"Right, old lady. Like you can just pick up the phone and call the Premier."
"Did youse try?"
"Of course I didn't try," Matty snapped, sarcastically, "he's the fucking Premier."
Nanny Dove shrugged.
"Big deal. Ise jest call 'e."
Matty stared at Nanny Dove for what seemed like an eternity.
"Is youse asleep? Matty, wake up."
Matty slowly shook her head.
"You are either insane, old lady, or a fucking genius."
"Ise prefers genius, tho ise been called worse den fuckin' insane."
Matty sat at the computer and brought up the St. John's white pages.
"Two Daniel Bests."
"Its bes da second one."
"Fuck it," Matty said, as she picked up the cordless telephone and dialled the number.
She expected it to go to voicemail, but after three rings, a woman answered.
"Hello."
"Hi. Hello.
Ah, I know this is going to be an unusual question, but, by some chance, is this the residence of the Premier, Daniel Best."
"Yes it is," the woman answered, politely.
"Really?"
The woman laughed.
"Really. Would you like to talk to Daniel?"
"Really?"
Again the woman laughed.
"Who will I say is calling?"
"Ah, my name is Matty Dove. I am a resident of Tuckamore Bay and I have some concerns that I would like to talk over with Mr. Best."
"Tuckamore Bay?"
"Yes, ma'am. We are a small community on the Great Northern Peninsula."
The woman laughed.
"I know where it is, young lady. I am from Corner Brook myself. Sometimes in the summer, my family would drive to Tuckamore Bay to get fresh fish or have a picnic at that beautiful little cove. I can't remember the name."
"Sandy Cove, ma'am."
"Please, call me Wendy."
YOU ARE READING
Tuckamore Bay
General FictionMatty Dove had 18 months to try and find a buyer for her late grandmother's lighthouse. A buyer who, she hoped, would not only buy the lighthouse, but love the village so much that they would invest time and money into saving the community. In 18 mo...
the Best day ever
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