The Newcomer

by Fern Britton

  They listened as Robert walked away down the hall and opened the sitting room door to a chorus of greetings from the Pals, who were thrilled to see the most handsome man in the village, up close.

  When Angela returned to the sitting room, Robert was holding Santi and charming the lot of them.

  He spotted Angela by the door and winked. ‘Takes me back, this.’

  Angela stepped into the room. ‘I’m not sure either of us could do the sleepless nights again.’ She went to Robert’s side and looked into Santi’s sleeping face. ‘But she is beautiful.’

  Sarah checked her phone. ‘Look at the time! I must get Santi and Ben home. School tomorrow. Where is Ben?’

  ‘I’ll find him,’ smiled Angela.

  As everyone gathered at the front door ready to leave, Angela said, ‘One more thing I had forgotten to say. On Saturday morning I’m starting the Couch to Five K running club. Very simple. Lots of walking interspersed with short bursts of jogging.’

  Dorrie put her hand up. ‘I’d love to.’ She looked at Robbie and Evelyn. ‘You’ll come, won’t you, girls?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’ said Evelyn.

  Helen said, ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘Think about it,’ Angela said. ‘Meet on the village green at nine o’clock. Then back for a coffee here by nine thirty.’

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ said Robbie.

  Audrey pulled her tweed jacket a little closer to her chest and said, ‘Geoffrey and I are very keen on Canadian Air Force exercises. Been doing them for years. So we won’t be joining you.’

  Finally Angela shut the front door on her new group of Pals and walked, tired but relieved it had all gone well, to the kitchen where Robert was making himself a cheese sandwich.

  ‘You’ll get heartburn,’ Angela said.

  ‘I like to live dangerously.’ He wrapped the block of cheese in cling film and put it back in the fridge as Faith wandered in. ‘Ben seems a nice boy,’ Robert told her.

  ‘Yes,’ Faith said, directing her words at her mother. ‘He is nice.’

  ‘All boys are nice until they touch my little girl, then they are dead,’ he laughed.

  ‘Daaaad.’ Faith rolled her eyes. ‘Ben’s gay.’

  ‘Ha! Oldest trick in the book.’

  ‘Oh God, you’re as bad as Mum.’

  Mamie came in from the garden where she’d taken Mr Worthington for his final pee. She did not look happy and neither did Mr Worthington, who went to his bed and lay down with his back to everyone.

  ‘Your dog has the squits. Minty ones.’

  14

  Saturday morning’s sun held the promise of a warm day. Having been up at the crack of dawn sorting out paperwork, rotas and spending a frustrating half an hour on a fruitless search for the parish cheque book Angela was out on the green doing some calf stretches and warming up her shoulders. When she’d done those she checked her running watch to record the results and set the stopwatch to zero.

  She looked around the empty green and then at the church tower where the clock stood at two minutes to nine. Would any of the Pals join her? She gave her neck a stretch and began to jog on the spot, closing her eyes and tipping her head to the sun, enjoying the warmth on her face.

  ‘Hiya.’ Helen’s voice was close and made Angela jump. She clutched her chest.

  ‘Sorry. I thought you had heard me coming,’ Helen said.

  Angela kissed her. ‘I’m so glad to see you. I thought for a minute no one was joining me.’

  ‘Dorrie’s on her way,’ Helen said. ‘As is Robbie. She said she was hoping to coax Evelyn but … I’m not sure.’ Helen said nothing about Evelyn’s unhappiness so either she didn’t know or she was being discreet.

  Behind her Angela heard another voice calling, ‘Morning!’ It was Dorrie, looking very sporty in smart running tights, vest, baseball cap and good training shoes.

  Helen laughed. ‘I must warn you, Angela, Dorrie is a veteran of several marathons. Practically professional.’

  ‘Get away with you,’ smiled Dorrie as she got close to them. ‘I haven’t done much through the winter so I’ll be useless. Hey!’ She pointed and waved at Robbie and a reluctant Evelyn. ‘Come on, girls,’ she yelled.

  Robbie broke into a power walk while Evelyn puffed (and huffed) behind.

  ‘Welcome to the brand-new Pendruggan Running Club, ladies,’ Angela said.

