Page 63 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

‘Of course I do. Idiot.’ I smiled at him. ‘But I suppose I did get there first in the end.’ I looked again at my exhibition and smiled. ‘Maybe it’s not in a London Gallery, but that’s definitely my work.’

There was that familiar breath on my cheek again — that scent of ocean and rain — a gentle squeeze of my hand. ‘Well done,’ whispered Jay.

I shot a surprised glance at him. ‘Is your voice coming back, Jay?’ I asked. The comment had actually sounded more like a proper whisper than a croak, but he quickly pulled a face and rubbed at his scarf again. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead now.

‘No. Hurts.’ The raspy voice was back.

‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘But thank you. And Cerys says she might have an opening in the tearoom for my work. That’s amazing as well, isn’t it?’

‘Job opening there too,’ he croaked quietly, but I pretended I hadn’t heard him and carefully studied the leaflet a little bit more.

* * *

We moved as a pack around the Fayre for a little longer, looking at stalls, losing on the tombola, and finding a shady plot under a tree to scoff our treats, while Jay pulled at his scarf and turned redder and redder.

‘Are you sure you should be here?’ I asked him at one point. He looked indignant and nodded, so I didn’t push it.

But if I was hoping for a miracle and for him to suddenly bound on stage and burst into song, I was disappointed. The time came for Padcock’s Got Talent, and he was still silent and scarf-ridden even as we took our seats.

I looked around and saw Cerys, Sam, Ninian and Edie settling down with the children. Owen arrived and slid into one of the seats on the end of our row, right next to us. Which reminded me . . .

‘I’m just going to go and see how Polly’s doing,’ I whispered to Jay, who was sitting next to me. ‘There’s only about fifteen minutes before the start of the show, and I want to give her a little bit of a confidence boost.’

‘Okay,’ he whispered. Again I looked at him oddly. Then he cleared his throat and pasted on a sad expression again. Something just wasn’t quite adding up, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

I shook my head and stood up. ‘I won’t be long.’

Jay nodded and I hurried around the back of the stage where several ladies were twittering about with even more clipboards. I could see some people who looked like candidates for the talent show. The clipboard ladies were looking extremely panicked, and I hazarded a guess that the jungle telegraph had just now advised them of Jay’s incapacity. Mrs Pomeroy was also there, getting in everyone’s way it seemed, and barking orders to her hounds and her fellow villagers. Nobody actually seemed to be taking any notice of her though.

I climbed over a small set of stepladders and a couple of boxes — briefly wondering if anyone had heard of health and safety back here — and eventually weaved my way around potential performers to finally reach Polly, who was sitting on a box looking positively ill.

She looked up and saw me coming. ‘I can’t do it,’ she instantly said. ‘I have never been so scared in my bloody life. What if they hate me? What if I mess up?’

‘You’re not going to mess up!’ I told her firmly. ‘Are your family here? Do I need to get someone for you?’

‘No — my parents are on holiday. Abroad. And my sister is in Ibiza with her friends.’

‘What?’ I was horrified. To not have her family here was bloody awful for her, poor girl.

‘They’d already booked it. I wasn’t even sure I was going to do this, so I never said anything. In fact — I haven’t told them at all. And we don’t live that close to here, so they wouldn’t find out from talking to anyone . . .’ She gave some heaving gulps and I thought she was going to dissolve into a hysterical crying fit.

Or throw up.

Which would be infinitely worse.

I moved back, just in case she did end up vomiting. I didn’t want to be within range of the trajectory. ‘Good lord, Polly. You’re here alone? I mean, you’ve got us, obviously. But that’s it?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘But Matilda — what if my top gives way?’ The sobs turned into a wail, garnering Looks (yes with a capital “L”) from various people nearby.

‘Your top will not give way!’ I said with feeling. ‘My sewing machine may be a little travel thing, but my capability as a seamstress is beyond reproach!’

‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘But . . .’

‘Hush!’ I held my hand up imperiously. ‘No buts. You need to get out there and blow their socks off! Or — maybe — just blow someone’s very tweedy sports jacket off.’ I added, remembering Owen.

She managed a little giggle at that. ‘I’m glad I’m following on from Jay,’ she said. ‘He said he’d give me a thumbs up when he left the stage, and I know that’s my cue to get sorted and go on. I’m focussing on that. So long as he’s in the wings, I’ll be fine.’

‘Ah.’ I paused. ‘There may be a slight change of plan.’