The Newcomer

by Fern Britton

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Angela. ‘You must be missing Simon, Piran.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The four of them sat quietly in the low light of the kitchen.

  After a couple of minutes Piran got up. ‘Fancy a beer, Robert?’

  ‘Erm …’ Robert checked his watch. ‘What do you think, Angela?’

  Helen was suspicious. ‘Are you going to the pub, or having it here?’

  ‘Oh, here, here,’ said Piran, pretending the thought of the pub had never entered his head.

  ‘Go on,’ Angela said to Robert. ‘I’ll help Helen clear up.’

  Piran took two bottles of Doom Bar from the fridge and, followed by Robert, carried them into the lounge and began stoking up the dwindling fire.

  ‘You don’t need to help me,’ said Helen to Angela.

  ‘Oh, come on. We’ll have done in five minutes,’ smiled Angela, picking up a tea towel. ‘You wash and I’ll dry. And actually, I’d like to pick your brains.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘What clubs are available to the women in the village?’

  ‘Clubs? You mean like the WI?’

  ‘Do you have one?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s run by Audrey Tipton, who bullies all her members into submission. If you’re thinking of infiltrating them, don’t bother. It’s her way or the highway.’

  ‘I’m thinking more along the lines of somewhere where women can find empowerment. Be heard. Be supported. Get advice. Real women being real women. Discussing everything in a safe space. Parenting, sex, cooking, retraining, keeping fit, a book club, politics, campaigns …’

  Helen laughed. ‘Nothing like that round here.’

  ‘Do you think there would be an appetite for it? If I started a weekly women’s meeting?’

  Helen put the last plate into the dishwasher and handed Angela a pan to dry. ‘Could be. It would be something you’d have to sound out. I’m warning you, Audrey will be furious and she will campaign hard against it.’

  Angela put the dried pan on top of the Aga. ‘Well, I’m always up for a challenge.’ She shook out her damp tea towel and hung it over the rail of the range. ‘I’ve got my first parish council meeting.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Mike Bates, the chairman, told me. He’s very excited to meet you properly.’

  ‘He emailed me telling me he was looking forward to hearing “my exciting new plans for the parish”.’

  ‘And?’ asked Helen, fetching two glasses and a bottle of whisky. ‘You’ll have one for the road while the boys finish their beer, won’t you?’

  ‘Um, OK. Thanks.’

  Helen sat opposite Angela and poured the Scotch. ‘Sorry I interrupted you. So, the parish meeting?’

  ‘Ah, yes, well, do you think it would be the right place to suggest the women’s group?’

  ‘Definitely. I think it could be just the thing the women of Pendruggan need.’

  Angela flushed with pride – or with the whisky – raised her glass triumphantly. ‘To the women of Pendruggan.’

  8

  ‘It’s not exactly PMQs, is it?’ Robert teased as he cleaned his teeth before bed. ‘No tricky negotiation with Europe or the Middle East. It’s just a meet-and-greet. All the non-churchgoers want to examine you. That’s all.’

  Angela stepped out of the shower and took the towel Robert proffered her, toothbrush wedged in his mouth.

  ‘I know but …’ She wrapped the bath sheet round her. ‘It’s terrifying. I don’t know what they expect of me. Should I sit quietly and just listen at first? Should I go in with all guns blazing and a manifesto for the next year? I don’t want to put any noses out of joint.’

  Robert had rinsed his mouth and was patting his face dry as he listened. ‘You’re not scared of Audrey, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Angela stood in front of him, her tiny frame wrapped in the towel, her short hair curling over her ears, looking lost and vulnerable. He placed his hands on her wet shoulders.

  ‘You are so adorable, how could they do anything but agree with everything you tell them?’

  ‘But I don’t know what to tell them.’

  ‘Shall we workshop some ideas?’

  ‘Don’t laugh at me. Actually, I have jotted some stuff down on my iPad. I’ll review them in the morning.’

  He walked back into the bedroom and pulled the duvet back. ‘Come on. Into bed, please. You need your sleep.’

