Annie's Lovely Choir By The Sea

by Liz Eeles

  ‘Did he.’ Toby jabs repeatedly at the button until the lift arrives and the doors slide open. It’s crammed with hospital visitors but we push our way in and stand silently side by side while the lift descends.

  When the doors open on the ground floor, Toby hurries out and I run to catch him up while he strides ahead. He sidesteps round a woman in a wheelchair and scoots towards the car park, only stopping and turning to face me when he reaches his BMW.

  ‘I would offer you a lift back to Salt Bay, Annie, but I’m heading straight back to London. Unless you want to come back with me too?’

  It’s as if Lucy and her baby were never mentioned.

  ‘I don’t think so, thank you. I’ll stay here until Monday so I can make sure that Alice is all right. Rafe isn’t expecting me back at work until the day after.’

  Toby presses his key fob and the car springs to life with beeps and flashing lights. ‘You can let me know how she’s doing on Tuesday, then, and I’ll come down again when I can.’

  ‘Where’s the painting by the way?’ I ask, eyeing up the car boot.

  ‘I sent it up to London this morning by special courier. Don’t worry.’ He holds out his hands palm up and shrugs his shoulders; all innocence and bonhomie. ‘I won’t do anything with the painting without talking to Alice first.’

  He slides into his posh car and lowers his window when I’m walking away.

  ‘What’s she like?’ he calls after me.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Freya, I think you said her name was.’

  So my words did hit home. I walk back to the car and rest my arm on the roof, being careful not to scratch the paintwork with my watch.

  ‘I’ve only met her once but she was very sweet, with big pale eyes and dark hair. I didn’t notice it at the time because why would I, but she looks a lot like a Trebarwith.’

  Anguish flits across Toby’s face but it’s gone almost immediately. ‘I’ll see you at work on Tuesday, Annie. Don’t be late.’

  He revs the engine and zooms off, forcing a young couple holding hands to jump out of his way.

  ‘Prat!’ yells the young lad, flipping a finger at the disappearing car.

  Yes, Toby is a prize prat. He’s arrogant and avaricious and a terrible driver. But underneath the rich, responsibility-free facade, there are glimpses of a lonely man who’s been damaged by bad choices. And, just for a moment, I can’t help feeling sorry for him.

  Chapter 33

  Unlike some people, mentioning no names (Maura), I’ve always been pretty good at making decisions. I weigh things up, come down on one side or the other and that’s that. Quick, rational and without regret. But deciding whether or not to go to tonight’s first ever concert by the new Salt Bay Choral Society is proving tricky.

  On the one hand, it’s simple. I’m proud of the choir and seeing all the singers again and hearing them sing would be wonderful. But I’m not involved with the choir now so the evening will be bittersweet, plus there’s the risk of another awkward encounter with Josh. I’m not sure I can cope with Ollie and Kayla exchanging lovey-dovey looks across the sheet music either. She’s done nothing but talk about him since I got back from the hospital.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you want to go to the concert?’ pouts Kayla, peering myopically into the mirror while she concentrates on getting her eyeliner just right. ‘Everyone will be pleased to see you and the concert’s only happening because you brought the choir back to life. You’re Salt Bay’s very own Doctor Frankenstein.’ She flicks up the liner at the outer corner of her eye and smiles in satisfaction.

  ‘Much as I like being compared to a bonkers scientist and would enjoy seeing everyone, I’m not feeling a hundred percent at the moment.’ Well, I can hardly say I’m avoiding the concert because I’m in love with Josh Pasco and gutted because he hates my family and will never leave Cornwall. As far as Kayla’s concerned, my feelings for Josh were merely a passing fancy.

  Kayla swings round from the full-length mirror propped up against her wall. She’s wearing black from head to toe and even her make-up has a goth vibe going on.

  ‘Do you think you might have swallowed some of the flood water? Back home, we get warned about bacteria in rivers. Did any dead animals float past you?’

  ‘Eew, no. Just lots of sticks and plants.’

