Chapter Twenty-One
As the date of the Second Chances exhibition crept ever closer, Evelyn’s dreams became populated with fast-moving vehicles that she couldn’t control.
Sometimes she was driving a car but couldn’t reach the pedals and woke with her feet frantically tapping the end of her short bed.
Other times, she was freewheeling down a hill on a bike with no brakes, and she awoke breathless and sweaty, Toots eyeing her with irritation.
She found herself in a strange limbo, where she and her museum were the focus of plans, schedules and unexpected deliveries, yet she was not in control.
She kept reminding herself that she should be grateful: Sariah, Della and Jacob were all pitching in to save the boat sheds and her livelihood. But she couldn’t help feeling that the original spirit had been subsumed by the rapid back and forth on the group chat.
Will deliver flyers explaining campaign and exhibition asap – @Jacob
Great! Drink is on order – @Sariah
Press release finalised, as attached. Comments? – @Della
How about some ‘My Favourite Item’ forms, so people can add more stories? – @Jacob
Evelyn’s own contributions dwindled to the odd thumbs up, while Alison never seemed to come online.
When the exhibition launch was a week away, Evelyn was shocked to see they had made the front page of the local newspaper.
This was because a short time ago Della had appeared unannounced at Evelyn’s desk, chewed on her pen and asked: ‘So, would you say, Evelyn, that the museum is a home for forgotten objects that are relevant to Cornwall?’
‘Um . . .’ she’d begun, trying to gather her thoughts.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Della said.
Which, she supposed, was why the headline on the front page of the St Austell Bugle read: Museum is home for forgotten objects relevant to Cornwall. Clearly, as a journalist, Della had been a fan of the leading question.
Della and Sariah had become thick as thieves in the past few weeks and it was not uncommon for Evelyn’s days to be interrupted by chatter and peals of laughter coming from the shed next door.
Conversely, Jacob seemed a little lost and lonely.
‘I hope Alison still comes to the exhibition,’ he said to Evelyn one afternoon as he was unloading a set of wooden display stands that Della had persuaded a carpenter to make at cost.
‘I’m sure she’ll try,’ Evelyn told him, although she wasn’t optimistic. The last time she’d seen Alison, she’d been pushing her little boy’s buggy along in the drizzle, but since then, she seemed to have vanished. ‘She must be busy at work.’
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ replied Jacob. ‘I swung by the sports centre and she hasn’t been in for a while. Off sick – shingles, apparently.’
‘But that’s awful. Is her partner looking after her? And what about the baby?’
Jacob gave a small shrug, but she saw the worry in his eyes.
‘Leave it with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if I can find something out.’
Evelyn sometimes saw Alison’s father, Keith, on her way back from her morning beachcomb, because he was one of the so-called Three Wise Men who took up residence on the bench facing her shed, along with Leonard, of the recently departed dog, and Bob, the fisherman who got seasickness.
The next morning, she saw the three men were in situ. Dropping her tote bag outside the museum, Evelyn tried to affect a casual saunter as she headed towards them, carrying several flyers about the Second Chances exhibition.
‘Good morning,’ she said, as if interrupting their morning cogitations was part of her routine. Three weather-beaten faces looked up at her, but only Leonard replied. ‘Morning. Catch anything tasty down on the beach this morning?’
Evelyn decided to ignore his effort at a joke and thrust a flyer into Keith’s hands. ‘Do come,’ she said. ‘And remind Alison as well.’
‘I’ll try, but she’s been laid low for over a week and doesn’t want to spread it.’
‘Spread it?’ Evelyn was puzzled because she didn’t think that was how shingles worked.
‘Yeah, bad case of flu. Can’t visit, in case I catch it. Might have to step in myself and represent the family,’ Keith mused.
Odd, she thought, that Alison’s father had got the wrong end of the stick – that was usually her forte.
Back at her desk, Evelyn checked her emails and was rewarded with a reply she’d been waiting for.
It was from S. West and it told the story behind the embroidered boat on sailcloth.
As she read it, a smile spread across Evelyn’s face.
Yes, it might raise a few eyebrows, but underpinning those words was a genuine love.
What was it Alison had said about a good story – look for the hook?
Evelyn thought Alison would be proud of her work.
As the date of the exhibition crept closer, Jacob volunteered to help Evelyn set up the displays, and although she was quite capable of doing the job solo, he was pleasant enough company.
He didn’t interfere, just made a few suggestions like ‘I wonder if that little pair of slippers would look nice next to the embroidery?’ or ‘How about we move the framed knots closer to the little painting?’
In this way, the two of them mounted the objects on wooden stands and arranged them in a large semicircle in the middle of the museum.
It had been hard to narrow them down to ten, which Della suggested was a good number.
‘Enough to get the public’s attention, but not so many that they’ll lose interest,’ she said.
The final edit was:
A small painting in the style of Alfred Wallis, with text by Jacob Warburn, who remembered it hanging in Warburn Hall
A framed set of fishing knots, accompanied by the memories of Michael Bower of Fowey
A pair of felt and lambswool slippers, worn by three generations of the Haywick family, as explained by Ella Haywick
A handmade sailor doll, as remembered by Alice Fleet, aged eighty-two
A wristwatch, stopped at 11.21, remembered by RNLI volunteer Carl Brown
A boat at sea, embroidered on sailcloth, with text by S. West of St Mawes
A captain’s cap, with words by Mrs Potter, the captain’s great-niece
Eighteenth-century gold coins, with words on pirates and shipwrecks from Arnold Stubbs, landlord of The Lugger
A green porcelain vase, with librarian Minnie Fraser’s comments
A piece of lace, with safety pin attached.
She had misgivings about including the ‘Wallis’ painting, but she’d amended the label and Jacob looked so happy seeing it on display with his own words underneath that she didn’t have the heart to withdraw it.
Soon she would tell him the painting’s sorry tale, but with excitement and nerves mounting, now didn’t feel the right time.
At least, she reminded herself, Jacob’s memory of seeing it in his grandparents’ home seemed a happy one and his words were correctly spelled and punctuated.
Sadly, not all the statements were as eloquent as Jacob’s, and some were decidedly sketchy on historic detail.
Arnold the landlord’s, for instance, had the ring of a late-night chat in the pub:
Hundreds of years ago, pirates ruled the waves. There are still shipwrecks off our shores, but exactly where remains a closely guarded secret. These gold coins are booty from one such wreck.
She could almost picture him leaning over the bar and giving the side of his nose a tap to imply he knew more.
Meanwhile, Minnie the librarian’s admiration for the green ceramic vase had more to do with interior décor than Cornish heritage: I love this vase because its colour matches my dining room wallpaper exactly and I think it would look lovely on my table, she’d submitted.
Nevertheless, each item’s story was authentic and when all the pieces of printed card were fixed to the stands, the effect was impressive.
As she looked around, Evelyn realised that only the description for her lace remained unchanged, because she had no more information to add.
Its brevity felt like a fresh humiliation.
She must have been staring at it for a while because Jacob came over and said, ‘You never know – the exhibition could be the perfect opportunity for someone to recognise it.’
She supposed he’d have heard about her lace a while ago, because a small town thrives on gossip, no matter how scant the facts.
‘That’s sweet of you to say,’ she replied, ‘but I’m not holding my breath.’