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

“I’ll never crack it,” I said.

“You got the talent, all right,” he said. “But you’re stiff as a plank, maid. Loosen up.”

Even as he spoke, I could feel my shoulders hunch forward and my right arm tighten. I wriggled my shoulders, then started over from the beginning. Phonse set aside his fiddle and sat with his head down, listening to me. I was glad I couldn’t see his face.

“Better,” he said when I’d finished. “Give ’er one more go, now.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated, swaying to the music. Was it a bit better? Maybe. When I got to the end of the piece, there was a long whistle of appreciation and I flushed, happy to have pleased Phonse. But when I opened my eyes, it was Doug leaning in the doorway, staring at me.

I thrust the fiddle at Phonse. “That’s enough for today.”

“That was grand,” he said. “It’s brought the colour to your cheeks, too. Sign of a good player.”

He gave me back the fiddle. “Hang on to that one, sure. I got a few spare.”

“Now then, sir,” he said to Doug. “Will we be seeing you tonight?”

“You might,” said Doug.

“What’s happening tonight?” I asked. The last few Saturday nights, I’d been in bed before ten. Something had to give.

“Phonse and the b’ys are playing in the pub,” Doug said. It was the first time he’d spoken to me in what felt like forever.

Phonse said he had a regular gig in the pub “with a few fellas.”

“Wait, there’s a pub in Little Cove?”

“Mardy, next town over.”

“You should come see us,” said Phonse. “The b’ys are right good. I does me best to keep up.”

Doug was having none of that. “Go on, Phonse. You carries them.” Then he said to me, “Think you’ll go?”

“Yes, b’y,” I said, pleased to see a brief smile in return.

“Might see you there,” said Doug.

After he left, I asked Phonse for more details. Then I said, “If I’m going out tonight, I better crack on with my work.”

“Got to keep on top of it,” he agreed.

“Well, some of it seems pointless,” I said. “I mean, when you’re dealing with students like Calvin Piercey . . .” I threw my hands up in the air dramatically, waiting for Phonse to sympathize.

Instead he frowned. “There’s more to Calvin than maybe meets the eye, Rachel. He has other gifts.”

Heat rose from my chest and I blushed. I wasn’t used to disappointing Phonse.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “See you later.” I walked down to my classroom thinking maybe there was more to Phonse than I’d thought.

I worked extra hard on my lesson plans for the next few weeks, then headed back to Lucille’s and offered to take her on a night out to the pub in Mardy. She looked up from her crossword.

“To hear the b’ys?”

I nodded. “Phonse asked me to go.”

“I don’t know, girl.” She stretched her legs out and wriggled her fluffy slippers. “I’m right cozy now. And I’d have to do me hair.”

“You have to do it anyway for Mass tomorrow,” I said.

But she was back to her crossword. “Three across, four letters, place of torment and punishment.”

“Mass,” I said.

Lucille looked up, her mouth agape.

“Ha ha, no, that was a joke, Lucille. Hell, the answer is hell.”

“That’s where you’ll end up if you keeps up that sauce,” she said.

I brought her back to the matter at hand. I didn’t want to go on my own, and while Lucille wasn’t my ideal drinking partner, she did have local knowledge. “You’d actually be ahead of the game if you did your hair tonight, Lucille. And we won’t stay late, I promise.”

“That’s what they always says. One set, then.”

We retired to our respective bedrooms to get ready, then met at the front door and gave each other the once-over. Lucille had removed her curlers and sprayed her hair silly, while I’d re-straightened mine. Each seemed satisfied with the other’s efforts.

It didn’t take long to drive to Mardy, but I was glad of Lucille’s directions, especially as she warned me about various potholes.

“Hard left now, missus,” she said at one point, going so far as to grab the steering wheel. “They calls that one ‘the killer.’ No tire has ever been known to survive contact.”

It felt like years since I’d been in a bar. A rush of heat, smoke and loud music swirled around us like a storm when we went in. Lucille walked ahead of me, waving at people like a visiting dignitary. Which maybe she was. I stopped to watch Phonse up on stage, eyes squeezed shut, fingers flying. Beside him were two more fiddlers, and to the left of the stage, a huge man with a long beard squeezed an accordion.

Then Lucille waved at me from the other side of the room, indicating she’d nabbed a table. I joined her and she took her cigarettes out of her purse, pulled the ashtray close and sent me off for drinks. Doug and Geri were side by side at the bar, but Doug’s stool was facing the stage; Geri had her back to the musicians. Doug’s right knee jiggled in time to the music, but he raised his beer bottle in greeting. Geri was chatting to the bartender. I sidled up beside her to place my order.

“Hiya, Rachel,” she said. “We never got to talk much over to Biddy’s.” She gestured dismissively at the stage. “What do you think of that racket?”

“I love it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I hates it almost as much as fishing. Wham!, Madonna, Simple Minds. That’s my music. I wish I’d stayed in town this weekend but Mam wanted me to come home.”

The bartender came back with my drinks so I said goodbye to Doug and Geri and walked back to the table, where I handed Lucille a rum and cola. I sipped my American beer while admiring a couple waltzing nimbly around the dance floor. Over in the corner, an older