  ‘If you start chundering, you’d better see a doctor quick. A friend of mine went swimming in a Queensland river, picked up a bug and lost almost a quarter of her body weight in a week. It worked out all right in the end ’cos she wanted to lose a few pounds, but trust me’ – Kayla grimaces – ‘it wasn’t pretty at the time.’

  ‘It sounds awful but I’m sure I don’t have any kind of bug. It’s probably just the shock catching up with me.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Kayla’s not convinced. ‘But do try and come tonight if you can, Annie. You gave the choir a brilliant start and we’ve been working hard with Josh over the last few weeks. We don’t sound half as shite as we did, honestly. Oh, and did I tell you that I’m in love and he actually loves me back?’ She claps excitedly, dropping her eyeliner which splatters black bits across the carpet. ‘Ollie says that I was right under his nose all this time, and now he’s realised how wonderful I am he’s never going to let me go.’

  ‘Yes, you did mention it once or twice, and I think it’s utterly fantastic!’ Throwing my arms round her gives me time to get my ‘happy face’ on and I laugh when she does a shuffle-dance in the narrow gap between her chest of drawers and the end of the bed.

  ‘Please come tonight, Annie, please. It’s your choir after all.’ Kayla grabs my hands and pulls me up to dance with her. There’s no music but her excitement is so infectious we do some ‘Gangnam Style’ moves anyway. And we both look so ridiculous, arms and legs flailing as we jump about like eejits, we end up collapsed on her bed, red-faced and laughing hysterically. It’s ages since I’ve had a good belly laugh like this.

  ‘So will you come?’ Kayla flutters her eyelashes at me across the duvet and sticks out her bottom lip. ‘Pretty please? It won’t be the same without you, and I’ll be less nervous if you’re there.’

  How can I refuse? Kayla’s been a good friend and, however awkward the situation is with Josh, I can’t abandon the choir for a second time.

  * * *

  Salt Bay Church is almost full when I slip inside five minutes before the concert’s due to start. For one awful moment the only free seats I can see are in the front row. But then I spot a space in the back pew and a young Asian woman shuffles along sharpish while I squeeze in on the end. She’s being nice, though I can’t shake the feeling she took one look at my arse in Kayla’s tight jeans and realised more room was needed.

  Some of the people round me are Salt Bay locals but others are unfamiliar and must have come from villages nearby. Friends and relatives of the singers, perhaps, or people touched by the tragic end of the last choral society. Either way, I’m chuffed that the church is full and Reverend Baxham looks delighted. I bet she never gets a full house for her Sunday services.

  The choir are sitting in front of the altar on wooden chairs and look great. They’re smartly dressed in black and white, with the men in suits and the women in trousers or long skirts. Cyril’s in the back row so he must have kept coming to rehearsals, which is brilliant. He keeps smiling at a plump woman a few pews ahead of me and I cross my fingers that it’s his daughter, visiting from Up North to hear him sing. A few chairs along from Cyril is Kayla, who waves at me and nudges Fiona, who grins and waves too. They’re such good, kind people and I’ve missed them all.

  If only Alice could be here to enjoy this evening. Thinking of her lying homeless and alone in a hospital bed makes me panicky about going back to London tomorrow. Friends and neighbours will help her with the Tregavara House clear-up, I’m sure of that. But they have their own responsibilities and they’re not – oh God, I’m going to say it – they’re not family.

  Perhaps I could stay in Salt Bay a little longer and give her a
hand, but how would that work when I’m bound to bump into Josh all the time, and Ollie and Kayla are getting it on? Being happy for them is all very well from a distance, but seeing them so loved-up at close quarters will eventually turn me into an embittered old bat. It’s inevitable.

  As if thinking about Josh conjures him up, he walks in front of the choir and sits in the front row. Wow! He scrubs up very nicely. The tailored suit he’s wearing fits his tall frame perfectly and his crisp white shirt, open at the neck, accentuates his dark complexion. He’s brushed his unruly hair back off his forehead and there’s only a hint of stubble on his strong jaw. He looks like a lovely Cornish James Bond.

  Reverend Baxham claps her hands together and a hush falls over the audience.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for supporting the first ever concert by the new Salt Bay Choral Society, especially after the excitement of yesterday. Speaking of which, it’s very good to see Enid here.’

