The Newcomer

by Fern Britton

  ‘And how are things at the moment?’

  ‘Bad. He still expects his food on the table, his socks washed, he still gets into bed next to me but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge that I exist. And I can’t go on like this.’ She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Mamie got up to tear off a square of kitchen towel, passing it to Evelyn.

  ‘No, you can’t.’ Angela went and knelt beside the distraught Evelyn. ‘You are in a very painful situation.’

  ‘And your boys, do they suspect …?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Suspect? They know. His behaviour rubs off on them. My eldest speaks to me the same way he does.’

  Angela was shocked. ‘What? That must be intolerable, and, not only that, wrong.’

  Evelyn shrugged again. ‘Made my bed, haven’t I?’

  Angela didn’t know how to answer that.

  Evelyn wiped her eyes with the already sodden kitchen towel. ‘Well, it’s out now, although I suppose you all knew anyway, and maybe I’m glad. It’s life, innit?’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be,’ Angela said firmly.

  Evelyn smiled weakly. ‘I feel better for telling you all.’

  ‘Well, now that’s all cleared up,’ said Audrey, who’d been sitting in icy silence for the past half an hour (what a lot she had to tell Geoff when she got home), ‘I’d like to put forward my choice for the book club. Wuthering Heights is a special favourite of mine and does indeed mirror some of the topics I have heard tonight.’

  ‘Audrey,’ said Angela, ‘I don’t think this is the right time—’

  ‘I have listened, now I wish to speak!’ Audrey’s piggy eyes swept the faces around her, daring any one of them to contradict her. ‘Emily Brontë knew full well the effects of living in a household of secrets and madness. Her themes very much echo village life as we know it today.’

  ‘I really don’t think this is appropriate tonight, Audrey,’ said Angela quietly.

  ‘Well then, when will it be?’ Audrey demanded.

  ‘Next week. I promise.’

  ‘I shall not be available next week,’ Audrey snorted.

  ‘Then we shall wait for your return.’ Angela looked at her watch. ‘We have thirty minutes of our time left tonight. Any suggestions as to how we should spend them?’

  Ella put her hand up. ‘I’d like to have a cuddle with the baby, please.’

  ‘So would I,’ said Dorrie.

  ‘And me,’ Helen added.

  ‘You are welcome,’ smiled Sarah.

  Just before nine o’clock Robert joined them, which cheered them all up. He was looking particularly attractive with a slight stubble, his hair ruffled and bringing the smell of evening air with him.

  ‘Lovely night out there. Mr W and I have been for a walk. Have I missed anything juicy?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Angela. ‘Now would you mind collecting the ladies’ coats from the stairs?’

  As the women stood and gathered their bags and belongings, they each went to Evelyn with a kind word of support.

  ‘You will get through this,’ Dorrie told her. ‘And you won’t be alone.’

  Robbie put her arm around her best friend’s waist and walked her to the front door. ‘You’re going to think us a right pair,’ she said to Angela. ‘Both of us crocked in different ways. Pair of right ones.’

  Angela kissed them both goodbye. ‘My door is always open to you.’

  A squiffy Queenie followed them. ‘Shall I escort you home?’ asked Robert kindly.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask!’ said Queenie, taking his arm then turning to Angela and saying, ‘Well done tonight, Angela. We’ll all pull together and get them girls right.’

  Angela smiled. ‘We will, Queenie. We will.’

  Mamie was in the kitchen putting the wine glasses into the dishwasher and giving Mr Worthington the last lick of a crisp bowl.

  ‘Don’t let Robert see you doing that,’ said Angela, dropping onto a kitchen chair. ‘That was rather intense, wasn’t it?’

  Mamie filled the soap tray and slammed the machine shut. ‘It was. But you handled it well.’

  ‘Did I?’

  Mamie sat opposite Angela. ‘Yes. Very well and I’ll tell you why.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Whatever you have done over the past few weeks in this village, and however you have done it, you have gained the trust of these women. I believe they will keep all that to themselves.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Absolutely. But I think you may have to stop them marching on the large-thighed strumpet at the post office and lynching her.’

