Chapter Twenty-Three
Walking in the Fayre
Despite Gemma’s concerns for Matt, with all that had been going on in his head plus his reservations for the day ahead, her heart did a little skip as she neared the mooring by the jetty on the opposite side of the water to the harbour, along from where the passenger ferry docked. Noise from the throng of people at the fayre drifted across the bay, along with the sounds of Christmas music.
The Lugger was heaving, but Seb took the guitar case from Matt, saying they’d look after it until later, and, as they emerged into the street, it was as though a heavy mantle had fallen from his shoulders.
Anna, already dressed for the outdoors, greeted them warmly as they entered her kitchen.
‘Let’s head into town and have some fun.’
‘Can’t wait.’ Gemma beamed, turning to Matt, but he hovered on the threshold of the boot room.
‘Is Oliver in the den?’
‘He’s taken Dougal for a quick walk.’ Anna picked up her gloves and bobble hat. ‘He said he’d come and find us.’
Matt tucked his hands into his pockets. ‘I’ll go and wait for him up there.’ He gestured towards the den and walked out, throwing a ‘see you later’ over his shoulder.
Uncertain whether to say anything about Matt’s reluctance to sing solo, Gemma followed Anna out of the house.
The streets were heaving, with the fayre having been open since ten that morning, and now it was nearing lunchtime the queues at the food stalls were building as Gemma and Anna crossed the bridge and made their way along the harbour front.
There were tables fund-raising for community projects, such as the summer arts festival, and the local scouts group, along with pop-ups and vans selling a variety of fare, from hot dogs and burgers – the aroma of fried onions lingering in the air – to curries, the silver serving trays emitting the gorgeous, spicy smells of India. People wandered to and fro, some bearing cups of coffee, others the winter tradition of hot glühwein. Gemma sent a lingering glance at the bratwurst stall.
‘Do you think Matt and Oliver will be long? I’d love something to eat.’
‘There they are.’
Spinning round, Gemma followed the direction of Anna’s hand, and her tummy began its habitual lurch as Matt’s dark eyes met hers across the melee of people buzzing around the stalls.
‘I want to nip and see how the ladies are getting on at the stall,’ Anna said when the men joined them, and Oliver turned to follow.
Matt seemed happier as he fell into step beside Gemma, easing past people tucking into their street food, smiles all round.
‘What do you fancy?’ Matt waved a hand at the stalls as they passed.
‘You,’ Gemma’s mind whispered.
‘Be quiet,’ she admonished.
‘Did you say something?’ Matt had come to a halt, people pressing past them on both sides.
‘No. Oh look, there’s Anna.’
Anna and Oliver joined them.
‘It’s going well! Phee has sold three paintings already and your great-aunt says Mrs Clegg’s crochet bits and bobs are “selling like rock cakes”.’
Gemma grinned. ‘Sounds about right.’
In the end, they settled on cartons of curry and rice, and Gemma followed the others over to the seating area on the harbour. There were no benches free, but they found a space to lean against the waist-height wall.
‘Oh. My. Goodness. That smells soooo good.’
‘Better eat up then, before it gets stolen.’ Matt inclined his head towards a circling gull and, taking his advice, Gemma picked up her fork and tucked in.
‘I suspect trying to move as a pack will be counterproductive,’ Oliver said a short while later as he gathered up the empty cartons.
‘I need to go and see how the stock is on the cookie stall.’ Anna patted the large bag over her shoulder. ‘I’ve brought some backup.’
‘Here, let me take that.’ Oliver removed it from her shoulder, then frowned. ‘Hell, Anna, it’s heavy. What’s in here?’
Anna sent Gemma a small smile as she tucked her arm through Oliver’s. ‘Oh, you know. This and that. A few things I baked yesterday.’
Oliver raised his eyes to heaven, then dropped a kiss on Anna’s cheek. ‘Come on, you. Let’s dispose of the lunch rubbish and go stall-hopping.’
