New Girl in Little Cove

by Damhnait Monaghan

  “We nailed it,” crowed Sheila.

  We visited a few more houses and no one guessed who we were. At each house, we had a drink. At the penultimate one, they served neat rum. I was starting to flag when we rounded a corner and saw a house with every light on and music flowing out of its open front door.

  “Looks like Eddie Churchill’s on the go tonight,” said Bill. “Funny, he never said anything.”

  “We were invited,” said Judy. “But I said we were busy.”

  “Now why would you do that?” Bill asked.

  “So we could show up in disguise and they wouldn’t be expecting us.”

  “You’re a fine woman,” said Bill. “Someone should marry you.”

  We walked up the path to Eddie’s house and made our way in. People stepped aside to make room for us, and we ended up in the middle of the kitchen. I spotted Lucille and the hookers clapping time with the musicians. When the song ended, the musicians ceded the floor to us and once more we performed our skit.

  “Sacred Heart of Jaysus,” said Lucille. “Who are ye at all?”

  I kept my gaze on the linoleum floor, anxious not to give myself away. Also, I didn’t want to catch Sheila’s eye, in case we got the giggles.

  Lucille began prodding Bill’s stomach, making him jump about.

  A young man came right up close to Sheila and peered in her face. “It’s that French one down to the school, right?”

  Lucille circled Sheila, conducting a close inspection. “That’s not Rachel,” she said. “I’d stake me life on it.”

  “Well,” said an old man standing by the wood stove. “She talks like her, but I seen that Miss O’Brine at church one time and she’s right short.” He put his hand to his waist. “Only comes up yay high.”

  I managed to restrain myself from a defence of my stature.

  The young man looked down at Sheila’s feet. “She’s wearing heels though, right?”

  Despite Lucille’s protestations, the majority decided that Sheila was me. After some prolonged urging and with a nod from Judy, Sheila took off the sunglasses and sombrero. The room was silenced.

  “Who knit you?” asked the young man.

  Sheila, ever the wit, replied, “Aunt Pearl.”

  There was laughter. Then another question, “What are you doing out this way?”

  “Visiting friends,” said Sheila.

  “We’re not friends anymore,” said Bill. “Since you stole my Judy.” He clapped his hand over his mouth, but it was too late.

  “Bill, my son,” howled Eddie. “You had us fooled.” He jerked his hand at Judy. “I expect this is the missus.” Judy pulled off her headgear and Eddie gave her a hug.

  “I needs a drink after being stuffed under that pillowcase,” Judy said.

  Sheila, Judy and Bill were all enjoying a drink but I was still disguised, which wasn’t much fun. Then the door banged open and Doug walked in.

  “Rachel,” he said. “What are you doing here? I thought you went home.”

  I pulled off my tea cozy and balaclava.

  Doug had a wounded look on his face, but before I could speak to him, Eddie passed me a beer and said, “Not bad for a mainlander.”

  Sheila clinked her bottle with mine. “We mainlanders are all right, once you get to know us,” she said.

  I wasn’t really listening; instead I watched Doug go over and talk to Phonse. I started to follow him, but then Geri arrived with another woman I didn’t recognize, and the pair of them went over to talk to Doug.

  I turned my attention back to Sheila, introducing her to Lucille. Sheila gave her a big hug. “Thank you for taking such good care of my best friend, Lucille.”

  “Ah, go on with you,” said Lucille. “She was no bother.”

  Phonse came over to talk to me. I kept looking past him for Doug, but couldn’t spot him.

  Sheila batted her eyes at Phonse. “I’ve heard so much about you from Rachel. I think you practically run that school.”

  Lucille whispered in my ear, “She’s flirting with Phonse. You better tell her he’s a . . .”

  “Confirmed bachelor,” I replied. “Don’t worry, Sheila flirts with everyone, but she’s harmless.”

  Lucille raised her glass to toast me. “You’ve come a long way since that first day you pitched up all high and mighty,” she said.

