Matt, go on. Please!’
The shout of one of Matt’s old singing buddies was joined by dozens of others, whooping, whistling and urging him on. A collective cry began, and swelled, accompanied by raucous clapping and chanting. ‘We want Matt! We want Matt!’
Matt felt light-headed. He couldn’t sing. He wouldn’t.
Zennor’s hand covered her mouth in shock. The last time he’d sung in her presence, he’d only seen disgust and loathing.
‘I haven’t sung for – for a long time,’ he said but Jago’s arm went around his back, hustling him forward to join the group.
‘Your grandad was always up for a challenge. Don’t matter if you’re rusty. It’s the thought that counts. The heart and the soul.’
Matt scanned the faces, expectant, encouraging – and Zennor near the front, her mouth wide in astonishment. Her eyes seemed to will him on, but they also seemed concerned. She did care. Dared he hope that she might even love him?
Then he saw Trev at the very back, leaning against the balcony, a pint in his hand, smirking. Everyone wanted him to succeed – everyone except Trev.
‘I’m – n-not sure I can remember the words of anything.’
Jago roared and slapped him on the back. ‘Better pick something you won’t have forgotten then! Lads – the Cornish national anthem for Harry Veryan – “The Song Of The Western Men”. Better known to the uninitiated as “Trelawny”.’
The shouts hurt Matt’s ears. His stomach was churning, his T-shirt sticking to him. He couldn’t do this – he just couldn’t – yet Jago’s arm was at his back. Zennor was at the front, her eyes willing him to succeed, and at the back of the audience there was Trev, willing him to fail.