Page 41 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

‘I don’t think he realizes my existence at the minute,’ she said lightly, but there was a flicker in her eyes that implied she meant it.

‘I think he probably does know you!’ I replied. ‘If he comes into the tea room at all he’s bound to.’

‘Fair point.’ She nodded. Then she took a deep breath. ‘So, will you be able to help me then? I play the guitar as well. Cerys has been teaching me.’

‘Even better.’ I grinned. ‘Give me a moment.’ I picked up my phone, and did a quick Google search. ‘How about this?’

I showed her a photo of Stevie Nicks in the seventies. She was sitting on a car, wearing flared jeans and a top that left little to the imagination, her modesty covered by a long-sleeve shirt tied in the front. ‘We could do this — hides your legs, shows off your assets, and keeps you modest at the same time.’ I looked at the screen again. ‘Or we could do frilly country-slash-Goth Girl, but you may end up looking like a manga character or a vampire, and I don’t think we want that, do we?’

‘No. But I like that image.’ She pointed to the Stevie photo. ‘I wonder if I could bleach my hair as well?’ She tugged at her long, red, beautiful, Pre-Raphaelite hair thoughtfully.

‘Absolutely not.’ I shook my head. ‘Your hair remains au naturel.’

‘Okay.’

‘We just have to sort out the clothes,’ I said. ‘I do know some lovely vintage shops near where I live — if you tell me your size, I could have a look for you. I could even make a top, but I’m not sure about the trousers. I think we need to go proper vintage for those.’

‘Sounds great.’ Polly smiled again, and it was a genuine one this time. It lit up her face, and now I knew she was interested in Owen-from-the-bookshop and not Jay, I found myself sincerely smiling back.

Funny that, isn’t it . . . ?

Chapter Fifteen

Just as Polly and I were finishing our conversation, I realized guiltily that the Planning was about to begin for the Fayre, and we were getting some very stern Looks. Looks, even, to rival my Look.

I suddenly felt a presence near my shoulder and my nose clocked a waft of ocean-and-rain-drenched-earth. I looked up quickly. It was Jay, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses, which he popped on the table for us. Then he squatted down next to me and grinned. ‘This one’s on me — don’t tell Sam. And those ladies — they really aren’t as scary as they seem. You might remember them from my party? That’s Veronica, in the middle. She’s the one in charge. Sally from the corner shop is on her left, and Mrs Culpepper is on her right. And that’s Mrs Pomeroy, just plonking herself down at the end.’

I saw a lady with a rainbow-coloured bobble hat dragging a chair over, and two huge dogs slobbering as they settled down beside her, their heads on their paws.

‘Arfur and Umbert?’ I asked.

‘The very same.’

‘I do recognize the other ladies from your birthday party,’ I whispered.

‘Yes. And they all made cakes, as well as Cerys. Polly, as I’ve told you before, you missed a cracking evening. How’s things, anyway? Done any more thinking over the last few days?’

I was impressed at the way he’d included Polly in the conversation, as I had sensed her stiffening a bit when he’d appeared. I had no idea why at first, but her next words cleared things up a little.

‘Yes. I’ve — um — I’ve decided to put myself forward for Padcock’s Got Talent.’ She looked at me warily. ‘If Matilda manages to make me look halfway decent, that is.’

‘Ah that’s great news!’ Jay sounded genuinely delighted. ‘Honestly, you’ll slay it.’ He grinned and stood up. ‘Right, best get back to the bar. Are you two okay for drinks with that lot?’

We nodded in unison, and Jay headed back to work.

‘If everyone’s ready now!’ called an imperious voice from the panel of ladies. I saw Jay hide a smile as he got back to his job. He leaned against the bench behind, arms folded, little slices of him reflected in all the glasses hanging above his head. Once the lady’s gaze — Veronica’s — had followed him and had made sure he was settled, she began to talk about the Fayre.

In fact, I soon realized that it wasn’t so much the committee planning the Fayre, but Veronica telling everyone what was happening there, whilst the other ladies nodded in agreement and rustled their papers importantly every so often.

‘We have an issue with the cake stall this year,’ said Veronica at one point. ‘We can usually rely on Cerys and Edie to man it—’

‘Woman it,’ muttered a voice from the audience, although nobody owned up to saying it, even as Veronica swept her gaze around the bar in a challenging sort of fashion. I had my suspicions over a dark-haired man sitting on his own in the far corner. His hair was floppy in a Hugh Grant circa 1999 fashion, he was wearing rimless spectacles and he had a thick paperback book next to him. I would bet my last Haribo he was Owen-from-the-bookshop.

I looked at Polly and raised my eyebrows questioningly. She nodded briefly and blushed.

I vaguely wondered if Owen-from-the-bookshop had taken up that profession because of his uncanny likeness to Hugh and his character in Notting Hill, or had he morphed into a Hugh-a-like simply because of his profession.

I could see, however, that beneath his short-sleeved blue t-shirt peeked a fine selection of tattoos, and I suspected he wasn’t quite as innocuously Hugh-ish as first appeared. Especially as I saw biker boots on his feet to rival Edie’s. Interesting. I could see how Polly, with her ripped jeans and punk rock t-shirt, was attracted to him, but then my eyes darted over to Jay, who looked utterly devastatingly handsome leaning against the back of the bar. As he shifted position, a couple of the upside-down spirit bottles hanging on the wall behind him rattled ominously. He quickly steadied them. ‘Sorry!’ he mouthed to Veronica, whose basilisk stare had swiftly flicked over to him.