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‘I’m going to listen to Sybil in the Woodland Dell. See you later!’

With a couple of encouraging words to some of her clients en route, Zennor made her way through the crowds to the Woodland Dell and sat on a log seat at the rear, ready for Sybil’s family-friendly stories of Cornish myths and legends, while a scarier grown-up version was scheduled for later in the evening.

The Dell had a low, round wooden stage, a painted backdrop of a night-time forest, and log seating for around fifty people. Dappled sunlight filtered gently through the canopy, creating a mysterious, tranquil atmosphere. A sense of anticipation rippled through the audience as folk music tinkled out and a woman in a long velvet cloak appeared amid what looked like smoke.

Wafting the cloud away, Sybil stared at the audience in amazement.

‘Hello! How did you all get here? I was on my way somewhere else, somewhere a long time ago – but somehow I’ve landed here in the wrong century. Why are you all wearing those funny shoes and what are those metal things in your hands? Yes, you, young man – are you staring at an enchanted mirror?’

The boy, about eight, hid his phone behind his back and the adults laughed.

Sybil heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘I was going to Bodmin to warn the people that Giant Tregeagle had been sighted on the moor but now I’m here, I suppose I could warn you people. You do seem to need advice about how dangerous this land can be …’

Sybil began her show, drawing gasps, laughter and oohs of amazement as she told the audience about the legends of yesteryear, many involving witches, merfolk and banished baddies like Giant Tregeagle.

While a few older children stayed on their phones, most of the audience had set aside their tech for the twenty minutes that Sybil performed, which was no mean feat. Despite having heard most of the tales before, Zennor was impressed that Sybil found fresh ways of relating them or added new myths to entrance the audience.

‘So, if you’re out and about on the moor on a dark and stormy night, you might want to take extra care … they say Giant Tregeagle stalks Cornwall to this very day. And your phones won’t save you from him!’

Sybil’s warning had some of the younger kids shrinking closer to their parents while even the slightly older ones were wide-eyed. Zennor thought Sybil had pitched things about right with a mix of scary stories and magical fairytales.

There was a warm round of applause and a couple of families spoke to Sybil before they headed off to other attractions.

Zennor joined her on the empty stage and Sybil drew a Chilly bottle from her bag and sipped it.

‘How was that?’ she asked. ‘Not too scary?’

‘I was terrified,’ Zennor said, but then smiled. ‘I think it had just enough edge to keep people looking out for Giant Tregeagle on the moors and beaches.’

‘Are you here for the night-time version? It’s a bit racier.’ Sybil had a gleam in her eye.

‘I’d like to be. What time is it?’

‘Eight thirty. It’ll still be light but with the tree cover it should be gloomy enough for the lanterns to create a spooky atmosphere. Should have cooled down by then too.’ Sybil shrugged off her cloak and shook her hair out. ‘How are you after the mermaid incident? I heard Matt came to your rescue.’

‘My rescue? Who told you that?’ Zennor asked, trying to sound casual. ‘What have they been saying?’

Sybil frowned. ‘If by “they” you mean Roo, then she explained why she couldn’t pick you up and she called Matt and he collected you. I realised you kept well away from the kids afterwards but thought it was a bit odd that you hadn’t mentioned Matt was involved when I messaged you after the party.’

‘It’s not odd. I didn’t think it was relevant … I think we should move. The fire jugglers want to set up.’

Sybil grimaced. ‘That’s one show I’ll definitely not be watching.’ She shuddered. ‘I think they’re mad. My mother once set a chip pan on fire and burned her arm. Dad and I had to take her to hospital and I haven’t forgotten how awful it was. I had nightmares for years. I hate it when directors want to use pyrotechnics on stage.’

‘How horrible for you,’ Zennor said. ‘Shall we go to the green room and I’ll buy you a G & T?’

On the way to the artists’ rest area, Sybil resumed her interrogation over a drink. ‘Is there anything else I should know? I can’t imagine you were overjoyed to see Matt instead of Roo.’

‘Not overjoyed but I needed – a lift back and Roo did her best. It was fine.’

‘So, peace has broken out between you?’

‘I suppose it has. We’ve agreed to be polite and to set our differences aside while he renovates the office and the Surf Club.’

‘Good. You can hardly spend the next few months simmering with resentment and giving each other evils.’

Just watch us, Zennor thought but said nothing because they’d entered the open-sided barn where a man in a bear costume, minus the head, was scrolling through his phone while drinking a can of Coke. Jesters, harlequins, fairies and witches were sipping cappuccinos, wearing headphones and huddled over laptops.

Sybil filled her water bottle from an urn packed with lemons and limes. ‘I must say this is all very positive. About Matt, I mean.’