New Girl in Little Cove

by Damhnait Monaghan

  I nodded.

  “I’ve told Cynthia you must have meant adoption. If anyone ever suggests otherwise, you are to deny it.”

  “Yes, Father.” I would have to let the hypocrisy slide.

  “Now, I’m going down to see Mr. Donovan in his office. You are to give me ten minutes and then you go see him. Good day to you, Miss O’Brine.”

  He shut the library door, quite firmly, I thought. It was almost a slam.

  I waited until I was sure he was a long way down the hall. Then I stood up, raised my hands in triumph and cheered. Quietly, of course. After all, I was in the library.

  This time, when I knocked on Patrick’s door, I was less nervous. He motioned to the chair and I sat down. Then he spread his hands on the desk.

  “It seems Father Frank is in a bit of pickle. He doesn’t want Brigid back here. It was a shocking scandal for the Church and he wants no part of it, especially since the archbishop is coming for a visit this summer. The fact of the matter is, he thinks if you leaves, Brigid could have a claim on the job.”

  “I see.” So this was how Father Frank was spinning it.

  “I understand Father Frank has spoken to you.”

  I nodded, biting my lip.

  “It seems you are viewed as the lesser of two evils.”

  Let’s face it, I’d been called worse. “So I can stay?”

  Patrick’s face was serious. “Father Frank has decided that since Cynthia lost the baby, the issue is moot.”

  “So, you are saying that I can stay?”

  He scratched his beard. “Yes, but by Christ, Rachel, don’t ever be so foolish again. You won’t be so lucky next time.”

  “I won’t. Thank you, Patrick. And I’m sorry about all of this.”

  His face softened. “Well, you made a holy mess of things, girl,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re staying.”

  He stood up and held out his hand. I thought about how he’d helped me tame the grade nines, how he’d supported the French club and defended me against Sam’s father, how every single time I went to him for help, he backed me. I thought about his school socials, his beer fridge, that first day when we’d exchanged fish puns.

  I stood up, ignoring his outstretched hand, and went in for a hug.

  When I left school that afternoon, Brigid was leaning against the side of my car. She held her hand to her eyes, shielding them from the sun.

  “Patrick says you’re staying.” Her voice was tremulous.

  “Yeah.”

  She bit her lip. “He says he’ll help me find another job. That a fresh start would do me good.”

  “It’s good advice,” I said. “That’s why I came here. For my own fresh start.”

  “Ron said to tell you he’s sorry about the notes. He’s as stunned as they come, but in his way, I guess he was trying to help me get my job back. I think he blames himself for all my foolishness with the priest.” With a sad wave of her hand, she went to her own car and drove away.

  I went straight up to Lucille’s, delighted to find Biddy was there as well.

  “I came for a chinwag,” I said.

  “It’s grand to see you, girl,” said Lucille. “I’m just making tea if you wants a cuppa.”

  I did. I sat next to Biddy on the daybed.

  “So you’re staying on at St. Jude’s next year,” Lucille said, with a completely guileless expression. She handed a cup of tea first to Biddy and then to me. “That’s grand, girl. You does a great job there.”

  “We’re looking forward to the garden party next month. We’re trying to choose which quilts and rugs to sell to raise money for the church,” Biddy said.

  “Biddy, Lucille,” I said. “I know I haven’t spent much time with you all since I moved to Clayville, but since I’m staying on next year, I’d like to become a hooker.”

  Lucille choked on her tea and Biddy blessed herself.

  “What did you say?” Biddy asked.

  “I mean, would you teach me to hook rugs in September?”

  “We’d be delighted, Rachel,” she replied. “I’m sure you’ll pick it up right quick.”

  Lucille seemed less confident. “We’ll start you off on a real easy pattern, girl.”

  She might have been joking, but I decided to book a private lesson with Biddy before attending an official hooking session. I did not want to hear one more person say “not bad . . . for a mainlander.”

