Page 59 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

I turned quickly at the mention of my name, and then couldn’t help the smile that spread rapidly across my face. Jay was there, his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall. ‘I was going to nip in and see my sister, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I think I’d rather see you.’

‘What?’ I looked at him oddly. How was I meant to interpret that? Did he mean it in the way I wanted to believe?

‘Yes. I want to take you to the gardens at the Court so you get to see what it’s like setting up. I understand you’ve already been in the tearoom, so I won’t offer to buy you a coffee. But I think you’d like to see the Court close up, and how it’s all working, and we can always pretend we’re being helpful if anyone challenges us.’

Oh. So he wasn’t glad to see me in the way I’d hoped. Never mind.

‘Yes,’ I replied, quashing my feelings of disappointment down. ‘That would be nice.’

‘Great. I’ll show you the Art Tent.’

‘The Art Tent?’

What a coincidence . . . not.

‘Yeah. News travels fast in Padcock. You should know that by now.’

It seemed like I was still learning how fast it actually travelled.

Regardless, we fell into step with one another and walked towards the Court.

‘I’m not at the pub tonight,’ Jay told me. ‘I’ve only got a short time before I have to go and do some teaching, so after this, I won’t see you until tomorrow. And then I might not see much of you, because I’ll have to get ready for the show.’ He pulled a face.

‘That’s a shame,’ I said.

‘Yeah. It really is. Look — see that?’

By now, we were in the grounds of the Court, a vast expanse of green, dotted with white marquees and flower beds. It was beautiful. I could see why the Fayre was such a popular event if it meant that people got to explore these grounds once a year.

‘There’s the stage, where we’ll all be performing tomorrow,’ Jay continued. And indeed, the stage was a rectangular shape with a marquee over the top of it. ‘And that tent to the left is the Art Tent. Along there,’ he pointed to three stalls close together, ‘are the artisan gin stall for Sam, the cake stall for Cerys and Edie and the hot drinks stall for the WI. Not sure who’ll be manning the hot drinks one, but the combination of food and drink seems to work well.’

‘How can Edie manage the cake stall and the Art Tent?’

‘She’s just in charge of curating stuff for the Art Tent,’ Jay said with a grin. ‘The Hanging Committee will take turns sitting at the door.’

‘A Hanging Committee?’ I stared at him. ‘That sounds scary.’

He laughed in turn. ‘Yes — the name wasn’t thought through very well, was it? It just means the members who have the job of putting stuff on display. Come on — let’s have a peek inside.’

We wandered over to it, and right in the middle, surrounded by pastoral landscapes, seascapes and still lives, was a huge, massive gap on the display board.

‘I wonder what will go there?’ teased Jay.

I couldn’t help smiling. ‘My first exhibition, I think.’ And then the smile widened and became a laugh. At that moment I felt that truly the very best thing ever was standing in that empty tent, staring at the empty space where my very first exhibition would be, right next to Jay. I knew I’d see him again tomorrow as well, and see him perform, and that was just the icing on the cupcake for my happiness.

‘How bloody marvellous,’ I said. ‘I honestly cannot wait until tomorrow.’

‘Me neither,’ replied Jay, and grinned down at me. ‘It’ll be fantastic. I promise.’

And yes, at that moment in time, I was extraordinarily, extremely happy indeed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Being happy though, didn’t stop me from missing Jay at the Spatchcock later that evening, even though it was nice to be there as a customer rather than a worker this time.

Rosie, Damien and I sat near the door. It was a warm evening, and the door was propped open to help cool the place. It was also, as Rosie pointed out, a great vantage point.

‘We can see everyone coming and going,’ she said, peering outside. She was leaning across Damien who looked chilled and relaxed and very model-like in the Spatchcock. It was still hard to reconcile this man with the Damien I’d known for years. I could only assume it was the arrival of all the good things in his life that had made him grow up a bit, but his relationship with Rosie was getting easier for me to accept too. I saw, for instance, the way he treated Rosie, so tenderly and so lovingly, and that could only be a good thing. He also looked so much better now he’d had his hair cut fashionably and stopped wearing his usual scruffy beanie hats. He was, I admitted grudgingly to myself, hiding a good-looking chap underneath all of his grunge.