  ‘I hope you don’t expect me to run fast,’ said Evelyn with dread. ‘I never could do cross-country at school.’

  ‘Evelyn, I promise you that within the next three months, I will have you running non-stop for thirty minutes, at least. But the secret is to start very gently. Literally baby steps.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Evelyn looked as if she might cry.

  Angela put an arm around her. ‘Here’s the deal. Try this just once and then see. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Good.’ Angela looked at the others. ‘Dorrie, you can be my front woman.’

  ‘OK.’ Dorrie nodded. ‘Which route?’

  ‘If we go down to Shellsand, along the beach for a couple of hundred yards to the footpath, up the footpath, back into the village and a lap of the green, we should do two miles.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Keep the pace slow. Helen and Robbie, stay in the middle of the pack and Evelyn and I will bring up the rear. The plan is to have a warm-up walk for five minutes, then we jog for sixty seconds, walk for ninety, and repeat that seven times. Don’t worry, I will be counting. We cool down with a five-minute walk. How does that sound?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ said Evelyn uncertainly.

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ Angela set her watch. ‘OK, let’s go. A five-minute brisk walk to start.’

  The gaggle of women set off. Angela hung back with Evelyn and began chatting to distract her. ‘Beautiful day. Spring here is so lovely.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Pendruggan Farm has cows?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How big is the herd?’

  ‘We got seventy-two.’

  ‘Goodness. And you know every one of them?’

  ‘Most. My husband and my two boys do most of the milking.’

  ‘Twice a day?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How early?’

  ‘I was up this morning at four thirty. My husband ain’t home at the moment. The boys and I did the milking.’

  ‘Ah.’ Angela was undecided how to proceed. Should she dig deeper and ask where he was – presumably with another woman – or keep schtum?

  She checked her watch and shouted to the women ahead, ‘Fifteen seconds to the one-minute run.’

  ‘OK,’ they called back, giving her thumbs-up signals.

  Angela checked her watch again. ‘Sixty seconds starts … now!’

  Evelyn beside her broke into an amble.

  Angela was encouraging. ‘Good. Feeling OK? No pains?’

  ‘No,’ Evelyn gasped. ‘How much longer?’

  ‘Twenty seconds.’

  Evelyn kept going.

  ‘And now, walk.’ Angela instructed the group before turning to Evelyn. ‘Well done. How was that?’

  ‘All right,’ said Evelyn.

  ‘Ninety-second walk to catch your breath,’ Angela smiled, ‘and then we’ll do it again.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ said Evelyn.

  Half an hour later, the women clattered through the back door of the vicarage laughing, red-faced and breathless.

  ‘Well done!’ gasped Angela. ‘We deserve tea and cake after that.’

  ‘That was fun,’ said Robbie, bent over, hands on knees, steam rising from her sports top.

  Helen was exhilarated. ‘I thought that might be ghastly but … when do we do it again?’

  ‘Three times a week for the next nine or ten weeks. By then we will have built up to running three miles non-stop.’

  ‘Really?’ Evelyn was wiping her scarlet forehead with some kitchen towel.

  ‘Yes, really.’

>   Robbie put her arms around Evelyn and hugged her. ‘We’ll get fit together and hopefully drop a couple of dress sizes.’

  Dorrie was stretching her hamstrings. ‘That’d be good with the summer coming. I’ve got a new bikini.’

  After getting changed, Angela went into the kitchen and laid out two trays, one with tea and coffee, the other with a large fruit cake.

  ‘I bought it at the Trevay bakers yesterday,’ she said. ‘Let’s take this into the garden, shall we? It’s a shame to waste such a glorious day.’

  ‘I’ll bring the other tray,’ said Helen.

  Once they were settled outside in the garden, Robbie started talking to Angela about Evelyn. ‘We’ve known each other all our lives. She’s my best friend. I was her bridesmaid when she married my brother, and she was mine when I married Bob.’

  Evelyn managed a smile as she munched her slice of cake. ‘You’re the sister I never ’ad. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Robbie gave Evelyn a quick and – Angela noticed – over-bright smile. ‘Well, you’ll never have to do without me, will you, Evie?’