  37

  Biddy’s mention of the garden party focused my mind on the task Judy had set for me all those months ago: get the students to play traditional music at the party. Perhaps I could have forced their hand. It was a school event, they were students, and I was their teacher. But I didn’t want them to play because they were “made to.” They got enough of that already. Instead I made a few phone calls, first to Sheila and then to her brother Mike.

  The following week I asked Beverley, Roseanne and Jerome to stay back to see me after school.

  “It’s about the garden party,” I said.

  They groaned in harmony. Beverley said, “Miss, please, we really don’t want to play that old music there.”

  “Do you all know what MusiCan is?”

  “Miss,” said Roseanne, “how backwards do you think we are? We watches the music videos every afternoon. While we’re doing our homework, of course.”

  “Good,” I said. “My best friend’s brother is a hot-shot producer there. He’s going to be in St. John’s next week and I invited him down to hear you guys play.”

  They were now listening far more attentively than I’d ever seen them do in class.

  “He’s interested in all kinds of music. Of course, I would love it if you guys played traditional music for him, but it’s up to you. Mike said if he likes what he hears, he might be able to get a recording session at a studio in St. John’s.”

  Roseanne and Jerome’s faces lit up, but Beverley was skeptical.

  “What’s the catch?”

  “You have to play traditional music with me at the garden party.”

  More groans.

  “One set,” I said. “That’s all.”

  “But why would MusiCan come to Little Cove?” Beverley persisted.

  “Because I told Mike how amazing you guys are. And because I’ve known him since he was three years old and I have lots of dirt on him.” The Holy Dusters weren’t the only ones skilled in blackmail.

  The three of them laughed. “We knows not to cross you, miss,” said Jerome.

  “If we does the garden party, will you definitely play with us, miss?” asked Roseanne.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “We needs Phonse, too,” said Roseanne. “He’s a legend.”

  “Sure you knows he’ll do it if miss asks him,” said Beverley. “He’s got it right bad for her.” She began humming “Je l’aime à mourir” and Jerome and Roseanne fell about laughing.

  “He does not have it bad for me,” I said. This was nonsense and they knew it. Phonse was the grandfather of music, for all of us. “We’re friends and he teaches me the fiddle. But I’ll ask him.”

  When I asked him later, Phonse agreed immediately. “I’m right proud of you Rachel, getting the youngsters excited about our music.” He cleared his throat. “It’s grand, girl, just grand.”

  They were far from excited about the music, but I didn’t let on to Phonse.

  MIKE FLEW DOWN to St. John’s and made his way to Clayville. I had offered him my sofa for the night but he declined. “Rach, I’m on expenses,” he said. “I’ve booked myself into a motel. Apparently, there are no hotels in Clayville. I might struggle to max out on this trip.”

  “You can buy me dinner,” I said.

  Over pizza at Tony’s, he talked excitedly about a punk band he’d seen in Halifax. Then he said, “But my taste is as eclectic as ever. I love the stuff Sheila bought me when she was down.”

  “And how is my lovely Sheila?” I asked.

  He grinned. “She just broke the heart of a good frie
nd of mine.”

  “That’s my girl,” I said. “And Mike, next time can you bring her down with you? I would love her to hear Johnny’s Crew.” I filled Mike in on Beverley, Jerome and Roseanne.

  “Who’s Johnny, then?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Mike walked me back to my house. I pointed out the local highlights: the few stores, the café, the library. “Jesus,” he said, “talk about a small town. I think I’d die if I had to live here.”

  “If you think this is small, wait until you see Little Cove,” I said.

  The next day Mike drove out with me to spend the day at St. Jude’s. I made him do double duty, speaking to the French club about MusiqueCan, the Québécois arm of MusiCan. I took him to lunch at the takeout for fish and chips. After school, he sat in on a practice session I’d organized with Johnny’s Crew to go over the garden party set list. As we tuned our instruments, Mike set up a portable tape recorder.