  She wandered in to join him. ‘I like Piran and Helen, don’t you?’

  ‘She’s all right but he’s a bit too blokey for me.’

  ‘You mean you feel your position as alpha male is at risk?’ Angela joked.

  ‘God, no. No. Not at all!’

  Angela got into bed beside him and snuggled against his shoulder.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Well … maybe a bit.’

  The following morning, over breakfast, Angela ran her women’s group idea past Faith and Mamie.

  ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ said Mamie, digging into her pot of Duerr’s thick-cut marmalade. ‘You should write it all down.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Go for it, Mum,’ said Faith, kissing her mother goodbye and bundling up her incredibly heavy school rucksack.

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Angela helped her daughter with the webbing straps. ‘Are you sure you need to take all this with you every day?’

  ‘Told you, Mum. No desks to keep things in like in your day.’

  ‘Some things just aren’t right. Anyway, what would you like for dinner this evening?’

  Faith was rushing to the front door. ‘Oh, I meant to tell you, I might be a bit late. There’s another newbie just joined school, and I might go have a snack before I get back.’

  ‘Yes, OK. What’s her name?’ But Faith had already banged the front door and gone.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ said Mamie, knowing Angela’s maternal anxiety meter had leapt up several notches. ‘Now, give me the shopping list and any other jobs you want done today. I don’t want you worrying about a thing while at the meeting.’

  Angela smiled gratefully.

  Robert came in to join them. ‘Want me to come with you?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no. I’ll be fine.’ She set her shoulders back. ‘I can do this.’

  The village hall was on the opposite side of the green to the vicarage. Built between the wars, it had a long history of village meetings, the Home Guard, Boy Scouts, amateur dramatics and more jumble sales than anyone could remember. It sat behind a hedge of elderflower, with wild fuchsia and dog rose laced through its blossoms. Beyond the hedge was a pleasant stretch of well-kept grass where Cubs and Brownies would picnic or toddlers play safely. The hall itself was long and low, made of dark wood, with a raised veranda where men could read the cricket results in the shade and discuss England’s sporting chances in football or rugby.

  As Angela mounted the steps, she could see, through a window to the left of her, a kitchen with a tea urn already steaming and a group of women chatting as they laid out green china cups and saucers.

  She girded her loins and opened one of the double doors. The smell of small children’s feet and creosote took her straight back to her primary school days.

  In the hall ahead of her were chairs laid out in ordered lines, facing the raised stage at the other end.

  ‘Hello,’ said a man with thinning sandy hair and a red jumper. ‘You must be Angela. I’m Mike Bates. Chairman of the parish council. Nice to meet you.’ He shook her hand. ‘Very good service on Sunday, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Mike had a slight army bearing, oozing old-fashioned courtesy.

  He took her arm. ‘Let me introduce you to everyone.’

  So many new faces and names to remember. Angela smiled and nodded as she was exhibited to each one.

  Eventually she came across Helen, who was holding a cup of tea and talking to a youngish man; his age was hard to tell. He was wearing a boiler suit and holding a glass of
Ribena.

  ‘Helen, thank goodness for a familiar face,’ Angela said in relief. ‘And thank you for a marvellous supper last night.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Helen bent and kissed Angela’s cheek. ‘Let me introduce you to Tony Brown, the most talented gardener in Cornwall.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Angela, holding her hand out to him. ‘Are you the same Tony who helps out in the vicarage garden?’

  ‘I’m Simple Tony. That’s what my mum and dad called me and that’s who I am.’

  ‘Simply Tony? Well, I’m simply Angela.’

  Helen intervened. ‘No, this wonderful man is known as Simple Tony. That’s what he likes to be called. It’s what we all call him, although sometimes I call him Mr Brown too. After the great gardener, Capability Brown.’

  ‘How lovely. I am very pleased to meet you, and I hope we see you at the vicarage when you are ready.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You met my aunt Mamie in the shop the other day, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did.’ He drank some of his Ribena. ‘I washed her car.’

  ‘Yes. She was very pleased. I’m glad I have met you. I think you looked after the vicarage garden for Simon and Penny. I would like you to keep doing that if you can?’

