Page 67 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

‘Yes,’ Edie was saying. ‘So these are all by Matilda Matthews. One of my friends. She’s the one whose friend has the exhibition at Masochism — okay, Julio. Machismo. If you say so.’ She turned around and rolled her eyes at us as if to say, “fancy Julio getting the name wrong!” ‘He’s here too. Damien — Damien O’Rourke.’ She swung the phone around and I saw Damien and I reflected in the small, on-screen box, both looking like rabbits caught in headlights. ‘Matilda, Damien, this is Julio.’

‘Hello,’ we chorused. We weren’t sure what else to say.

‘Hello!’ Julio grinned at us. ‘Any friend of Edie’s is a friend of mine . . .’

After some pleasantries and friendly chatter, however, Julio turned his full attention to Damien. ‘I am curious,’ he said, ‘what attracted you to Machismo Gallery?’

‘Oh!’ Damien began to explain how it was the first place that had accepted him, blah blah blah, but now he was seriously considering pulling out. ‘I’ve decided,’ he told Julio, as Edie kept the phone firmly in place while somehow still managing to reach over to the door-keeper’s desk and pilfer a few of the complimentary Quality Street chocolates there, ‘that the ethos doesn’t sit well with me.’

‘And what is your work?’ asked Julio curiously.

Damien proceeded to explain, and as the conversation progressed, I could kind of see where it was going.

I sidled out of shot (I felt a bit surplus to requirements by now, I’d just stood there smiling gormlessly for ten minutes as it was), and went around the back of the phone. Edie grinned at me. ‘Going well?’ she whispered.

‘Perfectly.’ I gave her a subtle thumbs up. ‘Well played. I wasn’t sure how you’d do it. But thanks so much. I do appreciate it.’

‘You’re very subterfugal,’ whispered Edie. I wasn’t even certain that was a word, but I nodded. I knew what she meant. ‘I told you to have faith in me, didn’t I? I’m very glad we had that chat. My arm is getting tired though.’

‘Maybe give Damien the phone?’ I suggested.

‘Oh. Yes. Good idea.’ She gestured to Damien to hold the phone, and he took it, which did seem to make the conversation much easier. Edie and I moved away a bit further. ‘You’re right, he’s far too nice for that awful Machismo place,’ she said. ‘Julio’s would be much better.’

‘I’m glad Julio took the bait,’ I said with a smile. ‘And I’m quite sure Damien will be blown away if he gets into his gallery.’

‘I think that’s a pretty good bet.’ Edie nodded. ‘You need a fairy wand, I think. You’ve come down here today and done nice things for people, just by sprinkling your own brand of fairy dust around.’

‘Well yes. But it wasn’t all planned like this was,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know Owen would go up on that stage.’

‘But he did. And you were sitting next to him,’ Edie pointed out. ‘It may well have been your unknowing influence. And you did give Polly enough confidence to sing her song in the first place.’

‘Yes.’ I was thoughtful. I put my hands in my pockets again. ‘I think I have one more thing to do, though. No — maybe two things,’ I said, more to myself than anyone else.

And absolutely top of my list was that I needed to go and find Jay.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I left Edie in the Art Tent with Damien. As I snuck out, Damien was looking incredibly dazed and running his hand — the one that wasn’t holding Edie’s phone — through his carefully tousled hair and making it look more messy.

The call was going well then, I guessed. And soon Damien would have a proper exhibition in a much better gallery and that was far, far better for him.

I ran through the gardens of Padcock Court, weaving through groups of people clustered around stalls and having picnics. I had a feeling where I might find Jay, and I made a beeline for it.

The place I headed to was the stage.

Or, more precisely, the backstage.

Okay — so really that was the grass, sitting on the floor, messing with a discarded guitar sort of backstage.

Because I heard him before I saw him.

Well, I heard someone singing James Blunt’s ‘Bonfire Heart’ and accompanying themselves on a guitar. And the sound of it almost had my legs buckling beneath me. And not just because I was running, although heaven knew that had been bad enough.

It was because the singing was incredible.

I stopped running as I got closer and forced myself to walk slowly. Jay was sitting there, his eyes closed, concentration written all over his face. Then, he must have known I was there, somehow — because at the point where the song talks about sparks being lit in hearts and all the rest, he opened his eyes and stared right at me — and didn’t stop singing.

I had to hold onto a tent pole to stop myself falling, and I’m pretty sure I looked quite idiotic, just staring at him. But I was spellbound. Yes — that was exactly it. Spellbound — despite my jokes about my witchy pockets and all the rest. I was, it seemed, powerless to resist him.