  I watched him from the stage as we worked our way through the songs. His head was nodding in time to the music and he was grinning. When we took a short break, the students went outside to get some air and Mike came to sit beside me on the edge of the stage.

  “These kids have really got something,” he said. “They’re crazy not to stick with that traditional music. It’s killer.”

  “Could you talk to them?” I said. “They won’t listen to me, but you’re the cool dude from MusiCan.”

  When the trio came back in, Mike asked if he could talk to them about their heritage. He turned on the tape recorder and asked if they had any favourite pieces of Newfoundland music.

  Beverley said, “Sonny’s Dream.”

  “Oh, I love that one, too,” I said.

  Mike turned off the tape recorder. “Do you mind?” he said, in faux anger. “I’m trying to conduct an interview here.” The students lapped it up.

  Mike started the tape again and asked Beverley why it was her favourite song.

  “It makes me think of my brother,” she said. “He moved out to Alberta two years ago and he hasn’t been home since.” Beverley looked off in the distance for a minute. “Every time I sings that song, it makes Mam cry. But the thing is, she loves to hear me sing it. She says the tears make her feel closer to Rick.”

  Jerome said he liked the sea shanties because his grandfather used to sing them to him when he was a young boy. “When I plays those tunes, I remembers him. And, if I ever has kids . . .”

  “Chance would be a fine thing,” Beverley whispered to Roseanne and they giggled behind their hands.

  “When I has me own youngsters,” Jerome corrected himself, “I wants to do like Grandfadder and sing to them.”

  Roseanne said she liked songs with humour. “I could be that poisoned about something,” she said, “but if I starts singing ‘Lukey’s Boat’ or ‘The Rattlin’ Bog’ or a song like that, it lifts my spirits, you know?”

  Mike started giving me the eye and jerking his head towards the door. I could take a hint.

  I went to cool my heels in the staff room and Doug was there. “Sounding good down there in the gym, fiddle girl. You going out with your buddy tonight?”

  “No, he’s taking a taxi back to St. John’s. He has a flight out early tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. I’m cooking dinner for you.”

  “Sure, it’ll be good to see your mom. How is she?”

  “She’s grand, but I thought I’d cook at your place, if that’s all right.”

  “So I get stuck with the dishes, huh? Genius.”

  “I’ll see you about seven o’clock,” he said.

  When I got back to the gym, the students were packing up. “Mike said to tell you he’d see you outside,” Beverley said.

  “Did you play him some of your rock music?” I asked.

  Beverley looked sheepish. “Actually, miss, we’re going to do Newfoundland music instead.”

  “But with a twist,” interjected Jerome.

  They had trialled speedier versions of some of the songs that afternoon. I hadn’t joined in because the pace was too quick, but it had been fantastic. I told them I thought their twist on the music was the way forward. “They’ll be wanting your autograph soon.”

  “Go on with you, miss,” said Beverley, but she and Roseanne exchanged a giddy look.

  Mike was sitting on the front of my car when I got out. “God, the air out here is fantastic,” he said. “No smog.”

  “You should see the stars,” I said.

  As we drove back to Clayville, I asked Mike how he’d magicked the students into playing traditional music.

  He chuckled. “I played them a recording of a group playing a Newfoundland folk song and asked them what they thought. They were very complimentary.”

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  “It was them! I guess it’s the first time they’ve heard how good they are. I’m coming back down with a cameraman for the garden party.”

  “You are?”

  “They are seriously good, Rachel,” he said. “They could be the next big thing.”

  I dropped Mike at the taxi company and hugged him goodbye. “Sheila is counting the days until you’re back,” he said.

  At some point, I was going to have to let Sheila and my mother in on the news that I was staying on for another year. I wasn’t looking forward to either of those conversations.

  38

  Doug arrived at my place laden with grocery bags and a bunch of wildflowers. I put the flowers in a jam jar and placed it on the table. Then I asked if I could help cook.

