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‘I’m planning to see a couple of bands tomorrow before I go to the Surf Club,’ she said. ‘They’re the ones who contacted us looking for representation. I looked at their showreels online and they look promising but you know it’s always best to see them live.’

‘Did you tell them you’re going along?’ Roo asked.

‘No. I want to be able to watch them without them being nervous. The swing quartet are at the Real Ale Festival in Hayle and the function band are doing a small wedding at White Rocks, so I can get a good feel for how they perform without them knowing I’m watching. Hopefully they’ll do great.’

Saturday dawned with a heat haze over the sea and the sky turning that intense blue of a hot clear summer day.

Zennor had planned to have a quick dip off Porthgwidden before breakfast to try and clear her head. Even though she was hardened and hardy, the early-morning chill took her breath away. The water hadn’t had time to come in over the hot sand yet and she didn’t stay in long. Even so, as she cleaved through the gentle swell as one of only two people in the water, she felt briefly liberated from her cares. By the time she’d got out and flung a dress over her swimsuit, the Digey café had opened and she was first in the queue for a cappuccino and cinnamon roll.

After dropping into the Real Ale Festival, she headed to the youth theatre where a dress rehearsal for a kids’ production was taking place. Buzzing with excitement and adrenaline, the kids swarmed off the stage to be greeted by families’ hugs and encouragement. The excited faces and joyful congratulations transported Zennor back to all the times her mum and dad had taken her to performances and rehearsals.

With the stage empty, the theatre director Paul trotted down the steps and hugged her warmly. ‘Hello, stranger.’

She laughed. ‘Hi, Paul. Sorry, I’ve been busy.’

‘Of course you are. You’re a big shot agent now.’

‘I’m a very small-time agent for a tiny regional agency,’ she said, rolling her eyes good-humouredly. ‘I see your shirts haven’t dimmed.’

Paul laughed. Today he was in a tangerine linen affair which somehow worked with his mauve hair. ‘I have a reputation to keep up. No one can miss me in this.’ He sat next to her. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Well, I’ve been to see a couple of acts in town and I decided to drop by. I also wanted to check in on how the plans for the St Eia Festival are going.’

The St Eia Festival was bigger than ever this year with events taking place in the library, local hotels, community halls, open spaces and the youth theatre.

Paul threw up his hands and gazed heavenwards. ‘Don’t mention it! I rue the day I ever volunteered to be on the committee!’

‘No, you don’t.’

He heaved a dramatic sigh but then smiled. ‘You’re right but it is tremendously hard work. I hope I stay the course without keeling over.’

‘You will and I’ve got the artists sorted for the Sea Fever finale so you don’t have to worry about that at least.’

After a quick chat about the festival, Paul hugged her goodbye. ‘I know you’re too busy to help out these days, but we miss you here. You and Matt. Actually, I heard he’s back in town?’

‘Yeah, he is …’

Paul sighed wistfully. ‘I remember when you did a duet at the Surf Club. It was beautiful.’

‘We were drunk.’ Zennor laughed. ‘And my duetting days are over.’

‘Matt has such a divine voice.’ Paul had a dreamy expression on his face. ‘I’ll never forget when he used to sing in the Fishermen’s Choir on the quay. I heard he was a property developer now? Owns offices and shops.’

‘Did he? Well, you know all the gossip, Paul.’ Zennor smiled while feeling desperate to change the subject.

‘Don’t you already know all about it? Sybil told me he was doing your place up.’

‘He isn’t personally. His team of contractors are,’ she said and kissed Paul on the cheek. ‘It’s been lovely to see you again. I’ve missed this.’

As she made her way down to the Surf Club, she wondered why a simple visit to her old friends had to involve Matt. She’d also been economical with the truth: she fully remembered Matt singing in the choir. How could anyone forget the golden boy joining the older men and singing Cornish folk songs so beautifully? There hadn’t been a dry eye in the house, including her own.

The club car park was already almost full. Dozens of people were milling around the building and carrying paint pots, brushes and tools. Zennor squeezed her car into a space between Matt’s van and a skip, discreetly swapped her dress for dungarees, and joined them.

Roo had sent a text saying she couldn’t make it after all because Freddie was a bit upset at the cricket. They’d changed plans as they all needed some family time.

Zennor would miss her friend yet totally understood. Looking at the bustle and chaos around her, she suspected they’d have had little time for chatting anyway.

Music was blasting out of speakers when she walked in to find Matt in paint-spattered jeans, a T-shirt and work boots, rolling paint on the end wall of the new function room. She watched the muscles shifting across his shoulders as he reached high with the long-handled roller. Somehow, he still managed to make her heart skip several beats.