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He glanced at the faces watching him expectantly. He saw Zennor near the front and caught her eye briefly. She gave him a warm smile and her eyes telegraphed encouragement. She must care a lot about him, surely …

He tried to speak but his throat was so dry, he could only cough. ‘S-orry,’ he croaked; he swallowed, and began again. ‘Thank you, Dawn, for your kind words. Those who knew my grandad won’t need me to tell them that he was, in the best sense of the word, a character. He was a proud Cornishman to his boots, yet he was also a very generous man, ready to risk his life for any human soul – and a few non-human ones – who needed help, no matter where they came from and however they’d got themselves into difficulty.’

‘Hear, hear!’ The cheers came from one of the rescued families. Matt wobbled again, suddenly worried he wouldn’t get through the speech without blubbing. He’d better keep it as short as possible.

‘And while I’m very grateful for Dawn’s kind words about me, tonight isn’t about me. It never has been. It’s not even about my grandad. It’s about you – everyone who is now a member and those who will join us in the future. I don’t need thanks; seeing the club get the attention it deserves is more than enough for me.’

There was a final round of cheering and applause, with some ‘Well done, mate’s, before Dawn held up her hands.

‘Thank you, everyone! However, we haven’t quite finished. May I ask you all to make your way out to the terrace where we have a small surprise planned for Matt – and for you all.’

More surprises? Matt’s stomach knotted. He’d only just started to relax.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, following her and the rest of the crowd out into the evening sun.

‘Wait and see.’

A few moments later he did see – and hear. Dawn led him to the front of the crowd where a group of six men had begun to sing the classic tribute to the county: ‘Cornwall, My Home’. The choir’s voices, at once tender and rugged, seemed to fill the whole bay as they sang about their love for their land.

Matt knew all of them: two were friends who’d been at Zennor’s wedding. The other four were all members of the St Eia Fishermen’s Choir, who performed most summer Fridays on the quayside. His grandad had been a member once – and the leader of the group, Jago, had been a friend of Harry’s.

It was the perfect tribute to his grandad.

He hadn’t heard a fishermen’s choir for years; not since Zennor’s wedding. He’d actively avoided his mates and anything to do with singing, out of shame. After that, he’d never had the guts or inclination to return to it. It made him sad, yet it was his own fault that he’d cut himself off from the thing he used to love. If he hadn’t decided to make such an idiot of himself at the wedding, he might still be in a band now – still singing.

He’d sabotaged so much of his own life when he’d wrecked Zennor’s wedding.

He willed the pent-up emotions not to spill out in public. There were so many today: among them regret, grief, pride and hope …

The song ended and everyone applauded, including Matt, relieved to vent some of his feelings in cheers and clapping.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Glad to see you haven’t lost your voices.’

Jago roared, ‘Cheeky sod. Of course we haven’t, but have you still got yours?’

Matt rolled his eyes.

Jago grinned, showing a gold tooth. ‘I mean it. Will you come up and join us?’

Sweat broke out on the small of his back. ‘Me? No way. I can’t.’

‘You can. You should.’

‘Yes! Matt, go on. Please!’

The shout of one of Matt’s old singing buddies was joined by dozens of others, whooping, whistling and urging him on. A collective cry began, and swelled, accompanied by raucous clapping and chanting. ‘We want Matt! We want Matt!’

Matt felt light-headed. He couldn’t sing. He wouldn’t.

Zennor’s hand covered her mouth in shock. The last time he’d sung in her presence, he’d only seen disgust and loathing.

‘I haven’t sung for – for a long time,’ he said but Jago’s arm went around his back, hustling him forward to join the group.

‘Your grandad was always up for a challenge. Don’t matter if you’re rusty. It’s the thought that counts. The heart and the soul.’

Matt scanned the faces, expectant, encouraging – and Zennor near the front, her mouth wide in astonishment. Her eyes seemed to will him on, but they also seemed concerned. She did care. Dared he hope that she might even love him?

Then he saw Trev at the very back, leaning against the balcony, a pint in his hand, smirking. Everyone wanted him to succeed – everyone except Trev.