  “It’s a one-man job,” he said. “Dead easy. Steak and Caesar salad. Maybe some garlic bread.”

  “I’ll pour the wine,” I said. “Red or white?”

  “Any beer on the go?” he asked. “I don’t want to pass out tonight.”

  I opened a beer for him and put it on the counter near the sink, while he washed the lettuce. He asked how the music session had gone, and I shared Mike’s comments about the band.

  “They are pretty good,” he said. “I talked to your buddy this afternoon. He seems like a good guy.”

  “He’s Sheila’s brother and he’s the best.”

  “I thought that was me?”

  “Ba-dum-dum.”

  We carried on chatting while Doug cooked, then sat down to eat. The steaks were somewhere between rare and perfect, the salad tart and crispy. We were so busy talking, we forgot to put the garlic bread in the oven, but neither of us cared.

  “Rachel O’Brine,” Doug said, putting down his fork and looking at me. “You’re a hard one to pin down.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you enjoys my company.”

  I agreed that I did.

  “But you don’t let me in.”

  “Says the man sitting in my kitchen, drinking my beer.”

  He raised his bottle. “Touché. I’ve made a few mistakes this year, Rachel. It was foolish to get annoyed about Christmas,” he said. “Your best friend was down and I guess you wanted to spend time with her.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But the notes? How could you not tell me about them? Mudder says as far as you were concerned, everyone was a suspect. Not me?”

  “Well, you do have a prior misdemeanour.”

  He scratched his chin. “Not following.”

  “Wait here.” I ran upstairs to my bedroom and searched my underwear drawer until I found the note he’d left on my car after I’d thrown up in his boat. On the way back downstairs, I reread the part where he’d said I’d get my sea legs. Looking back on the year, it felt like I had. On land anyway.

  “Exhibit A.” I waved it in front of him.

  “You kept it all this time?”

  I blushed and made a mental note not to show him the pink ribbon he’d removed from the ceiling the first time we met. We left the dishes on the table and went to the living room.

  “Doug, you say I don’t let you in, but as far as I can tell, you have a girlfriend.”r />
  He started to speak but I held up my hand. “Let me finish. Remember I told you about Jake cheating on me?”

  He nodded.

  “Even now, when I think about that girl arriving at my house, I get upset. It was so humiliating. I mean, I’m completely over Jake, but I did love him and he really hurt me.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “I don’t want Geri to get hurt like I did.”

  Doug put down his beer. “Geri’s not going to get hurt,” he said. “Well, not by us, anyway. She’s got a boyfriend in St. John’s, and I think it’s time people knew that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Geri and I were together but it ended last summer. She loves living in St. John’s and I hates it there. She’s into fashion, nightclubs, the big city.”

  “And you’re just a bayman with simple pleasures,” I teased.

  He nodded. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Yes, but why don’t people know about her boyfriend?”

  Doug patted the space beside him. “Come over here, fiddle girl.”

  I moved closer and he put his arm around me.

  “We were the only two in our graduating year that went to university,” he said. “And so people thought we were this golden couple . . .” His voice trailed off, but after a minute, he continued. “It’s like there was this expectation of us being together. From Mudder, too. I never told you the whole story about Mudder’s accident.”

  There was another long silence. I waited for him to continue.

  “Geri found Mudder after her fall. She was in a bad state. Could’ve died. The tide was coming in, so Geri wouldn’t leave her until the search party found them. So they formed a strong bond. Mudder treats Geri like a daughter. Although it’s more like the prodigal daughter now because Geri isn’t around much anymore.”

  “But why did you tell me she was your girlfriend?” I asked.

  “Nope. I never did.”

  I thought back over the year, trying to pinpoint the moment I’d decided they were a couple. Then I remembered that first night at Biddy’s when Geri arrived and Biddy had said she was Doug’s girlfriend. And the look on Geri’s face when Biddy said it.

  “Huh,” I said. “I guess you didn’t.”