  Angela smiled. ‘They wouldn’t do that … would they?’

  18

  The next week brought a taste of full spring with warmer days and lighter nights.

  Angela found herself alone more often than not, working quietly in her office or doing her rounds of the parishioners.

  Mamie was out and about with her ‘mood board’ planning the garden party. Faith had taken to long walks on the beach, after school, with Mr Worthington and Ben, chatting about whatever it was teenagers found to chat about.

  And Robert was spending his time over at Gull’s Cry, with Helen, working on the social media pages for the village or at the kitchen table writing up his food column.

  The evening before the next women’s group meeting, with supper eaten and washed up, Mamie in her room and Faith in the kitchen watching YouTube videos with Ben, Angela wandered into the lounge in search of Robert.

  He was lying on the sofa in front of a Rick Stein programme.

  ‘Hey.’ Angela ran her fingers gently over his hair.

  ‘Oh. Hi.’ He yawned.

  ‘Is there room for a little one?’ She lay down beside him and nuzzled into his chest. ‘I’ve hardly seen you this week.’

  Instead of putting his arms around as she hoped, he stretched them out behind his head. ‘No. The website is very time-consuming. It should be ready to go fully live soon. Helen is great at the tech side. She’s managed to upload pictures of Pendruggan over the years. We’re going to go out tomorrow and get some shots taken from the same place as some of the old photos to see the change. We’re waiting for Piran to add some historical notes and the research he’s got on the old pond for the dig.’

  Angela wrapped her arms around him to stop herself from sliding off the sofa, and placed her head in the centre of his chest.

  ‘Oh, has he found anything new?’ she asked, interested.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’ She wriggled herself up to look at his face. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello.’ He yawned again. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘About half nine?’

  ‘I’d better let Mr Worthington out.’ He moved, dislodging her. She let him go and swivelled her body round to sit up.

  ‘Shoo Ben out too, would you?’ she asked.

  ‘Is he still here? Why is he always here?’ Robert was on his feet and heading to the door.

  ‘He is Faith’s best friend.’

  Robert, grunting, went off.

  Angela turned off the TV and tidied the cushions. Turning out the lamps, she stood by the glass doors leading to the garden and looked out. The trees were clearly outlined by the bright moon, their leaves moving gently to the wind coming up from the beach.

  A triangle of light shone on the grass as Robert opened the back door to let the dog out. From behind the glass Angela watched as Mr Worthington sniffed the scented night and found a shrub interesting enough to pee against. She looked for Robert and saw him in silhouette, one hand in his pocket, the other pressing his phone to his ear. By the phone’s light she could just make out a smile crossing his face as he spoke, then listened, then spoke again. Whoever he was talking to made him laugh lightly before hanging up.

  She moved quickly from the window, not wanting him to think she was spying on him. She stayed in the dark lounge listening for Ben’s departure and the sound of Faith treading the stairs to her bedroom. Fina
lly she heard Robert closing the kitchen door on Mr Worthington before following Faith up the stairs.

  She shook herself. What was this? Jealousy? Why was she hiding, here, in the dark? Robert and she were a couple. A loving couple. Rock solid. Forever.

  Robert woke her the next morning with a kiss and a cup of hot coffee. ‘Morning, darling.’

  She opened her sleepless eyes and looked at her handsome husband. ‘Hello.’ She pulled herself up onto her pillow. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I slept so well I don’t remember you coming to bed.’

  ‘By the time I got here, you were out for the count.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed and sipped his coffee, looking out of the window, across the village green and – the thought flew across Angela’s mind like a burning meteor – towards Helen’s cottage.

  ‘Working with Helen today?’ she asked, mumbling the words into her mug.

  ‘Yep. We’re going to start taking the present-day photos of the village this morning. Lovely day for it.’

