by Fern Britton
Robert bent and kissed his wife again. ‘Good luck.’
Audrey Tipton was the earliest arrival, ringing the bell with insistence.
Angela was upstairs putting a brush through her hair and adding a little mascara.
‘Faith, can you answer that, please?’
Faith, who was coming from the kitchen with a glass of milk and a packet of chocolate Hobnobs, ready to take to her room and do a bit of homework, drooped.
‘Do I have to?’ she yelled up the stairs.
‘Yes, please. I’ll be two minutes.’
Faith opened the door and said politely, ‘Hello. Please come in. Mum’s just coming.’
Audrey took in Faith’s long slender legs, tiny shorts and hair screwed up in a bird’s nest, and found her wanting. ‘You’re Mrs Whitehorn’s daughter?’
‘The Reverend Whitehorn’s daughter, yes. I’m Faith. Welcome. Would you like to come through to the lounge?’
Audrey shouldered her way in. ‘I know my way.’
Faith was no pushover and stepped in front of the gargoyle. ‘Wait one moment while I call Mum.’ She turned to the stairs and shouted up, ‘Muuuum.’
‘Who is it, darling?’ Angela was hurriedly changing her blouse.
‘A woman for the meeting.’
Audrey glowered at Faith’s impudence and said loudly so that Angela could hear upstairs, ‘This is Audrey Tipton, Vicar.’
Angela appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Audrey. How good of you to come.’
Faith moved to the stairs and rolled her eyes as she passed her mother. ‘Good luck, Mum,’ she said, then reached her room and closed the door rather too loudly behind her.
Angela stepped down into the hall and noticed that Audrey looked different. Her thin lips were sporting a line of coral lipstick and her eyelids a hint of shiny green eye shadow.
‘You look very glamorous, Audrey,’ she said warmly.
‘I like to keep a standard.’ Audrey headed to the sitting room. ‘Is your husband with us tonight?’
Angela followed behind. ‘No, unfortunately he had another appointment.’ Was she imagining a slight droop of disappointment in the Tipton bearing? ‘Did you need to speak to him?’
Audrey was surveying the layout of the lounge. ‘He hasn’t responded to my emails re the WI talk. Get him to contact me. Why is the sofa pushed up against that wall?’
‘To make more room. I’m not sure how many people will attend.’
‘You should bring the kitchen chairs in. That’s what Simon always does when he holds meetings in here.’ Audrey walked to the fireplace and ran the index finger of her right hand over the mantelpiece, checking for dust.
Angela felt a stab of irritation. ‘I understand that this house is on loan to me but, while I am here, I shall run it the way I feel best.’
Audrey rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. ‘If you need me at any time just call. I have a spare key to the vicarage and Geoffrey or I can drop in at a moment’s notice. Social engagements permitting.’ She walked to the most comfortable of the armchairs and sat down. ‘So, what is on your agenda for tonight?’
At that moment Mamie arrived with Queenie, staggering under the weight of two large wine boxes and a bumper bag of crisps. Mamie had overheard the last bit of the conversation.
‘Good evening, Aud. Angela has a carefully worked out programme for tonight’s events. She has even booked a guest speaker. Me.’ She ignored Audrey’s horrified expression and carried on. ‘Thought I’d get the ball rolling for Angela. I am giving a little talk about my personal experiences of travelling the world. I have met some fascinating people.’
‘Really? You?’ Audrey spluttered.
‘Yes, me.’ Mamie smiled combatively as she plonked the wine onto the piano. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
Queenie coughed down a snigger and cut Audrey off at the pass. ‘Mamie has got Rita Hayworth’s fur coat upstairs.’
Audrey’s face twisted thunderously, her hackles up. She had disliked Mamie from the first moment she had set eyes on her. She had told Geoffrey more than once, That woman and her ridiculously over-painted face. No better than she should be. A woman of her age. Geoffrey had kept his silence. He rather fancied Mamie.
Audrey sniffed, turning her lips down. ‘I despise tawdry revelations.’
‘Oh,’ said Queenie innocently. ‘Shall I cancel your weekly order of Hello! then?’
Beneath her face powder, Audrey blenched. She checked her watch, internally struggling with the delicious idea of walking out of this farce, or hanging on to see exactly what was going to happen. She decided on the latter.
