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

miss asks him,” said Beverley. “He’s got it right bad for her.” She began humming “Je l’aime à mourir” and Jerome and Roseanne fell about laughing.

“He does not have it bad for me,” I said. This was nonsense and they knew it. Phonse was the grandfather of music, for all of us. “We’re friends and he teaches me the fiddle. But I’ll ask him.”

When I asked him later, Phonse agreed immediately. “I’m right proud of you Rachel, getting the youngsters excited about our music.” He cleared his throat. “It’s grand, girl, just grand.”

They were far from excited about the music, but I didn’t let on to Phonse.

MIKE FLEW DOWN to St. John’s and made his way to Clayville. I had offered him my sofa for the night but he declined. “Rach, I’m on expenses,” he said. “I’ve booked myself into a motel. Apparently, there are no hotels in Clayville. I might struggle to max out on this trip.”

“You can buy me dinner,” I said.

Over pizza at Tony’s, he talked excitedly about a punk band he’d seen in Halifax. Then he said, “But my taste is as eclectic as ever. I love the stuff Sheila bought me when she was down.”

“And how is my lovely Sheila?” I asked.

He grinned. “She just broke the heart of a good friend of mine.”

“That’s my girl,” I said. “And Mike, next time can you bring her down with you? I would love her to hear Johnny’s Crew.” I filled Mike in on Beverley, Jerome and Roseanne.

“Who’s Johnny, then?”

“I have no idea.”

Mike walked me back to my house. I pointed out the local highlights: the few stores, the café, the library. “Jesus,” he said, “talk about a small town. I think I’d die if I had to live here.”

“If you think this is small, wait until you see Little Cove,” I said.

The next day Mike drove out with me to spend the day at St. Jude’s. I made him do double duty, speaking to the French club about MusiqueCan, the Québécois arm of MusiCan. I took him to lunch at the takeout for fish and chips. After school, he sat in on a practice session I’d organized with Johnny’s Crew to go over the garden party set list. As we tuned our instruments, Mike set up a portable tape recorder.

I watched him from the stage as we worked our way through the songs. His head was nodding in time to the music and he was grinning. When we took a short break, the students went outside to get some air and Mike came to sit beside me on the edge of the stage.

“These kids have really got something,” he said. “They’re crazy not to stick with that traditional music. It’s killer.”

“Could you talk to them?” I said. “They won’t listen to me, but you’re the cool dude from MusiCan.”

When the trio came back in, Mike asked if he could talk to them about their heritage. He turned on the tape recorder and asked if they had any favourite pieces of Newfoundland music.

Beverley said, “Sonny’s Dream.”

“Oh, I love that one, too,” I said.

Mike turned off the tape recorder. “Do you mind?” he said, in faux anger. “I’m trying to conduct an interview here.” The students lapped it up.

Mike started the tape again and asked Beverley why it was her favourite song.

“It makes me think of my brother,” she said. “He moved out to Alberta two years ago and he hasn’t been home since.” Beverley looked off in the distance for a minute. “Every time I sings that song, it makes Mam cry. But the thing is, she loves to hear me sing it. She says the tears make her feel closer to Rick.”

Jerome said he liked the sea shanties because his grandfather used to sing them to him when he was a young boy. “When I plays those tunes, I remembers him. And, if I ever has kids . . .”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Beverley whispered to Roseanne and they giggled behind their hands.

“When I has me own youngsters,” Jerome corrected himself, “I wants to do like Grandfadder and sing to them.”

Roseanne said she liked songs with humour. “I could be that poisoned about something,” she said, “but if I starts singing ‘Lukey’s Boat’ or ‘The Rattlin’ Bog’ or a song like that, it lifts my spirits, you know?”

Mike started giving me the eye and jerking his head towards the door. I could take a hint.

I went to cool my heels in the staff room and Doug was there. “Sounding good down there in the gym, fiddle girl. You going out with your buddy tonight?”

“No, he’s taking a taxi back to St. John’s. He has a flight out early tomorrow morning.”

“Good. I’m cooking dinner for you.”

“Sure, it’ll be good to see your mom. How is she?”

“She’s grand, but I thought I’d cook at your place, if that’s all right.”

“So I get stuck with the dishes, huh? Genius.”

“I’ll see you about seven o’clock,” he said.

When I got back to the gym, the students were packing up. “Mike said to tell you he’d see you outside,” Beverley said.

“Did you play him some of your rock music?” I asked.

Beverley looked sheepish. “Actually, miss, we’re going to do Newfoundland music instead.”

“But with a twist,” interjected Jerome.

They had trialled speedier versions of some of the songs that afternoon. I hadn’t joined in because the pace was too quick, but it had been fantastic. I told them I thought their twist on the music was the way forward. “They’ll be wanting your autograph soon.”

“Go on with you, miss,” said Beverley, but she and Roseanne exchanged a giddy look.

Mike was sitting on the front of my car when I got out. “God, the air out here is fantastic,” he said. “No smog.”

“You should see the stars,” I said.

As we drove back to Clayville, I asked Mike how he’d magicked the students into playing traditional music.

He chuckled. “I played them a recording of a group playing a Newfoundland folk song and asked them what they