  ‘I was wondering,’ Angela began, ‘maybe we could go out one night this week. Supper? Cinema? There’s a film on in Truro that I think you’d like.’

  Robert scratched his unshaven chin. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

  ‘It’s just that we haven’t seen much of each other lately.’ She reached a hand out to his thigh. ‘I miss you.’

  He patted her hand absentmindedly. ‘Well, you’re so busy always. You’re never in, or alone. People coming and going, all wanting something from you.’

  ‘Well … yes, but you seem to be out a lot too.’

  ‘Angie, I go out to give you space.’

  ‘I don’t like not spending time together.’

  He turned to look at her. ‘Since when have you been so needy?’

  ‘I’m not being needy,’ she said crossly. ‘I just want to go out for supper or the cinema with my husband.’

  Robert stood up, irritated. ‘I’m trying to find a role for myself outside the vicar’s husband one. I thought getting on with the website would help you.’

  ‘It does,’ she said. ‘And you have been wonderfully supportive.’

  He looked at the bedside clock. ‘It’s late. I need to shower and get Faith to school.’

  Robert didn’t come home after the school run.

  From her study window, Angela watched as he returned to Pendruggan but parked outside Gull’s Cry. He was greeted by Helen, who was tying up some stray rose branches around her beautiful front door.

  Biting her lip, Angela was distracted by the ping of an incoming email.

  Simon@Bahia.TC

  Dear Angela,

  How are you finding your parishioners?

  I have had some very positive messages of support for you from Mike Bates and Helen Merrifield. Good people.

  I’m writing because I have had a difficult mail from Audrey Tipton. First of all I want to reassure you that she is a woman who has presented me with many challenges.

  Anyway, she tells me that you have set up a women’s group in the village. She believes it is in direct competition with her WI group. To be honest, the WI lot live in fear of her, so if you are offering a more congenial meeting then good on you.

  But she has asked me to ‘express her concerns’ to you. Perhaps you could find a job for her? I know she is desperate to run a book club and she has told me how thrilled she is to have secured Robert as a guest speaker for the WI.

  I am quite certain you are more than able to keep her feathers smoothed.

  She can be a harridan but beneath that terrifying exterior lies a warm heart – I think!

  In other news, life here is a world away from Pendruggan, but we have the exact, albeit Brazilian, equivalents of Audrey Tipton et al, running the place. Penny is being very stoic – even when the electricity and water fail, which is often.

  You are in our prayers.

  Simon xx

  Angela read the email through twice. The first time with her anger rising. How dare Audrey Tipton go behind her back? She could fully imagine the tone of her email to Simon. Hectoring. Judgemental. Bullying.

  The second time she read it she understood Simon’s subtext. Simon was not judging her. Merely guiding her.

  When she read it a third time she took her stance. If Simon was asking her not to make a lasting impression on village life, to toe the line, he could ask again. And if Audrey thought she could snitch and undermine, then she would also have to think again. Angela was her own woman and Pendruggan parish was her parish and she would bloody well run it the best way she knew and that was to take the lead and not be squashed by petty people who didn’t like it.

  ‘Angela,’ Mamie called from the hall. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In my office.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mamie found her. ‘So you are. Darling, Robert is not being very helpful with the garden party preparations. With the danger of dobbing him in, as Faith would say, he has actually done bugger all and so I should like to rope Mike Bates in. Would that be OK?’

  ‘I’m sure he’d love to have you rope him into anything!’ laughed Angela. ‘He has told me more than once what an attractive woman he thinks you are.’

  ‘Darling, he barely knows me,’ Mamie said dismissively.

  ‘But he looks at you. And he likes what he sees.’ Angela sighed. ‘I will never know what Robert saw in me.’

  Mamie wagged her finger. ‘Uh-uh-ah. I will have no self-flagellation from you. Masochistic nonsense. Robert adores you. Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘Where do you think? Helen’s, of course.’

  Mamie pulled up the comfy ‘visitor’s chair’ that Simon had put in the office. ‘Oh, do I detect the green-eyed monster? You think your husband is spending too much time in Helen’s company?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Be truthful.’