  There’s a ripple of applause as Enid half-stands and gives a regal wave.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll all join me in sending our best wishes to Alice and hoping she’ll soon be back in Salt Bay where she belongs.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ calls a ruddy-faced man a few rows in front of me and several other people murmur in agreement. It’s heartening to see how much Alice is loved in this village.

  With a quick thumbs up to the choir, the vicar steps to one side. ‘Without further ado, let me hand over to our conductor this evening, Mr Josh Pasco.’

  Josh stands quickly and turns to face everyone. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than speak in front of an audience, but Josh exudes calm and confidence.

  ‘Thank you, Hilary.’ His deep Cornish burr rolls round the ancient stone. ‘Tonight the new Salt Bay Choral Society is going to sing some traditional Cornish favourites and some newer songs too, with the support of Michaela on the piano.’ Everyone’s eyes turn towards Michaela, who goes bright red and dips her head so her long, blonde hair swings in front of her face.

  ‘As Hilary said, this is our first concert so it won’t be terribly long but I think you’ll be surprised by your friends’ and neighbours’ musical talent. In a good way,’ he adds, with a smile. ‘Tonight’s concert is in memory of the men who belonged to this choir when it gave its last performance fifteen years ago.’ For the first time, he falters slightly, making me want to rush up the aisle and put my arms round him. ‘It’s also in memory of others from Salt Bay who are sadly no longer with us. There was no charge to come in this evening but there will be a collection afterwards for the RNLI and we hope you’ll give generously.’

  He suddenly looks straight at me. ‘Annie Trebarwith, the woman who revived the choir, is here tonight and she’ll be conducting the first half of the evening.’

  No way! Is this how he’s getting his revenge? Making me look an arse in front of local people? I shrink back in my seat but the woman next to me nudges me in the ribs until I jump to my feet. Everyone turns to look at me and my face burns when they start to applaud.

  When Josh beckons me to come forward, my neighbour gives me a shove into the aisle. I’m starting to actively dislike her. People carry on applauding while I walk towards the choir, horribly aware that I’m wearing jeans. And though a few members of the audience whisper behind their hands, most smile at me, including Josh’s mum Marion, who’s in the second row. The fact that she’s here makes me even more nervous.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I hiss at Josh when I get to the front and he hands me his stepdad’s baton.

  ‘This is your choir and you should lead it,’ he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Here’s the programme, and they’re all songs you rehearsed with them. Good luck.’ He slides into a seat behind me and Kayla gives me a thumbs up.

  A hush falls over the church as I consider legging it up the aisle and out of the village. I could go back to London and never mention Salt Bay again, just like my mum. No more family, no more complications.

  ‘Come on, girl,’ murmurs Cyril. His white shirt is clean and beautifully ironed. ‘You can do it.’

  I raise the baton and the choir stand up. Some of the older members have dodgy hips so it takes a while, and Roger swears loudly after accidentally knocking his chair over. But they look like a proper choir when they’re all on their feet; smart, attentive and ready to sing. Please let this be good! I send up a quick prayer to the ghosts of the original choir and nod at Michaela.

  The first notes of ‘Panis angelicus’ echo round the church. The choir come in at the right time, which is a definite improvement, and after a few bars I start to relax. Sure, there are a few bum notes here and there and Jennifer’s vibrato voice drowns out some of the singers, including Ollie, thank goodness. But their earnest faces and heartfelt voices make me feel tearful and I’m not the only one. Mrs James, who lives in the village, is crying quietly and her husband looks choked. They’re old enough to remember the men who sang here fifteen years ago, before setting out to sea for the last time.

  My mind wanders while the choir are singing a cheerful sea shanty about driving men through with swords. It’s very much like we last rehearsed it and a touch ropey in places but that adds to the authentic feel of it. Chances are this very same song was performed here long ago by Samuel Trebarwith and his friends, with Josh’s stepdad conducting. Living, breathing men with hopes, fears and family. But all that remains of them now is a brass plaque, hidden in deep shadow on a church wall. I hope they’d approve of me starting up the choir again. And for the first time since arriving in Salt Bay, I hope that Samuel would be proud of me.