  ‘I can.’ Simple Tony hung onto his glass of Ribena with both hands, and looked at his feet.

  ‘Thank you.’ Angela smiled.

  ‘You got a dog?’

  ‘Yes. You may have seen him? A big Irish wolfhound. Very gentle. He’s called Mr Worthington.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It seemed to suit him.’

  Mike bowled up. ‘Ah. So you have met this marvellous young man, have you? He has single-handedly transformed my lawn from scrub to bowling green, haven’t you, my boy?’

  Tony nodded.

  ‘May I borrow you for a moment, Tony?’ Mike took him by the arm and began to lead him away. ‘I noticed that the churchyard needs a bit of work …’ Slowly they melted into the gathering crowd.

  ‘You’ve brought out all the gawpers today,’ smiled Helen to Angela.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Angela felt her top lip begin to perspire.

  ‘Don’t worry. You can’t blame them. You are the most exciting thing to happen to us.’

  ‘It makes me nervous,’ Angela said. ‘I get the feeling they will judge me by Simon’s high standards. He is so loved here.’

  ‘Yes, he is. That reminds me,’ said Helen. ‘I had an email yesterday. From him and Penny. They send their love to you.’

  ‘Are they settling?’

  ‘I think so but Penny said it was all a bit of a culture shock. They will write a longer email soon for the whole parish.’

  Someone began tinkling a teacup with a spoon and calling for silence.

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ whispered Helen. ‘Let’s find some seats.’

  Audrey was on the stage, standing beside Mike Bates at a sturdy table, which was covered with a well-ironed, white tablecloth, a pretty bowl of tulips in front of them.

  ‘Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen,’ Audrey boomed, ‘would you please take your seats?’

  Angela sat with Helen on the end of a row, three from the back.

  It took a few moments for everyone to settle. Coats were folded on laps, tissues taken from handbags, coughs quelled with barley twists and at last the room fell into an expectant silence.

  Angela stuffed her big bag under her chair.

  ‘Mrs Whitehorn?’ Audrey’s voice came at Angela like a missile. ‘What are you doing there? Your place is here. At the top table. Next to me.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Helen’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have thought.’

  Angela got to her feet. ‘It’s fine. No problem.’ She walked towards Audrey.

  ‘What were you doing sitting back there?’ Audrey said loudly.

  Angela smiled at the loathsome woman. ‘I was looking forward to watching you, Audrey. An old hand like you, I could learn so much.’

  Audrey screwed her lips up. ‘Well, yes, undoubtedly that’s true, but we have a place for you here.’

  Mike Bates rose from his seat and guided Angela to her correct chair. ‘You are next to me, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you. I didn’t, I wasn’t expecting …’

  He waved her words away. ‘I should have told you before. My fault entirely.’

  Audrey began to clear her throat and addressed her audience.

  ‘To those of you who are not regular churchgoers, may I introduce you to dear Simon’s stand-in, Mrs Angela Whitehorn. Mrs Whitehorn has joined us today to learn more about how Pendruggan works.’

  She turned to Angela. ‘We run a tight ship here, but you are welcome you to join in with any of our variety of clubs and activities during your stay here. Any questions you may wish to ask or information on anything going on in the village, I shall be happy to guide you. Not only am I parish secretary, but I also run the Women’s Institute, the Pendruggan Players am dram group, and I have been the long-time organiser of the Pendruggan Summer Fayre, our greatest fundraiser of the year. There is nothing you need do other than run the church. Oh, and you needn’t concern yourself with the cleaning or flowers either. I, and my merry band of helpers, do all of that too.’

  Angela knew a problem when she saw one. And Audrey was going to be a problem.

  Audrey continued, ‘And now, Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm Pendruggan welcome to Mrs Whitehorn.’

  Audrey, very pleased with herself, sat down.

  Angela reached to the floor for her handbag and iPad. Her bag wasn’t there. She stood up to light applause. ‘Hello, everyone. In my haste to get to the stage, I have left my bag by Helen.’