  ‘He seems to enjoy her company more than mine at the moment.’

  ‘He is working with her on the website,’ Mamie said, defending Robert. ‘While you are spending all your time here in your office, or out running, or working with the Pals or a million other things, rather than making time for him.’

  ‘I asked him out for a date this week. And he said no.’

  ‘Playing you at your own game.’

  ‘I’m not playing a game.’

  ‘He wants you to miss him so he’s playing a little hard to get. That’s all.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course. I did exactly the same thing with Jack Nicholson.’

  Angela had heard this story a million times. ‘I know, he kept phoning you for weeks on end for a date, you kept making up excuses not to go and then finally …?’

  ‘He stopped phoning.’ Mamie touched the pearls around her neck. ‘But that was exactly what I wanted him to do in the first place.’

  Angela made a noise of disbelief. ‘Why did you give him your phone number then?’

  ‘Because I am well-mannered and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.’

  Angela sighed deeply then groaned.

  ‘It’s a well-known fact men can’t handle rejection. Poor little chaps.’

  Angela stretched her arms over her head and towards the ceiling. ‘Oh, I wish just for a moment I could have had your looks and your fun. But Mum and I missed out on those genes. You got them all.’

  Mamie studied Angela carefully, her head to one side. ‘OK, what has brought all this on? Not just Helen and Robert, is it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s going to sound silly, but I’m feeling a bit … lost. Here I am, doing the job I have been wanting for years, in a beautiful parish, with lovely villagers, and yet …’

  Mamie coaxed her: ‘And yet it is not all you expected?’

  ‘Something like that. I can’t explain it. I feel rather out there, on my own. I’m giving all I have to the job while losing my family. I barely see Robert, Faith is always out with Ben or in her room with Ben or at Ben’s house. I miss her. I miss the chats we used to have before b
edtime.’

  ‘She’s growing up. It happens.’

  ‘But it has happened too soon. I miss my child. I miss being the centre of her world. When did it happen? When we got here everything changed.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mamie. ‘How do you think your mum felt when it happened with you?’

  ‘But Mum and I were always close. I rang her as often as I could afford when I went to uni. Always came home when I could.’

  ‘When you could. Yes. But that’s never enough for a parent. You want Faith to be an independent woman, capable of managing her own life, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, of course I do.’

  ‘But not right now?’

  Angela blew her cheeks out. ‘But it is happening right now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  ‘So, what do I do? Cut my working hours down and spend more time with the family?’

  ‘And throw away this wonderful opportunity? No! Not only would you regret it but Faith would be furious. She’s having a ball. The beach. New friends. Look at the freedom she has here. You wouldn’t let her go walking at dusk on a lonely beach at home, would you? She’s safe here, and definitely safe with lovely Ben.’

  ‘And Robert? Is he safe?’

  Mamie leant forward and squeezed Angela’s knees. ‘Safe from Helen, you mean? You are silly. He loves you.’

  ‘But he’s so handsome and all women fall at his feet. I see it all the time.’

  ‘And has he ever, ever looked at one of them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Listen to me. Robert is the kind of man who makes life look easy. He breezes through the Houses of Parliament with his easy charm and clever brain. Some of the greatest minds in the world agree to be interviewed by him because he’s intelligent and straightforward. Nothing is a bother to him. The Times crossword? He can do it. Build flat-pack furniture? No problem. Have Audrey Tipton fall in love with him? Simple pimple. I don’t know what his secret is, but we all fall for it. You and I, my darling, have to work a little harder at life. That is the only thing you should ever feel envious of. He is here for you. Has stepped out of the limelight for you. Is building the bloody website, with Helen, for you. So, as Queenie would so elegantly put it, “Shut yer cake ’ole.”’

  ‘Thank you, Mamie. That’s what I needed to hear.’ She leant towards her aunt and put her arms around her. ‘I love you, Mamie. I miss Mum every day, terribly. But at least I have you.’