‘Well, Mrs Whitehorn, I am looking forward to what you have in store for tonight.’ She turned to Mamie. ‘And my name is Audrey. Never Aud.’
‘And my niece’s name is Reverend Whitehorn, never Mrs,’ Mamie replied clearly.
Queenie almost choked.
Angela said politely, ‘May I get you a glass of wine, Audrey?’ The doorbell rang. ‘Mamie, would you get Audrey a drink while I answer that?’
Helen was on the doorstep with two women. ‘Angela, may I introduce you to Evelyn? She and her husband own the village farm.’
Angela greeted her warmly. Evelyn was in her forties, she guessed. A pretty, plump woman with the healthy complexion of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. Her hair was naturally dark with attractive grey streaks, her smile diffident. Angela could imagine that she wasn’t happy.
‘Mamie, would you also find a drink for Evelyn, please?’ Angela asked before turning her attention to the second person Helen had brought in with her.
‘This is Robbie,’ Helen introduced her. ‘She and Evelyn are sisters-in-law.’
Angela shook Robbie’s hand. ‘Welcome. You have an unusual name.’
‘Short for Roberta,’ said Robbie. ‘Mad really. I’m married to a man called Robert but everyone calls him Bob, or Gasping Bob on account of his smoking.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Angela remembered the name. ‘I’ve heard of him. I’m told he has done wonders fixing the church roof at times.’
‘He has.’
‘Well, let me take your coats and come on through.’
Back in the lounge, Queenie was tipping crisps into small bowls and Mamie was filling wine glasses from the wine box.
She flashed a glowing smile. ‘Just in time, ladies. Wine for everyone and then we’ll get started.’
Queenie shuffled along the sofa to make space for Evelyn and Robbie. She put her gnarled hand onto Evelyn’s arm, and whispered, ‘How are you doing, duck?’
Evelyn shrugged and whispered back, ‘He’s gone out tonight. Probably to you-know-who’s.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she quickly put her head down to wipe them away.
Queenie passed her her handkerchief. ‘You’re with friends tonight, duck. Should have you smiling soon. Now drink your wine.’
The final arrival was Dorrie from the Dolphin. ‘’Ello, all right?’ She smiled at Evelyn and Robbie on the sofa. ‘Have I missed anything?’
‘Nothing at all.’ Angela looked at her watch. ‘I think we’ll make a start, shall we. If anyone else arrives they can easily join in.’ She looked at the seven faces in front of her. Not the crowd she had been hoping for but perhaps this number was better. More intimate. She began.
‘Welcome to the Pals.’
Everyone looked at each other and smiled.
Angela continued, ‘A place where we can get to know each other. Have some fun. Do some good for ourselves and others. Discuss topics of the day, relevant both politically and personally to us as women.’
There was a wary silence.
Angela forged on. ‘And what about a book club? We’d pick a book every month then read and discuss it. Reading is such a wonderful way to get a good conversation going.’
Helen smiled warmly but the other women said nothing. Evelyn’s face dropped. She looked over at Robbie in desperation. Robbie caught the wild-eyed glance and coughed uncomfortably.
<
br /> Mamie butted in. ‘Well, yes, books and politics can be very interesting, but I propose we first talk to each other about ourselves. Let off steam. Get things off our chests. The one rule being that what is said in this room stays in this room. Understood?’
Helen broke the silence. ‘Great idea. There are times when I have plenty to get off my chest, particularly when Piran is driving me mad.’
Queenie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’
Robbie and Dorrie joined in the laughter.
Audrey, listening to all this with curled lips, said, ‘I’m sorry to be the voice of reason here but someone has to be. It sounds very much as if this women’s group will be nothing more than gossiping over a glass of cheap wine. As for the book club, I’ve been thinking of setting one up at the WI for a while. What titles will you be offering, Reverend Whitehorn?’
Angela, cowed by Audrey’s superior tone, said, ‘I wondered if we might start with Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘That’s a great book,’ said Dorrie. ‘Brilliant story.’
Angela was relieved. ‘So I hear.’
‘I would prefer a Dickens or an Austen,’ sniffed Audrey. ‘I do not intend to read cheap “chick lit”, as I believe it’s called.’
