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

“No, girl.” Phonse pointed at the statue inside the door. “St. Jude. Patron saint of lost causes. That road is a lost cause if I ever saw one.”

I hadn’t fully twigged to the name when I’d first arrived. But when Phonse said “lost causes,” Calvin’s sulky face appeared in my mind’s eye. Apart from that brief moment of participation when Judy had visited the classroom, he’d reverted to his sullen self. No wonder Patrick wasn’t so keen on the statue in the front hall.

17

As the first term drew to a close, I was quietly pleased with the progress I’d made with the students. Sure, there were days I wanted to brain every last one of them, but for the most part, they were coming to respect me. Some of the older girls talked to me about their social lives. And I liked to think I was developing a rapport with them.

I had lunch duty that day and a few of the students came and sat with me, sharing stories of a weekend gathering at Bob’s Cove, halfway between Little Cove and Clayville. I found myself wondering how they could possibly enjoy spending time there in the bleak weather.

“Miss, Pam was some mad at Jimmy,” Roseanne confided this time. “She went mental.”

“Why?”

“He hung a rat in her face,” Beverley shrieked in response.

“Was it dead?” I asked.

There was a half second of silence, then the girls began whooping with laughter.

I screwed up my face. I wasn’t sure what she meant but was beginning to think I didn’t want to.

Roseanne spoke very slowly. “He took down his pants and wiggled his bird in her face.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s . . .” I didn’t have the words. “Excuse me, girls,” I said. “I think I’m needed over at the grade sevens’ table.”

I fled, the girls’ giggles resonating behind me. For all their isolation and lack of amenities, these girls were far worldlier than I’d ever been at their age. The first “bird” I’d ever properly seen had belonged to Jake.

Inevitably, I overheard the story repeated in the hall that afternoon, culminating with, “And then miss asked if it was dead.” I closed the classroom door against the laughter.

The drive home after school took me straight past the turnoff for Bob’s Cove, and on impulse, I turned down the track, despite the growing darkness. I drove a few hundred yards to the dead end. Grabbing a flashlight from the glove compartment, I walked to the cliff’s edge; waves crashed against scarred rocks, then reeled back again. The wind gusted fiercely, slowing the progress of a lone seagull that screamed its frustration.

Crouching low in the wind, I scuttled down the path to the rocky beach that was the students’ social club. Straight ahead were remnants of a bonfire, the charred black logs scattered like bowling pins against the white snow. Glass shards littered the beach rocks where bottles had been smashed.

I nearly dropped the flashlight when its arc revealed what looked like a body lying in the distance. As I got closer, I saw it was a large piece of driftwood. To the left was a small cave, tucked out of the wind and protected from the snow. The howling in my ears softened. The flashlight shone on discarded cigarette butts and a plaid blanket bundled in a corner. Father Frank’s comment about “the vexing problem of chastity” rang in my ears as I headed back to my car.

What exactly did these kids get up to down here? Jake and I had struggled to find places to go when we started sleeping together. There’d been lots of sneaking around, including a painful experience in a boat out on the lake at my family cottage. There’d been many back-seat encounters, including, I now recalled, the night a campus police officer had tapped on the window of Jake’s car and told us to move along. There was nothing particularly romantic about young love, it seemed, no matter where you lived.

18

Near the end of term, Doug stopped by my classroom.

“Mudder’s invited you for dinner on Friday,” he said.

“Why?” I asked. With this invite, and the upcoming Christmas concert and staff party, it was almost like I had a social life.

“She said she’s after hearing so much about you, it was time she clapped eyes on you.”

I hoped her sources did not include Bertha Peddle from the store or angry Roy Sullivan.

“Geri will be there too,” Doug added. “It’s my birthday.”

I hadn’t heard Geri mentioned in quite a while, but then again, I hadn’t been spending much time in Little Cove. Apart from that brief encounter at the Mardy pub, this would be the first time I’d be seeing Geri and Doug together. Doug and I had developed an easy banter, and I found myself wondering if it was the same between him and Geri.

On Doug’s birthday, to kill time between the end of the school day and when I was expected at his family home for dinner, I had arranged to drop in on Lucille. She was pleased to see me, although when I mentioned my plans, she got a funny look on her face.

“So you’ll be meeting Grace.” It turned out this was Doug’s mother’s name. “Don’t mention you been here,” she said. “Might spoil your evening.”

When I asked what she meant, she didn’t answer, and instead changed the subject. Over tea she caught me up on the hookers and her daughter, Linda, who was not coming home for Christmas because she had decided to stay in Labrador.

When it was time to go, I handed Lucille a wrapped bottle of rum and she presented me with a quilt. It was all rolled up and tied with a string, but that didn’t hide its beauty.

“Lucille,” I said. “I can’t accept this. You already gave me one when I bought the rug to send to Mom in Australia.”

“That was the buy one get one free fall special,” she said.

“Honestly, Lucille. I can’t accept this if you won’t