  I flinched. “What do you mean?”

  She reached over and tugged one of my curls. “Just that you’re after loosening up a bit, girl. And it’s some good to see.”

  Eddie’s kitchen was similar to Lucille’s but more cluttered. Over by the stove, a rangy brown dog lay oblivious to the noise. The party was in full swing now and empty beer bottles stood beside bottles of rum and whiskey. Big ceramic bowls of chips and pretzels were filled and refilled.

  Clusters of people stood talking, their heads together, and bursts of laughter would periodically fill the room. Judy was in high spirits. She and Bill were waltzing in the hall. Naturally, Sheila was surrounded by admirers. She had a knack for getting men to riff off one another, rather than compete with each other. When Doug came by, pushing through the crowd, I grabbed his arm.

  “Come and meet my best friend Sheila.”

  But just as I introduced them, Phonse handed me a fiddle. “People are asking if you’ll play. Will you?”

  I took the fiddle and joined the musicians in the corner. As we tuned up, I thanked Phonse for the cassette he’d given me for Christmas.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, girl,” he said. “I never gave you a cassette.” While I wondered who had, the accordion player addressed the room.

  “The teacher’s gonna join us but she only knows the one song, right?”

  Phonse corrected him. “She’s after picking up a few more, b’y.”

  I caught sight of Doug, who was no longer talking to Sheila but standing on his own, leaning up against the wall. Before I could look for Geri, the music started and I had to concentrate. It was much more intimate playing there than it had been up on stage that night, but I closed my eyes and tried to relax into the music.

  After playing several songs, we took a break and I went to find Sheila. She was deep in conversation with Eddie Churchill, who was filling her in on the history of Little Cove. People kept arriving, and the house grew so crowded that the party spilled out into the cold air. I saw Geri leave with her friend but there was no sign of Doug.

  Hours later, Sheila and I walked back to Judy’s to share her spare bed. The stars were out and the night was cold, but there was a warmth in my heart big enough to heat the whole of Little Cove.

  I was tired and wanted to sleep, but Sheila wanted to do a party debrief. She was convinced that Lucille and Phonse would make a cute couple.

  “Really?” I said. “I can’t see it.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you who doesn’t make a cute couple,” she said. “Doug and Geri. They barely spoke all night.”

  “Maybe they had an argument?” I said.

  “No,” said Sheila. “It wasn’t like they were mad at each other. More like”—she yawned and rolled on her side—“indifferent.”

  I thought about how Geri and Doug had been apart all evening. Maybe Sheila was right.

  “Sheila,” I whispered, but she was fast asleep.

  23

  On New Year’s Eve morning, Sheila and I sat on opposite ends of a loveseat, sipping tea. “I can’t believe you’re leaving so soon,” I said.

  “Relax,” she said. “I’m not leaving until next year.”

  “Ha ha, well that’s tomorrow. But speaking of next year, any resolutions?”

  She put down her mug and stretched. “The usual, exercise more and eat less.” Then she snagged the last chocolate chip cookie from the batch I’d baked earlier that morning. “So listen, what can we do in this joint that doesn’t involve alcohol?”

  “It’s New Year’s Eve! Who are you and what have you done with Sheila?”

  “Seriously. I need to go to bed
early. The taxi arrives at ridiculous o’clock tomorrow morning. I’d like to drive out to Little Cove in the daylight, break into the school and maybe have some fish and chips.”

  “Deal. Well, maybe not the break and enter part. I have a key. But I hope you’ve had a good time, Sheila.”

  “Rach, I’ve loved every minute of it. And best of all has been seeing you so content. When I saw you playing the violin the other night . . .”

  “Fiddle.”

  “Whatever. You fit right in with that music.”

  She reached out and touched my hair, which I hadn’t straightened in days. “I love these curls, you never used to let them go. You’re happy here, Rachel.”

  I smiled. “I guess I am.”

  Then she smacked her forehead. “Wait, no! You’re really happy here. Don’t you dare try to stay here any longer than June. You’re on a one-year contract and that’s final, missy.”

