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

man danced by himself. His arms were rigid at his side, but his feet moved so quickly they were blurred. “That’s Ambrose,” said Lucille. “He’s shy as a bat, but he’s got some moves on him.”

Around us, people sat at tables and listened to the band. Many of them joined in lustily with the singing as if they were part of the show. The singer had a clear, strong voice; the lyrics mostly involved life at sea. With the strains of a tin whistle as an introduction, he sang about being a cook on a trader:

I can handle a jigger, I cuts a fine figure

Whenever I gets in a boat standing room

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true Newfoundlanders

We’ll rant and we’ll roar on deck and below

Until we strikes bottom inside the two sunkers

When straight through the channel to Toslow we’ll go.

I had no idea what Toslow or the two sunkers meant, but it didn’t matter. And the extra s on words like cuts and gets didn’t bother me anymore. I got it now. Hell, I liked it. When the chorus came around a second time, I joined in with the crowd:

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true Newfoundlanders

We’ll rant and we’ll roar on deck and below

Most of the audience were on their feet by the end of the song, drinks aloft and shouting more than singing along. After a few more songs, the band announced a short break. Phonse stopped by our table on his way to the bar.

“Lucille Hanrahan, it’s a keen spell since I seen you in this pub.”

Lucille tilted her head at me. “This one got me on the go, right.”

“Proper t’ing.”

I was still buzzing from the music. “Phonse,” I said. “I love this music! Will you teach me properly, so I can play songs like this? I’ll pay you for lessons.”

“You will not,” he said. “It would be my pleasure.”

On impulse, I kissed him on his cheek. He smiled awkwardly. “Best get me drink and head back to the stage.”

Lucille tutted. “You haven’t got a hope there, girl,” she said. “Phonse is a confirmed bachelor.”

She was teasing of course.

Wasn’t she?

12

The pelting of heavy rain against the window and eaves woke me the next morning. Out the bathroom window, the sea was churning grey. Sundays were tough in Little Cove; I couldn’t imagine a rainy one. I dressed quickly and went downstairs. Lucille was already installed at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea.

“I’m dropping from last night,” she said. “But it was some fun, girl.”

I told Lucille I didn’t want breakfast and would be out all day.

“But what about Mass?” she called after me as I slipped out the door.

An hour later, just as the rain stopped, I saw the sign for Clayville. Its population was 4,500, much larger than that of Little Cove. Just past the sign, the road turned from gravel to pavement. When my car made the transition, it stopped juddering. I’d assumed it was the car’s age that made it so sluggish, but now it rolled smoothly through the town. As I approached an intersection, the light turned red and I was slow to brake, almost forgetting how. It had been so long since I’d seen a traffic light, let alone traffic.

I cruised Clayville for twenty minutes to get my bearings, spotting the fabled Tony’s Pizza opposite a coffee shop. On the next street over there was a grocery store and a library—a library! Both were shut, but I knew I would be returning to Clayville as soon as possible.

I circled back and parked in front of the coffee shop. It was small, with five or six tables, and smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon. I walked up to the counter and ogled the baked goods.

“Date square and a coffee, please,” I said to the middle-aged guy behind the counter. He wore a spotless white apron and a hairnet that must have shifted, because I could see a red line running across his forehead, just under the edge of the net.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

I decided it might be time to start wearing a mainlander sash.

“I’ve just driven over from Little Cove.”

“You on holiday or something?” he persisted.

“No. I work out there. I’m a teacher.”

I waited for him to “Miss O’Brine” me, to say that he was Cynthia’s uncle or Calvin’s older brother, that he’d heard all about me, and then to ask me how Lucille was keeping. But he just nodded, then poured the coffee, fetched my date square and rang up the bill.

I sat at the table nearest the window and took a sip of coffee. It was delicious. I sniffed it, then took another sip.

“Excuse me,” I called over to the counter. “Did you put fresh milk in my coffee?”

“Yeah, did you want this?” He held up a can of the ubiquitous evaporated milk.

“No!” I half shouted. “I wondered where you got it, that’s all.”

He gave me a suspicious look, like I was trying to trick him. “Over to the corner store.”

“The grocery store?”

“No, they got it there too, though.”

“In Clayville?” I could hear the note of hope in my voice.

Again with the look. “Uh-huh.”

My taste buds cheered.

I opened my purse, pulled out The Handmaid’s Tale and hunkered down for the morning. Periodically, I glanced out the window. Outside on the street, cars passed each other heading in opposite directions. Had I even seen that happen in Little Cove? And then, I swear I heard a horn beep. Two men in suits stood on the sidewalk in animated conversation. A woman in a bright-yellow slicker walked past. She was carrying a magazine with the headline “Madonna Weds Sean.” Okay, that news was weeks old, but it was still news. And she looked like fun. The woman, not Madonna. Seeing her made me think of Sheila, and I wondered what she was doing. Then I remembered the time difference. She was probably still asleep or, knowing Sheila, heading home after