‘It has sold millions of copies and readers love it,’ Dorrie insisted.
Audrey gave her version of a tinkling laugh. ‘So did Fifty Shades of Grey.’
‘Oh my good Gawd,’ said Queenie. ‘Now them books were something else. Read them twice now.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Audrey sneered.
Queenie ignored her. ‘’Ere, anyone want to hear Mamie’s life story? It’ll cheer you up and make your hair stand on end as well.’
Helen said, ‘I hear you own Rita Hayworth’s fur coat, Mamie. Is that true?’
Mamie smiled. ‘Actually, yes. It’s upstairs. Shall I bring it down?’
Evelyn and Robbie brightened up.
‘Yes, please.’
Mamie stood and went to the door. ‘In that case, ladies, I shall go and get it.’
As she left the room, Mr Worthington, unseen despite his size, slunk in and hid under the piano. He loved checking out handbags and here were a few that he hadn’t explored. Faith wandered in behind him with a cup of hot chocolate and her phone. ‘Can I join you?’
Audrey tutted but all the other women welcomed her. She plonked herself on the rug by the fireplace. ‘Where’s Auntie Mamie? She hasn’t gone to get her horrible old coat, has she?’
‘Yes she has,’ said Angela. ‘Want a crisp?’
‘No. And why does she want to show us all a pile of dead animals anyway? It’s disgraceful. No human should wear animal skin.’
‘If I had the money, I’d have one,’ said Robbie.
Mamie appeared wearing the shimmering full-length coat. Right or wrong, it was magnificent. All eyes were on her.
‘Rita Hayworth was given this by one of her many lovers. It’s sable. I was given it by the maître d’ of a restaurant in LA where she had left it behind. She never came back to collect it. A few months later I happened to be there with dear Marlon,’ she paused for dramatic effect, ‘Brando … and by the end of the evening I was wearing it.’ She held the tall funnel collar to her nose and sniffed. ‘I always imagine I can smell her perfume.’
‘’Ere, let me ’ave a whiff,’ said Queenie.
Mamie took the coat off and passed it to her.
‘I think that’s Chanel,’ Queenie announced. ‘You have a sniff, Evelyn.’
‘Maybe,’ said Evelyn after some deliberation, before passing it to Helen.
Helen stroked the sable pelt. ‘It’s beautiful … but I agree with Faith. I think it looks better on the true owner.’ She held it out to Faith. ‘Do you want to touch it?’
‘I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.’ Faith, busily texting, shuddered. ‘And who the hell is Marlon Brando?’
Before long, Mamie had her audience in the palm of her hand. Her stories, whether true or not, were spellbinding.
Creeping out unnoticed from under the piano, Mr Worthington nudged his whiskery chin into Queenie’s handbag, gently pulled out a bag of soft mints, and tiptoed back to his lair.
Mamie was just describing her first visit to the Royal Pink Palace in Monaco, for the wedding of Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier, when the doorbell rang.
Faith jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’ Moments later she was back. ‘Mum, everyone. This is Sarah. She wants to join you.’
A pretty woman in her early thirties appeared, carrying a baby over her shoulder. ‘Hello, everyone. Sorry I’m late. The littl’un needed a feed and then her nappy changed. You know what it’s like.’
Queenie was agog and patted the seat next to her. ‘Come and sit ’ere with me, duck.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarah gratefully sat down. ‘Faith’s taken Ben upstairs to watch telly.’ She smiled at Angela. ‘She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she? You must be proud of her.’
‘I am, yes.’ Angela was confused. ‘And Ben is?’
‘Oh, sorry, yeah, he’s my son. Him and Faith have really hit it off at school.’
‘Oh, Ben, yes,’ said Angela. ‘And he’s gone upstairs with Faith?’
‘Nothing to worry about with him.’ Sarah chuckled. ‘He’s known for a long time that girls aren’t his thing. I’d been waiting for him to tell me. It’s a tricky conversation to have and I wanted him to be comfortable and able to tell me when he was ready.’
Audrey’s eyes widened. ‘Your son is queer?’
‘Gay, yes,’ Sarah said smartly. ‘I would thank you for not using any other word.’