  “Sir, yes sir. Now, since you’ve eaten all the cookies, should we head out to Little Cove?”

  “Yes, and I want to see the school. Whenever I think of you down here, I imagine Anne Shirley breaking a slate over Gilbert Blythe’s head. I need to update that image. At least to the 1960s.”

  She stood up and stretched. “Oh, and since I didn’t get to chat to Doug much at the party, call him and ask him to meet us for fish and chips.”

  “But I’ve never called him before.”

  “So?”

  Who could argue with that logic? But when I called, his mother said he had gone to the cabin for a few days, hunting with a friend.

  “Hunting, like, for real?” Sheila asked when I told her. I didn’t dare mention the rabbit stew.

  Half an hour later, we were in the car, heading to Little Cove. When we came across two hitchhikers, I slowed down to pull over. I had recognized Sam Sullivan, from grade ten French. My heart sank when I realized he was with Calvin Piercey. Still, I couldn’t exactly pull away now.

  “What are you doing?” Sheila said. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you about stranger danger?”

  “Relax, I’m the only one who would qualify as a stranger around here.”

  “Well, strange, anyway,” said Sheila.

  The car door behind me opened and the two boys scrambled into the back seat. “H’lo, miss,” they said.

  “Boys, this is my friend Miss Murphy, who’s visiting from Toronto.”

  Sheila twisted in her seat. “For God’s sake, don’t call me that. Makes me sound like an old bag.”

  Calvin snickered.

  “It’s Sheila. Now tell me, boys,” she said. “How do you find Miss O’Brien as a teacher?”

  I held my breath as Calvin spoke.

  “I don’t like French.”

  “What is it with boys and French?” Sheila asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t see the point of it.”

  “Well,” said Sheila. “It can help you get a job with the government or the RCMP or Air Canada . . .”

  “I wants to join the RCMP,” Sam piped up.

  “And are you taking French?” Sheila asked.

  “Oui,” said Sam.

  “Good for you,” said Sheila. “French could give you a real advantage.”

  “I might have to drop it next year though,” he said. “Dad don’t want me wasting time on it.”

  My brain began to fizz as I remembered Doug’s suggestion a few months back that I start a French club. That might be a way to snag more students and help those who weren’t already taking the subject. A remedial English club had been a spectacularly bad idea. But a French club was a great one.

  “Where can I drop you boys?” I asked.

  “By MJ’s takeout please,” Sam said. “We can walk the rest of the way from there.”

  “Ah, le takeout,” said Sheila. “C’est bon.” She shifted in her seat to face the boys again. “See how I used my French then? You never know when you’ll end up needing it. Like, say, if your best friend’s a French teacher and you’re trying to impress her so she’ll buy you lunch.”

  They grinned. No one could resist Sheila’s charm. We said goodbye to the boys in the parking lot, then went into the takeout.

  There was no sign of Georgie at the cash register. Her mother took our order, and when I asked after her, she said, “She’s after having the baby. My first grandson.”

  It was hard to read her expression, so I simply asked how Georgie was doing. But Sheila quizzed her on the baby, asking for name (Alfie) and weight (six and a half pounds and “right as rain”).

  After we’d eaten, we got back in the car and made the short trip through Little Cove. I pointed out the gas station, the church, the school, Lucille’s house and the wharf. I did not drive as far as Bertha Peddle’s store on principle.

  “It’s cozy,” Sheila said. “I love the coloured houses. But I totally get why you moved to Clayville. Can we go to the school now?”

  I turned the car around and we headed back. I unlocked the front door of the school and we went inside. Naturally, Sheila headed straight for the nearest male, rubbing the toes that protruded from his marble sandals.

  “Thanks to St. Jude for favours received,” she intoned.

  “Great name for a school, eh?” I said.

  “It kind of works.”

  “The patron saint of lost causes?”

  “And hope,” said Sheila. “The patron saint of hope.”