‘We’ll see you at the performance marquee, shall we?’ Anna checked her watch. ‘In about an hour?’
She was looking at her brother, but Matt’s gaze was on Gemma, and she stirred under his unfathomable look.
Anna frowned. ‘Where’s your guitar, Matt?’
‘At the Lugger.’
‘Ah, okay. See you shortly.’ And with that, Gemma and Matt were on their own again.
‘How are you feeling?’ Gemma studied his closed expression. ‘Come on, Matt. You’ve told me about your reservations. Are they any easier? Worse? And if you don’t want to do this, why can’t you tell Anna – manage her expectations?’
With a huff, Matt turned back to lean on the wall, his gaze on the distant shore near the Lugger.
‘Because it feels like yet another failure.’
‘Anna won’t see it like that. Can’t you play and not sing?’
‘Can’t you drop the subject?’ He pushed away from the wall and set off towards the crowds. ‘Come on. Stop wasting time.’
Rolling her eyes, Gemma scurried after him.
The next hour passed in a whirl of delight – for Gemma, at least – as she made her way along every stall, checking out the offerings. After a few minutes, Matt had disappeared, and she assumed he’d taken himself off to the Three Fishes for a swift one.
‘Oh, these are gorgeous.’ She beamed at the young girl selling the prettily displayed glass tree ornaments. ‘I’ll take two.’
Stowing her purchases in a small carrier, Gemma moved along, adding a selection of baked goods from the local charity stall – some of which she was sure had Anna’s stamp on – a slate coaster saying ‘Dreckly’ for her dad (whose signature phrase had always been ‘I’ll do it just now’, which meant any time between now and when the next boat comes in) and two beautifully soft knitted scarves, a turquoise and cream one for her mum and another in a vibrant cerise and gold for her sister.
‘Hey!’
Phoenix waved as Gemma reached the stall where she, her great-aunt and Old Patrick had spread their wares over a long table.
‘How’s it going?’
‘’Tis a job to tell,’ muttered Old Patrick. ‘With this one bleddy tekkin’ over.’ He nudged Great-Aunt Dee. Mrs Clegg’s crocheted offerings were now displayed in amongst the elderly gentleman’s polished wooden wares.
‘Now, now, young’un,’ Great-Aunt Dee cautioned him sternly, but continued to dig into her bag and place more and more crocheted items on Old Patrick’s share of the table. ‘Just ’cause you’m a jealous tuss.’
‘Auntie Dee!’ Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘Play nicely!’
‘Sorry, my lovely.’ Her wrinkled face creased even further as she grasped her niece’s hand and placed a kiss on it. ‘Don’t you go minding me. I’m hungry, is all. I’ll be fine once I’ve eaten me empty panda.’
Phoenix drew Gemma down to the other end of the stall. ‘Your aunt said she fancied “one of they Spanish pasty things”, so Nicki’s gone to get us a job lot of empanadas to get us through.’ She cast a side glance at her fellow stallholders, who continued to bicker.
‘They’ve been squabbling like an old couple all morning. I’m hoping once they’ve eaten, they might mellow a bit, but—’ She held up both hands.
‘You deserve a medal. You look like you’re doing well, Phee.’ Gemma waved a hand at the empty picture stands.
‘Not bad. The bookmarks have gone down a storm, as have the decorations.’
Gemma picked up a bookmark depicting the opposite side of the bay, from the bridge to the outcrop where Westerleigh Cottage perched. It would be ideal for Anna.
‘I’ll take this one, and a couple of these.’ She added two of the circular decorations. After all, the tree at Rivermills was huge and there was always room for more.
‘Do you want to see how your commission is coming along?’ Phoenix handed Gemma her purchases.
‘Oh, yes please.’
Picking up a small piece of thick white card from beside her chair, Phoenix held it up. Although it wasn’t finished, it had all the charm Gemma had hoped for, and she smiled.
