Then Trip glanced at the clock and hopped on to an upturned crate, cupping his hands over his mouth. ‘All right, people!’ he called. ‘Places, please! This is not a drill! We are starting in TEN!’
The children began to scurry to their places, led by various members of the show committee. They had rehearsed this yesterday and Ivy, shepherding a cluster of mermen, couldn’t help but think it was going relatively smoothly. Until—
‘WHERE IS MERLIN?’ screamed Mr Hargreaves. ‘Why does he keep disappearing like this? Why does—’
‘I’m RIGHT HERE,’ announced eight-year-old Merlin, emerging from a broom cupboard wearing a long silver robe and what looked suspiciously like a towel tied round his neck for a beard. He was rubbing his eyes. ‘I was meditating. Josie said it would help with stage fright.’
‘You were sleeping,’ said Mr Hargreaves crossly. ‘I distinctly heard snoring. Now, go and join Morgana.’
Ivy did a last-minute check on her backdrops. The pretty streets of 1970s Redruth. The barn for the folk dancing. The windswept Bodmin moor, where Jamaica Inn stood, sign blowing, dark secrets hidden within. The earthen mound for the wrestling display. Tintagel Castle, where King Arthur was born. Dozmary Pool, where the lady in the lake would emerge with Excalibur. The mighty stone with Caliburn buried inside. Finally, the castle with a little beach below, where Arthur would meet his fate.
At that last one, she stepped back and looked at the finishing touches she’d added that morning. It was subtle, but she hoped it was enough. A little surprise for Trip.
Okay, so maybe she was being ridiculous because Trip was about to leave Fox Bay and she would never know what might have been between them. But then she recalled her tutor’s words:find what you care about.At least, in some way, Ivy had done that – even if it was painted on cardboard.
She ducked behind a curtain and looked out at the hall. The audience had begun eagerly filtering in before the official start time, coats bundled over arms, cheeks pink from the cold. They took their seats on folding chairs – some borrowed from the library, others from the Driftwood Café. The front row had already been claimed by the early birds.
Ivy dropped the curtain and wove her way through the people backstage until she found Trip, eyes on the actors lining up. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
Trip bit his lip, looking around at the nervous children, clutching their wooden swords and pistols, their folk instruments and guitars. ‘I hope they’ll be okay,’ he said.
‘They’ll be great,’ Ivy told him, and she meant it. ‘They’re ready, thanks to you. This is your moment of glory. Enjoy it.’
He smiled. ‘Thanks. You go and watch from the wings and I’ll see you on the other side.’
Ivy watched the audience take their seats. Ynez the postie had somehow snagged a seat in the centre of the front row. ‘Had to sprint,’ Ivy could hear her telling people. She nodded proudly towards the stage. ‘Grandson’s an exciseman.’
Ivy’s mum had also wangled a front-row seat and was talking animatedly to Fin, who was holding a large Tupperware container of gingerbread, and Josie, who was showing her pictures of the campsite she and Fin had booked in Italy next summer. Simi was holding Lou’s hand as Kate clambered over their knees. Tamsin was clutching a tiger’s eye crystal for good luck and Mr Trenwith took up an entire four seats with his camera equipment, bickering with his wife over lighting settings. There were toddlers wriggling on laps, visiting students pretending they weren’t excited, and at least three dogs who had snuck in with their owners and were now curled up under chairs.
Brooke, stylish even in a puffer coat with windblown hair, slipped in and walked past the stage to her seat. Ivy stuck her head out from behind the curtain and waved to her.
‘It’s going to be great,’ Brooke called. Her gaze landed on Trip, who could just be seen making a last-minute adjustmentto the smoke machine, then she looked back to Ivy. ‘Glad we got him here?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ivy. ‘I really am.’
Mr Hargreaves beamed and gave them an excitable thumbs up, practically bouncing up and down in his chair. The room was buzzing with that particular warmth that Ivy associated with Fox Bay events. She could hear whispers all around. ‘Looks all right this year, doesn’t it?’ ‘Bethie’s getting to kill Arthur at the end.’ ‘Do you think they’ll make it to the end this time?’
Ivy couldn’t help but smile. This loyal audience kept on doggedly showing up, year after year, no matter how disastrous Mr Hargreaves’s last show had been.
There came a sudden burst of energy near the side doors and she heard someone shrieking ‘IVY!’and a blur of purple hair and leopard print hurtled into view.
‘Raye!’ cried Ivy, waving frantically. ‘You made it!’
Raye hurtled down the hall towards the stage, her coat flapping behind her like a cape, dragging a tall, elegant girl in leggings in her wake. Ivy scrambled down and hurried over. ‘We literally drove straight here from Cleo’s ballet recital,’ she said, talking fast. ‘She got a standing ovation and did a solo. So, you know, this has a lot to live up to. Oh.’ Raye went slightly pink and pointed to the girl standing next to her. ‘Ivy, this is Cleo, Cleo this is Ivy. You literallyhaveto like each other, I can’t handle it any other way.’
Cleo, breathless and amused-looking, held out her hand. She looked effortlessly cool, with cropped hair and red lipstick. But,Ivy thought, eyeing her as they shook hands, her expression was fond as she looked at Raye.
‘Hi,’ Cleo said, with a Scottish accent. ‘You must be the famous Ivy. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘I’ve heard a lot aboutyou. And I can’t believe you came all this way,’ said Ivy. ‘That’s far.’
‘Well, I thought it sounded so romantic here,’ said Cleo. ‘If a bit weird, to be honest.’
‘Yup,’ said Raye cheerfully. ‘I told Cleo that Fox Bay is the cultural beating heart of the southwest. And that Mr H’s shows are guaranteed to bememorableat least.’
‘There’s nothing like a bit of winter weirdness,’ Cleo said, smiling at Raye. ‘Or a bit of winter romance either.’
Romance and weirdness. That was Fox Bay all over, Ivy thought. She hugged Raye again before she could stop herself. ‘God, it’s good to see you,’ she whispered into her friend’s shoulder.