  “Says who?”

  “The patron saint of nagging, also known as my mother.”

  “Huh,” I said. “I guess if you think about it, hope is the flip side of lost causes.” I made a mental note to inform Patrick.

  “Where’s Doug’s classroom?” asked Sheila after I’d given her a brief tour.

  “Why?”

  “Just want to get a better feel for him.”

  “What are you, psychic?” But I led her down the hall and into the classroom. I leaned against the blackboard, while she wandered around, trailing her fingers along the rows of desks. Then she joined me at the front of the room and hovered her hands over his desk.

  “I’m sensing some unresolved sexual tension here,” she said, ducking when I threw a brush at her. It bounced on the desk, sending clouds of chalk into the air.

  “You saw him with his girlfriend the other night.”

  “Yeah,” said Sheila. “I saw them spend every minute of the party apart. I saw him unable to take his eyes off you when you were playing the violin.”

  “Fiddle,” I said.

  “Fiddlesticks,” she replied. “Something is not going on with those two.”

  “Sheila, she’s really nice.”

  “So are you, honey,” said Sheila.

  “Well, thank you,” I said. “I only wish I could say the same for you.”

  “Hey!” She threw the blackboard brush back at me.

  We bickered our way to the staff room, where I introduced Sheila to Patrick’s beer fridge. “Bitchin’,” she said. “Let’s have one for the road.”

  “Well, it is New Year’s Eve.”

  We settled in at the table and clinked bottles. Sheila shifted in her chair, took off her boots and put her feet in my lap. “You know, there’s one thing you haven’t asked me about since I got here,” she said.

  I picked at the label on my beer bottle. “I know.”

  “Last chance,” Sheila said. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

  I twirled a strand of my hair and looked out the window.

  “Okay,” I said. “Have you heard from Jake?”

  “Yup.”

  “Has he asked about me?”

  “Yup.”

  “Are you going to answer every question like that?”

  “Yup.”

  “Seriously,” I said, pinching her ankle.

  “Ow.” She removed her feet from my lap. “You can’t touch me, miss, I’m telling the principal.”

  “Sheila, talk.”

  “He’s not going out with that . . . bitch anymore. He said he messed up. He sa
id he was an idiot.”

  “He got that right,” I said.

  “Yup.”

  We finished our beer and I put the empties in the box beside the fridge.

  “Rach,” Sheila said. “He asked me how he could get in touch with you.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “I wouldn’t do that unless you were on board with it. Oh, and he also belatedly offered to pay for my ruined dress. You know, the one that doubled as a swimsuit.”

  As we headed for the door, she added, “Should I have given him your number?”

  “Nope.”

  24

  Even though Sheila had only spent a few days with me, I was lonely after she left. As I made the first commute of 1986, I felt a pang when the morning DJ played Paul Young’s “Every Time You Go Away.” It was all very well having Wilf at the coffee shop, but I needed to make some friends in Clayville. I changed the radio station, although it didn’t matter much. The turnoff for Bob’s Cove was coming up, and as soon as I passed it, I would lose all reception.

  I’d once asked Lucille how she managed to get radio reception, and she told me that she had a booster antenna on top of her house. It was only when Sheila and I spent the night at Judy’s that I’d discovered cable TV existed in Little Cove. Judy said Lucille didn’t have it because she wasn’t much for television herself and didn’t want boarders hanging around in her living room every evening.

  As I turned into the school parking lot for the new term, my stomach flip-flopped. I was looking forward to seeing Doug. We hadn’t spoken much at Eddie Churchill’s party. When I reached my classroom, Doug was there waiting for me, which I took as a good sign.

  “So you didn’t go home for Christmas.”

  It was an accusation. Doug’s arms were folded across his chest, his face pinched.

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “But then you shows up to the party, mummering, and ignores me all evening.”

  “I didn’t ignore you. I wanted to talk some more, but then Phonse asked me to play. Besides,” I said, “I called you a few days later. Your mother said you had gone hunting.”