New Girl in Little Cove by Damhnait Monaghan (book club suggestions TXT) 📗

manners. This,” she said, putting a hand to Geraldine’s cheek, “is my lovely niece Geraldine who’s a nurse in St. John’s.”

“Call me Geri,” she said. “Please. It might convince Biddy.” She smiled and patted her aunt’s hand. “I’ve only been asking her for six months. You must be Rachel. Doug’s told me about you.”

“He has?”

“Well, sure. He’s some glad to have another new teacher, so it’s not just him that’s a rookie, right?”

“Is Doug your . . . ?”

“He’s her boyfriend,” said Biddy.

Geri grimaced briefly and seemed about to say something, then stopped herself. But maybe I was wrong; my head was spinning from the sherry. “I’ll see you at home, Lucille,” I said, then waved goodbye to everyone and lurched towards the door.

As I staggered up the road to Lucille’s, a cloud crossed over the moon, rendering the night darker and my progress slower. I fumbled with the gate latch, then made for the house. Once inside, I didn’t bother turning on the hall light, but felt my way along the wall to the living room. I flung myself on the nearest couch, doilies scattering like snowflakes. I grabbed the phone, my finger shaking as I turned the dial. When Sheila answered, I shouted down the line at her.

“He’s got a girlfriend.”

“Who? Jake?”

“No!” I said. “Doug.”

“Who’s Doug?”

“He’s a teacher here.”

“The one that took you fishing?”

“Yes. But he’s mad at me now, because of the English club. And he’s got a girlfriend called Gerald.”

Sheila said nothing.

“And she seems really nice, too,” I added.

“Who?”

“Gerald! Keep up, Sheila.”

There was a long silence and then Sheila said, “Rachel, have you been drinking?”

“Just some sherry with the hookers,” I sniffed.

“What hookers? Rachel, you’re making no sense.”

I closed my eyes, my grip on the receiver loosening, my thoughts drifting. Sheila waited for further details that never came. After a minute, she jumped in.

“Okay, so Doug has a girlfriend. Do you like him?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then why does it matter? And what’s this about an English club? I thought you were teaching French?”

I told her about my gaffe.

“Oh boy, you do like to stick your foot in it from time to time.”

“I know.”

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone,” I said. “But he’s mad at me. My head hurts. I’m going to bed now.”

“Okay,” Sheila said. “But listen, cut yourself some slack. You’ve been through so much—your dad, Jake, the move down there and all the other stuff.”

I listened to Sheila make excuses on my behalf for a while longer before saying goodbye.

I staggered up the stairs and onto my bed, fully clothed, wrapping Lucille’s quilt around me. I replayed all the conversations I’d had with Doug since my arrival in Little Cove, the sherry helping me skip lightly over the remedial English incident. Why hadn’t Doug or anyone else mentioned Geri? Then I remembered Lucille saying Geri wouldn’t go fishing with Doug, but I’d heard it as Gerry.

What had perfect Geri said tonight? Doug was glad to have another rookie teacher so he wasn’t alone. I was a teammate, or had been, until Doug put me in the penalty box. Now I had to find a way to apologize. So far, Doug seemed to be my best bet for a local friend. I didn’t want to lose that over my own stupidity.

My thoughts turned to Jake. Hearing Sheila say his name had brought back the awful scene on the night of my graduation party. Mom had insisted on throwing a party to mark my graduation from university even though neither of us felt like celebrating so soon after Dad’s death.

“Your dad would’ve wanted you to celebrate your achievements,” she’d said. And in the end, I’d agreed.

The party had started so well. It was a warm evening in late May, with a slight breeze that rattled the patio lanterns in time to the music. Clusters of friends and family chatted and sipped champagne. My cousin Pete was tending the makeshift bar and Uncle Scott was at the barbecue ready to grill. Jake and Sheila were standing by the pool chatting, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to have those two people in my life: my best friend since kindergarten and the kindest, most thoughtful guy I’d ever met. They had both propped me and my mother up in the sad days following my father’s diagnosis, and all the way through his deterioration and death.

When I checked in with Pete at the bar, he held up an empty champagne bottle and I said I’d get some reinforcements. As I opened the fridge in the kitchen, I heard my mom talking to someone at the front door. Well, my mom was talking, the other person was shouting.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said, “you seem quite upset, but I don’t know you, so I’d like you to wait here while I get Rachel.”

Champagne bottle in hand, I reached the hall, but by then the girl was pushing past Mom. She fixed her wild eyes on me and I stepped back against the wall. Then, following the noise of the party, she ran towards the patio doors, screaming Jake’s name. Mom took the champagne from me and we quickly followed her outside. We found her on the deck, scanning the crowd. There was a patch of damp on her red tank top and a large birthmark on her left shoulder. I reached out and tapped it.

“Hey,” I said.

But then she spotted Jake and bolted. He had his back to us, but Sheila didn’t. As the girl got closer to Jake, Sheila’s smile shrank away.

“You fucking bastard,” the girl screamed. “You said you were breaking up with her.”

Jake turned around, lips screwed up. He looked from her to me, and I knew this girl was not lying. People were pointing and whispering behind their hands to each other. Then the stranger shoved Sheila hard, sending her into the swimming pool.

There was a collective intake of breath, and then Jake screamed, “That’s not even her!” As if that changed anything. The song “I