Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matt clenched his fingers by his side. He tried to speak but he could only cough.
‘Here, wet your whistle with this,’ Jago said.
Someone handed him a pint and he took a swig, grateful for the beer warming his throat and loosening his vocal cords.
‘We ready?’ he asked Matt quietly.
Matt nodded. ‘No, but let’s do it anyway.’
Jago spoke softly. ‘OK, boys, one, two …’
‘A-a good sword and a trusty hand,
A merry heart and true!
King James’s men shall understand
What Cornish la-ads ca-an do.’
The sound almost lifted him off his feet.
It was so pure and deep that he felt it physically and marvelled that he was part of that sound.
He felt connected to part of something bigger than himself, of a team – a community – even if he must be out of tune, and his voice as rough as gravel compared to the melodious harmony of those standing by him.
The whoops had stopped, the cheering had fallen away, and all that remained was a wall of sound, of which he was part: one part of the whole. One of the Cornish lads again.
‘And shall Trelawny live?
Or shall Trelawny die?’
Every eye was on Matt and the choir – the pride, the emotion, the collective sense of belonging beaming out of faces. Hardened men were misty-eyed, holding back tears.
Matt opened his lungs and ramped up the volume.
So what if he was rusty and out of tune?
It didn’t matter. Only the feeling mattered, the effort – and the singing again: that was liberating.
He’d been out in the cold so long, banishing himself from his own friends and community and now he was back in the fold.
He realised that everyone on the terrace had joined their voices to the choir’s and they were all singing the anthem under the blue of the Cornish sky with the waves breaking on the beach.
He glanced briefly upwards and wondered – however fanciful it seemed – if Grandad Harry could hear them.
It didn’t matter, because all the people who had known his grandad, and those who hadn’t, understood what this collective act of singing meant to Matt and all those who loved this land around him.
Zennor knew: her hands were over her mouth, yet he could see the amazement in her eyes – and maybe a tinge of pride.
‘And shall Trelawny live?
Or shall Trelawny die?’
He raised his pint for the final chorus, giving it everything he had.
‘Here’s twenty thousand Cornishmen
Will know the r-e-eason why!’
The applause and cheering seemed to lift the sky itself and Matt with it.
The song ended. Jago and a couple of the other singers slapped him on the back.
‘It’s been a long time, mate,’ Vince said.
‘Yeah. It has.’ The words were all he could manage; he was so stunned by what had happened and his focus was all for Zennor now.
She stared at him, her gaze holding his – and he glimpsed regret, longing – but for what?
Her lips moved slightly in what might have been a plea.
He wanted to get to her, to hear what she thought and how she felt, yet the other singers had surrounded him, hiding her from view.
‘You did all right!’ Jago said with a roar of laughter. ‘You went a little flat in that second verse but we’ll forgive you!’
‘Thanks,’ said Matt, coming to himself and laughing out loud.
‘When we were asked to do this, I’ll be honest with you, we had misgivings, but we decided that what happened was a long time ago and you’d want to move on.
We also didn’t want to drag up the past by mentioning it to the others or to Dawn at the club.
I did think of messaging you and warning you but …
’ Jago looked sheepish. ‘I didn’t want to bother you. ’
‘It’s OK. I haven’t exactly kept in touch,’ Matt said. ‘And today has reminded me that I should have. Let’s go for a pint. All the lads.’
‘That’d be good. Message me. I mean it.’ Jago grasped Matt’s hand and shook it warmly. ‘And I see that Zennor and Trev are here. What’s going on there?’
Matt glanced over to Trev, who was deep in conversation with a man from the club committee.
He had lost sight of Zennor, which made his skin prickle with unease.
Had she left after his performance – or even because of it?
‘I don’t know, mate. And it’s really none of my business. I look forward to that pint.’
Dawn found him again and hugged him. ‘Matt. Thank goodness. I have been so worried about arranging for the choir to sing but I thought it would be a lovely tribute to your grandfather and I know you love singing – and he did too. So when it was suggested to me by Jago, I thought what the heck. And you were absolutely brilliant. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. ’
Matt forced a smile. Dawn was a well-meaning person whom he respected. ‘It was a bit of a surprise but I got through it,’ he said lightly.