  Angela watched as Evelyn reached out for Robbie’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I hope not.’

  Angela instinctively knew that they shared a secret.

  Helen was talking. ‘So, Angela, shall we arrange our running days now? Get them in the diary?’

  Angela dragged her mind back from Robbie and Evelyn. ‘Yes. Erm, with the lighter nights, evenings would be good. Say seven o’clock on Monday and Wednesdays, plus our Saturday mornings?’

  It was agreed by all.

  Mamie came out into the garden with a basket of school uniform to hang on the line. ‘Good morning, runners. How was it?’

  She chatted pleasantly as she pegged out the laundry and shared a second cup of tea with them before reminding Angela that she needed to take Mr Worthington to the vet’s for his check-up.

  Quickly, the group broke up, saying their goodbyes.

  When they’d gone, Angela asked her aunt, ‘Good job you reminded me about the vet’s. I thought it was Monday.’

  ‘It is, darling. I just thought you could do with a bit of peace from your new friends. I don’t want you giving out too much emotional energy. People can be very tiring. Now, why don’t you get out of all that wretched Lycra and have a shower. Faith wants me drop her into Trevay this afternoon with Ben. I rather think he wants a ride in the old Jensen. You and Robert can spend the afternoon together,’ she winked, ‘without interruption.’

  15

  The warm Cornish spring brought light winds and blue skies. The hedgerows gradually changed from primroses and bluebells to verdant grasses studded with foxgloves, ferns and buttercups. Children were playing out on the village green until bedtime and early holiday-makers arrived to enjoy the beaches and coffee shops.

  Preparations for the Big Pond Dig had begun, with Piran and local builder, Gasping Bob, taking their divining rods down the lane to the beach where they hoped to find proof of a natural spring.

  Gasping Bob took a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. ‘If you ask me, this be a wild-goose chase.’ He inhaled his tobacco smoke and coughed loudly.

  Scanning the surroundings, Piran said, ‘I thought you’m stopped those things.’

  ‘I have,’ said Bob, scratching his stubbled chin. ‘I feel a lot better for it too.’

  Piran hid his smile and pointed to the right where the steep fields rose to the north. ‘If the water’s anywhere it’ll be coming out of that slope and running south to the sea.’ He pointed to the beach roughly two hundred metres away on their left. ‘The verge here gets wider and, looking at that clump of gunnera growing over there, it must be pretty damp.’

  Gasping Bob squinted his eyes against the sun and his smoke. ‘Aye, gunnera likes to have wet feet.’ He pulled two metal rods from his pocket. They were bent at right angles about a third of the way along. He took the short end in each fist and began walking slowly. Almost immediately the rods, swinging free in front of him, crossed themselves. ‘There’s water ’ere all right.’

  Piran nodded. ‘Excellent. I’ll go further down and walk towards you. See if we can’t pinpoint the exact spot and maybe even the size of it.’

  He walked fifty metres away and began. He too got an immediate result. Within an hour they reckoned they’d found the perimeter of the lost pond and the possible source of the spring.

  Piran shifted a large mass of vegetation and found some boggy ground with water seeping through. ‘This could be it. Shall we mark it?’

  ‘Best not,’ said Bob, lighting his third cigarette. ‘Don’t want busybodies tramping through and making a mess.’

  ‘Good point. I’ll tell the vicar and Mike Bates, and remind them to keep their mouths shut until the actual dig.’ Piran put his rods inside the deep front pocket of his salt-stained fishing smock. ‘Right, I think we deserve a pint.’

  Angela was out with the running group when Robert collared Mamie as she languished on a garden bench. ‘Can I have a word?’

  ‘Of course, darling.’ Mamie made room, intrigued. ‘What about?’

  Robert sat next to her. ‘Angela. I think she’s doing too much.’

  ‘Really?’ Mamie was surprised. ‘I thought she was doing very well and taking everything in her usual capable stride.’

  ‘Have you noticed how forgetful she’s become?’

  ‘No. Quite the reverse. Her memory amazes me. Why? What has happened?’

  ‘She lost her iPad the other week and it was in the car all along. She couldn’t find her watch yesterday but it was where she always puts it, in the dish by her bed, and she forgot she’d put a macaroni cheese in the microwave.’