  The star turn of the first half is Jennifer, who takes centre stage just before the interval and sings a pretty song from The Pirates of Penzance. Diamond chunks in her ears sparkle under the lights and her silk skirt ripples like black water while her voice soars. As she sings, she clasps her hands together under her bosom and closes her eyes, which looks rather affected for an amateur concert in a tiny Cornish village. But the clarity of Jennifer’s beautiful soprano voice means she can get away with it.

  As her final, triumphant note dies away, everyone claps enthusiastically, including me, while Jennifer does a sweeping curtsey, revealing her magnificent cleavage. We’ve reached the interval at last and the first half was OK. Better than OK, actually – it was terrifying and exhilarating and I loved it. The choir did me proud.

  Some enterprising person has brought along two plastic cold-boxes crammed with ice creams and people descend on them during the interval. Josh and his mum are talking so I try to attract Kayla’s attention, to see if she fancies a strawberry Cornetto, but she’s in a lip-lock with Ollie, right in front of the altar. She’s shameless.

  ‘Hey, Annie. How are you?’ says Ollie, coming up for air. ‘How’s your great-aunt doing?’

  ‘OK, thanks. Kayla, can I have a word?’ I drag her into the vestry and out through a heavy wooden door into the back of the churchyard. The vestry lights throw white beams across the jumbled gravestones. ‘Did you know Josh was going to ambush me like that?’

  ‘Not really.’ Kayla massages her overworked lips as Mr James saunters past sucking on a Solero. ‘It was dead romantic though.’

  ‘Potentially making me look a tit in front of the whole village?’

  ‘But you didn’t, did you? And admit it, you loved it. I could tell you were having fun.’

  ‘Once I stopped shaking, but yes.’ I smile in spite of myself. ‘It was lovely to be a part of the choir again and a part of such a special concert. You all sounded brilliant.’

  ‘Even Ollie?’

  ‘Even Ollie. I couldn’t hear him much, to be honest.’

  ‘He’s mostly miming,’ admits Kayla, scuffing her feet against the gnarled trunk of a tree whose roots are spreading across the graveyard like veins. ‘So what exactly are you going to do about sexy Josh Pasco? It’s obvious that he’s totally into you. I saw the way he was looking at you while you were conducting.’

  ‘I’m going to d
o absolutely nothing. He’s no fan of the Trebarwiths, we live hundreds of miles apart, and I’m not sure he does like me that much anyway.’

  ‘You’re kidding me, right? He waded through bacteria-riddled waters to rescue you from certain death.’

  ‘Which he’d have done for anyone in trouble.’

  ‘You’re hopeless and beyond help,’ sighs Kayla, waving at Ollie who’s gesturing to us to go back into the church. ‘We’re just coming,’ she shouts. ‘Don’t start without us.’

  We only just make it back to our seats before the second half begins with Michaela’s note-perfect recital of some of Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight’ sonata. She’s incredibly talented and the music sounds lovely, echoing round the church. But she could be playing ‘Chopsticks’ for all I care. I can’t concentrate, and what little concentration I have disappears completely when her recital ends and Josh starts conducting the choir. I can’t stop staring at his broad back as he sways gently, feeling the music and marking out the beat.

  The rest of the concert passes in a blur of choral singing and audience applause. Hold on. I drag my eyes away from Josh and concentrate on the choir. What are they singing now? The first few chords sound familiar but hard to place, and then I know. It’s Mum’s favourite song, the one she sang to me, and her mum sang to her when she was growing up: ‘The Boy I Love is Up in the Gallery.’

  An elderly lady near me starts singing along under her breath and swaying slightly to the music. The song is slower than I remember and a bittersweet feeling fizzes up from my toes when the choir sings, ‘But I haven’t got a penny so we’ll live on love and kisses, And be just as happy as the birds on the tree.’ That was me and Mum; no money but lots of love and we were happy, mostly. Tears are dripping off my chin and a woman nearby passes me a tissue without a word. Salt Bay Choral Society singing that song in this church is perfect and squares the circle. It brings Mum home.