‘Hear hear,’ said Dorrie.
‘Faith was so good to Ben when he arrived at the new school,’ Sarah explained. ‘Two newbies together. They’ve really taken to each other.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Angela, her anxiety draining away. ‘Thank you for having her over after school the other day.’
‘Oh, bless. That was at Ben’s dad’s house. Johnny, my ex. Lousy partner. Good dad.’
Queenie’s inquisitive eyes were on the baby. ‘So who’s this one, then?’
‘This is Santi. She’s four months old. Her daddy hasn’t seen her yet. Well, he has on FaceTime, but we can’t always get a signal to the ship.’
Mamie needed more. ‘Ship?’
‘Yeah. Royal Navy. HMS Sirens.’
‘My dad was in the navy during the war,’ Queenie chipped in. ‘He was in the kitchens. Terrible hot down there. Mind you, my mum said he could cook anything.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Sarah agreed. ‘My Joe says the food is really good.’
‘What job does he do?’ Angela asked.
‘Weapons engineer. Sirens is a battleship. I’m not supposed to know where he is at the moment. So I’m guessing the Gulf.’
‘When will he be home?’ asked Evelyn.
Sarah shrugged. ‘A few months yet. Depends on what the powers that be think.’
‘It must be difficult for you with the baby, on your own,’ Mamie said.
‘Yeah. Can be. It’s why I came to this village. Thought I’d make some friends. I saw the notice on the village green about this group and thought, “On you go, Sarah, be brave.” And here I am. Whose is that beautiful coat?’
‘Oh, it’s mine,’ said Mamie.
Angela stood up. ‘What can I get you to drink? Cup of tea? Glass of wine?’
‘I could kill for a glass of wine but I’m still breastfeeding the littl’un so a cuppa would be great.’
The conversation in the room bloomed as all the women, other than Audrey, took it in turns to coo over Santi.
In the kitchen, Angela filled the kettle and left it to boil while she went upstairs to check on what exactly Faith and Ben were up to.
They were in Angela’s bedroom, lying cuddled together on her bed, watching something on Netflix.
‘Oh, hi, Mum.’ Faith briefly glanced at her. ‘This is Ben.’
‘Hi, Mrs Whitehorn.’ He lifted the hand that was attached to the arm wrapped around her daughter.
‘Hello, Ben.’ Angela was out of her comfort zone. ‘Faith, can I have a word, please?’
Faith remained glued to the television. ‘What about?’
‘I just want a word. In private.’
Tutting, and with loud sigh, Faith got off the bed and followed her mother onto the landing. ‘We’re not doing anything, if that’s what you think,’ she sulked.
‘Yes, I, erm, I know he’s gay, which is completely fine but …’
‘But?’ Faith said.
‘But I, er, would like to have met him when he arrived, before you brought him up to the bedroom.’
‘God forbid we forget our manners.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, Faith. You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, you mean you don’t want me to have friends because you think I might have sex with them.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’ That was exactly what she meant.
‘It is exactly what you mean,’ Faith flared. ‘Just because your generation was all sex and drugs and Madonna warbling away with her stupid bra on. Nowadays we can have friends of any sex and simply be friends. It’s nothing to lose your mind over. Relax yourself. Ben and I are cool. He’s great. All girls need a gay best mate.’
Angela wasn’t sure if this was a positive or not. ‘Is he sure? It might be a phase.’
Faith threw her hands above her head and hissed, ‘Homophobic!’
‘Of course I’m not, but when you’re young you don’t know who you really are.’
‘Mum. Shut up.’ Faith put her hands on her hips. ‘People are people. My generation don’t define people by their sexuality, ethnicity, religion or gender.’
‘Sure. Sure. OK. I totally agree and, erm … would Ben like a hot chocolate? Or anything?’
‘I’ll ask him.’ She raised her voice. ‘Ben …’
‘Yeah.’
‘Mum wants to know if you’d like a hot chocolate?’
‘Yes, please.’
The front door opened and slammed shut below them.
‘Hellooo. Is it safe to come home?’ Robert’s voice.
Mother and daughter froze.
‘Don’t say anything to Dad,’ Faith pleaded. ‘He’ll only make one of his stupid jokes.’