‘I love it, Phee. Thank you so much for squeezing it in!’
‘No problem. I’m working on it in between customers.’ She returned it to its place, and, as Nicki arrived then with lunch, Gemma said her goodbyes and moved further into town; but then the church bells chimed, and she stared at her watch. How could the time have gone so fast?
Ignoring the rest of the stalls for now, she ‘sorry’d’ and ‘excuse-me’d’ her way through the crush until she reached the paved area outside the stylish bar-bistro, where the performance marquee – in reality, nothing more than a large pergola – had been erected, equipped with a couple of microphones and some large speakers.
A young girl was coming to the final notes of ‘Silent Night’, her pitch-perfect tone hovering in the air like soft smoke, and the people sitting on hay bales and standing behind them all burst into rapturous applause.
Gemma joined in, looking around for anyone she knew, then waved as she saw Gavin from the Lugger. He gave a thumbs-up as he rested Matt’s guitar case at the back of the pergola, where there was also a substantial keyboard and music stand, and Gemma bit her lip as he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Where was the man himself?
A group of young children were ushered into place as Nicki came to stand by Gemma’s side.
‘Some of the primary school kids,’ she said with a grimace as a teacher tried to get them to stand still. ‘Typical of Jason and Liam, to try and hide in the back row.’
There seemed to be a bit of a problem with one of the speakers, but sufficient sound came out of the remaining one for the children to sing a couple of carols, but Gemma’s attention was more on trying to spot Matt in the crowd.
The performance was joyfully out of tune, but the children’s enthusiasm couldn’t be faulted, and the onlookers were generous in their applause again as the children were shuffled back to various parents and carers. The space cleared a little, and Gemma espied Matt to one side of the pergola. He’d put his sunglasses on and was hovering behind people. She raised a tentative hand, but there was no response, other than from someone further to his left, whom she recognised as Peggy.
Hoping she hadn’t come with more disturbing news of Rivermills House, Gemma edged round to join her, keeping her back to Matt.
‘My daughter, Tilly.’ Peggy waved a hand towards one of five little girls – probably aged about six or seven – dressed as Christmas fairies and shivering as they watched a young man inserting a USB stick into a slot. ‘They’re a bit nervous.’
‘What are they singing? More carols?’
‘It’s dancing more than anything. The bar has a performance licence, so they can use backing tracks – a bit like karaoke, you know? They desperately wanted to dance to Taylor Swift or even something from Frozen , but those weren’t an option, so they’ve put together a routine to “Last Christmas”.’
Gemma instinctively put a hand to her heart. ‘Bless them. One of my all-time favourites.’
Peggy’s face softened. ‘They’ve no idea what the lyrics mean, of course, but they love the snowy video with the Christmas tree and the melody suits what they wanted to do. They’ve been rehearsing so hard.’
Nicki had made her way over, her husband Hamish in her wake, their two boys following behind.
‘I’m looking forward to this.’ Nicki smiled at Peggy. ‘I saw them practising in the playground the other day, it was so sweet.’
The young man, however, straightened and held up his hands in a helpless gesture, before handing the USB stick to Peggy, speaking quietly to her and then disappearing inside the bistro.
Tilly turned to Peggy with a wail, and two of her friends dissolved into full-blown tears. Gemma dug into her bag for some fresh tissues and offered them to Peggy, who went to mop the girls up.
With a soft sigh, Gemma sent the little girls a sympathetic smile, then scanned the throng as it ebbed and flowed in a bobble-hatted tide. Then she waved fiercely as she saw Oliver’s tall frame in the distance, accompanied by Anna’s hat, which hopefully meant its owner too.
A ripple of laughter had come from behind, followed by applause, and Gemma swung round.
The little girls were holding hands now, lined up and facing the crowd, faces shining with both glitter and their smiles, and behind them, drawing the guitar strap over his shoulder, was Matt.