‘And how brilliantly! I had terrible pangs about this. I almost told you what we were planning a couple of times. I hope we haven’t upset you.
We are sorry that your parents couldn’t come.
We didn’t tell them about the Fishermen’s Choir but we videoed it so they can watch it later if they would like to.
I’m sure they’d be so proud of Harry and you. ’
They would also be stunned that he’d performed at all. In fact, Matt himself was still reeling. He wondered what his parents would think when they saw the video.
‘I am very touched. I did almost lose it there, but it was great to hear the guys again. I’m not sure my singing lived up to the occasion.’
‘Of course it did. I hope you’re pleased about the Harry Veryan Fund we’ve started?’
‘I think it’s a great idea. Who paid for it?’
‘The bulk of the donations came from local businesses and hoteliers who are grateful for the lifeguarding service on behalf of the community and their guests. Shilpa at White Rocks organised it.’
‘That was kind of her.’ Matt’s spirits lifted a notch higher. This was turning into a day of unexpected highs. ‘Shilpa is a great person.’
‘Oh, well, Shilpa hasn’t made the largest donation. That was from – another source.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m not supposed to say …’ She smiled and tapped her nose but as she did, her gaze lighted on someone across the terrace, someone standing on the balcony, looking out to sea and leaning into Zennor. Momentarily, Trev’s hand rested on her back.
As if he were her partner.
Matt’s stomach knotted and he clenched his fingers in fear. The jealousy and the horrible realisation he might be losing her all over again rolled over him.
Had he been reading too much into Zennor’s nod and her expressions? He certainly wasn’t reading too much into Trev’s possessive gesture.
‘Would this donation come from a source that has recently acquired a hotel?’ he asked, the words almost sticking in his throat.
With an enigmatic smile, Dawn put a finger on her lips. ‘I couldn’t possibly say but it is very generous, isn’t it?’
‘Very.’ The word was ground out.
‘Not as generous as your contribution, of course,’ she added hastily, ‘not that I’m comparing.
Everyone’s contributions and help are most welcome.
Anyway, thank you for being such a good sport.
Thank you for everything. Oh, I think I can see our chair waving at me.
Enjoy the rest of the evening.’ She tripped off, probably exhausted with tying herself in knots.
Although Dawn was a Cornishwoman, she’d moved into the area after Zennor’s divorce so might well have no idea about the history between Zennor and Trev.
It was years ago and, in all probability, many of the people there this evening either didn’t give a toss or were unaware.
He should be grateful that Trev had paid for the fund in his grandfather’s name.
Harry would have told him to be glad that the kids had the opportunities he and Matt hadn’t had.
He should thank Trev and yet he couldn’t.
Tyler bounded up and slapped him on the back. ‘Matt. My God, that was something else. You played a blinder but it must have been tough.’
‘It was – a bit of a surprise.’ Matt tried to centre himself and glanced over to where he’d last seen Zennor with Trev at her side but she’d vanished.
‘An understatement. Are you OK?’ Ty asked.
‘Yeah … I think so. Sorry, Ty, but I need to speak to Zennor.’
Smiling away congrats and a few back slaps, Matt made his way across the terrace but couldn’t see Zennor or Trev.
He looked over the balcony rail and scanned the beach where the tide was out and the beach was busy with people, although most were clustered around the Surf Club end.
To his left were the town beaches. If Zennor had walked that way, he had little chance of spotting her among the hordes picnicking and playing frisbee.
He pivoted his attention to the right-hand end of the beach which eventually petered out in the headland that separated St Ives from Carbis Bay. His brain checked and dismissed half a dozen young women until it zoned in on a lone figure whose dark hair trailed behind her in the fresh breeze.
It was Zennor, heading for the slipway that led off the beach into the eastern edge of town.
Matt jogged down the steps and ran after her before he lost her amid the crowds.