  Helen immediately looked and found the bag where Angela had pushed it under her chair. ‘Here it is.’ She held it up.

  Angela was relieved. ‘Would you fish my iPad out and bring it up here?’

  Everyone turned to watch Helen digging in the vicar’s bag. ‘It’s not here,’ she said. ‘Phone, purse, sunglasses and a book, but no iPad. Sorry.’

  Angela felt her heart drop. ‘Oh dear. Never mind.’

  Audrey smirked beside her. ‘A bit of a scatterbrain, Mrs Whitehorn?’

  Angela took a deep breath and smiled at her audience. ‘Well. Off the cuff is always better, so here we go.’

  With malicious pleasure, Audrey asked, ‘Are you sure? Public speaking can be daunting … for those not used to it.’

  This was the grit that Angela had needed to form her pearl. ‘Thank you, Audrey, for that warm welcome. And by the way, as I have mentioned before, do call me Angela or Reverend Whitehorn, or just plain Vicar. I prefer those to Mrs Whitehorn.’

  Mike gave Angela a reassuring glance, and she continued: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, what a wonderful parish this is. I am very lucky to have this chance to spend a year with you. I want to get to know you all and help the community as much as I can. I am passionate about community and family. Goals and challenges. I know you have a very active WI here,’ she glanced down at Audrey who immediately preened at the mention, ‘but I wonder if a women’s group would be a welcome addition? A chance to sit and share our thoughts and concerns?’

  She looked at the faces in front of her and several were looking interested.

  Audrey interrupted, ‘I believe we have all that covered at the WI.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ Angela went on. ‘But I am thinking of a group where anyone can set the agenda. Relationships, health, concerns over our young adults. Drugs, unemployment. Things that impact our everyday lives.’

  Audrey twisted one side of her mouth in sly disagreement. ‘I doubt anyone will find that useful.’

  ‘Well, let’s see, shall we?’ Angela said. ‘I am a keen runner. I wasn’t always fit, though. Actually, when my mum died I put a lot of weight on. Grief created a huge hole inside me and I filled it with food. I also became depressed and it was my doctor who suggested that regular exercise would help me both emotionally and ph
ysically. She set me up with an app that would get me running five K, or three miles, in nine weeks. It actually took me ten weeks and I lost a few pounds and began to feel a lot better. During runs I would talk to my mum in my mind and run through happy memories of my time with her. Gradually my depression lifted. I now run for around forty-five minutes three times a week, and I can’t tell you how much it has helped me. I would be so happy to start a beginners’ running club if anyone is interested?’

  Several hands went up.

  ‘Oh, that’s good.’ Angela was relaxing and her confidence was building. ‘Also, and this may sound a bit Vicar of Dibley, but how about an outdoor service of blessing for our pets? My dog, an Irish wolfhound called Mr Worthington, you may have seen him?’ One or two people nodded. ‘He loves to make new friends, and while the animals make friends we can too.’

  Mike Bates grinned. ‘Terrific idea. My two cockers would love it.’

  Audrey’s scalp shot backwards. She was simmering with rage. Who was this appalling woman to come in here and attempt to undermine her grip on village society? And over her dead body would her dogs be attending a silly play date.

  A woman’s hand went up at the back. ‘We desperately need a dog poo bin on the village green first.’

  ‘Hear hear,’ a man called out.

  Almost everybody murmured their agreement.

  ‘Good point. Mike?’ She turned to him. ‘Is that your domain or can I put my oar in?’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ said Mike. ‘The vicar’s name will certainly help give the council the nudge it needs.’

  Angela was encouraged. ‘This is all so positive. Now, there is one last thing I’d like to suggest.’

  Audrey clucked her tongue and huffed. Why was Mike Bates just sitting there? As chairman of the parish council, a position she had only missed by a few votes, he should be opposing every single thing this ridiculous woman was saying. Instead he was sitting there like an overgrown schoolboy with his tongue hanging out. She’d be having words with him later.

  Angela took a deep breath. ‘I notice that the village has no presence on social media.’

  ‘With good reason,’ Audrey blurted.