  ‘Was that the smell?’

  Robert nodded. ‘It’s so unlike her.’

  Mamie thought about what Robert had told her and, after a bit, said, ‘She’s fine. Quite normal. Her mind is spinning with the excitement of her first posting and she has always taken her responsibilities very seriously. She’s absolutely fine.’

  ‘Do you honestly think so?’

  Mamie patted his hand. ‘Yes. I am certain. And I think it’s sweet that you are so concerned for her. I’ll keep an eye out too, just to make sure. And, if there’s anything we can do to take some of the pressure off her, we will. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’ Robert looked a little less worried.

  ‘What are her plans for today?’ Mamie asked.

  ‘The Big Pond Dig. The gardener boy who came up with the idea …’

  ‘Tony, yes?’

  ‘He’s been speaking to some woman in the village who says she’s a white witch.’ He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

  Mamie chipped in, ‘Ah, yes. That’ll be Polly. She’s a paramedic on the ambulance.’

  Robert sat back. ‘Really? How do you know?’

  ‘My friend Queenie. Apparently Polly is a very good psychic too.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Robert was dumbstruck. ‘What the hell is going on this village? I mean, I know I’m not the best Christian on the planet …’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Mamie. ‘But we try hard, to please Angela.’

  ‘Well, quite!’ Robert rubbed his eyes with both hands and exhaled through puffed cheeks. ‘Which is why all this bloody witchy spell business is bollocks and should be nipped in the bud.’

  ‘Does it? Where’s the harm?’

  ‘The harm is that Garden Boy has told Angela that Polly has told him that the pond will need to have its goddess blessed or something, in order for any negative whatnots to be released and …’

  ‘We are in Celtic country now,’ Mamie said, trying to calm him. ‘This is what happens and has happened for thousands of years.’

  ‘That may be so, but if Angela allows it to happen she’ll be a laughing stock.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because,’ Robert finally exploded.

  ‘And you want to protect Angela from ridicule and memory loss and doing too muc
h and making the wrong decisions?’

  Robert sagged, his shoulders sloping to his knees. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’ He sighed, ‘I just want her to think carefully about the way she’s doing her job. For God’s sake, yesterday she was thinking of setting up a champing holiday camp.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Exactly what I said. Instead of staying in a youth hostel or B and B, walkers and campers can sleep in a church. Church camping, hence champing.’

  Mamie began to laugh. ‘Whoever would want to do that?’

  ‘Apparently people do.’

  Ever the pragmatist, Mamie shrugged. ‘It’ll bring in some good revenue for the Church.’

  ‘They’ll nick the silver and piss in the font, more like.’

  Mamie’s laughter was now unstoppable. ‘Robert, dear, you are too funny.’

  ‘Why can’t she be conventional? A nice garden party at the vicarage with a cream tea and a tombola. How hard can that be?’

  Mamie wiped her eyes. ‘Brilliant! That’s it! We’ll have a garden party. You and I will organise it.’

  ‘Will we?’ His furrowed, pleading eyes melted Mamie’s heart.

  ‘Darling. We can do anything we like.’

  ‘It had better be before the Pond Dig in July, but after the May Day celebrations. Sounds rather fun. Apparently everyone goes down to Trevay and gets pissed. One big boozy pub crawl,’ Robert said.

  ‘And you wouldn’t want to miss that, now, would you?’ Mamie was nobody’s fool.

  ‘Well, it’s the sort of thing that you have to see once. Isn’t it? A nod to my appreciation of local traditions. And I could write a piece about it for the Trevay Times.’

  ‘Yes, well, when you tell Angela about how you intend to spend May Day, I would make work the main reason, not the bit about a pub crawl.’

  Robert laughed. ‘Yes, oh wise woman.’

  ‘So the vicarage garden party has to be after the first of May but before the Pond Dig?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘How about her birthday weekend? Middle of June,’ said Mamie. ‘We could use her birthday as an excuse, so she can’t stop us. A perfectly conventional vicar’s garden party.’

  Robert was relieved. ‘Mamie, you are a godsend.’