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He groaned and shoved his hands through his hair. ‘Because we were young and I didn’t think we could make a go of it. If we’d got married then, at nineteen, we’d never have made it and it would have hurt – hurt so badly. I couldn’t face it.’

He paused for breath but went on almost immediately, as if he had to rush the words out as fast as possible. ‘And although I was in love with you, I felt as if I was a loser without any real future. I feared that the drifter I was then would never be serious enough to keep a relationship going with someone long distance. It rarely works. I saw it so often when I was travelling that I carried on convincing myself I was right.’

‘Oh, Matt, you didn’t say anything then or even try to explain …’ Zennor said in desperation. Didn’t he realise he’d left her heart in tiny pieces and that he was like a shard of glass lodged in her heart? Every so often, triggered by a look, a word or a memory, that shard shifted a fraction of a millimetre and hurt so keenly it brought tears to her eyes.

‘It’s why I didn’t ask you to marry me. We were too young and I knew that another life was waiting for you – you were ambitious and talented and driven. I didn’t want to hold you back. I thought I’d get over you, except I didn’t forget you. I bummed around and I travelled and I even met other girls. I had some fun but always, always, at the back of my mind, there you were. So I came home and I wanted to tell you how I felt but I was too late. Trev was on the scene and you were – you were dazzled by him. I understood he offered you so much more than me.’

Never mind Trev, Zennor was dazed by Matt’s words.

‘I wasn’t “dazzled” by him but I was genuinely in love with him …’ Yet was that true? She had been swept off her feet by Trev.

‘That hurt the most. I could see you were in love. So, I didn’t say anything, even though I knew.’

‘Knew what? Rumours? Gossip? Not this again, Matt.’ A weariness came over her.

‘They were more than rumours. But there’s no point now.’

‘What do you mean, “more than rumours”? Please tell me what you know. Or do you just want to derail me again when I finally have my life back on track?’

‘I – I can’t. I’m only making things worse. Forget I said anything.’

‘Forget you said anything? What, at the wedding? Or now? I can’t.’ She cradled herself. That he had loved her and been about to ask her to marry him made it worse. Perhaps they would have been too young, perhaps it wouldn’t have worked, and perhaps it would have ended in divorce, but at least they would have tried.

‘I accept that settling down together when we were young – it was the wrong time and the wrong place. Now – it feels we’re the wrong people,’ she said.

‘Why?’ Matt shot back, agony in his eyes.

Zennor already regretted saying they were the wrong people but it was too late. ‘What I meant to say is – I’m not convinced that we have the chance of lasting together – of lasting a lifetime. If I commit to anyone again, it has to be forever. That might sound old-fashioned, but it’s how I feel. I made vows to Trev and at the time I meant them. I thought I could keep them.’

‘Maybe I’m not the right man for you,’ he murmured, ‘but Trev definitely isn’t, despite the donations and the good bloke façade. He might pretend he’s changed and that he’s a new man but he wants you back. He’d do and say anything to get you.’

Zennor pulled her hair out of her face, taking a moment to steady herself before replying. Trev’s explanation about the waitress hadn’t been what she wanted to hear and she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure whether she believed him, but at least he had apparently tried to be honest. Pressure weighed on her from both sides, giving her a desperate urge to escape.

‘I’ll be the judge of what Trev wants,’ she said. ‘I – I’m sorry, Matt, but I can’t risk being hurt again – by you or by him. But hear this: whatever happens will be my decision. I won’t be influenced by what he does or you say. Thanks for what you’ve done at the office and for the club, but from now on, please stay out of my life.’

CHAPTER THIRTY

So, this was it: the Daddy of them all. The season finale of the summer events calendar: St Eia Festival. It was already under way and the town was at its boiling point as more and more people poured in for the celebration of arts, literature, music and drama that would round off the summer season.

Since the Surf Club relaunch, Matt and his revelations had barely been out of her mind. There was no one she could talk to about it, either – not Roo, her mum or even Sybil. With the added stress of a hectic festival programme and the constant rushing around, it was hardly surprising that she’d run herself into the ground and landed herself with a splitting headache.

‘Ow!’

On the corner of the Digey, she literally bumped into Paul from the theatre, who was emerging from the bakery with a large bag of pasties. Judging by his red face and harassed expression, he was feeling the pressure. Zennor guessed he might need an encouraging word and, despite her throbbing head, was swift to offer it.

‘How’s it going, Paul? Or should I even ask?’

He let out a long breath. ‘You want the media answer or the real answer?’

‘The real one.’

He gave a dramatic sigh. ‘It’s doing my head in. It’s great that the theatre is one of the main venues, but I feel like I’m spinning a hundred plates and dropping most of them. There’s so much that can, will and has gone wrong.’

‘We’re trying to coordinate a load of performers for Sea Fever,’ Zennor said, ‘but it’ll be all right on the night.’

‘I keep telling people that but I wish I believed it!’

Paul’s phone, which had been buzzing like an angry wasp since she’d bumped into him, finally claimed his attention. He stuck his tongue out when he saw the screen. ‘Sorry, darling, I have to call this woman from the council. Even though I’d rather eat a cow-pat pasty than deal with her. She’d be perfect as Miss Trunchbull just by being herself!’