by Fern Britton
19
‘Ladies, would you please give a warm welcome to tonight’s special guest. The chairman of the parish council, Mr Mike Bates.’ Angela ushered Mike into the vicarage lounge.
‘Good evening, ladies.’ Mike beamed at the familiar faces. ‘I am delighted to be here.’
Angela ushered him to the comfiest armchair.
Mamie, looking extra glamorous this evening, brandished a bottle of very good whisky towards him. ‘You look like a whisky-and-soda man to me.’
Audrey rolled her eyes from the second-most comfy armchair and tutted loudly.
Mike either didn’t hear or pretended not to. ‘You guess right, Mamie. Just a small one, thank you.’
‘Ice?’ Mamie asked seductively.
‘Rather. Thanks awfully.’ Mike pulled at his tie nervously.
‘So why are you here, Michael?’ Queenie would always voice the question everyone else wanted to ask.
Angela explained. ‘Mike has kindly agreed to explain a little about what will happen during the Big Pond Dig and what he and Piran think we may find. But also, and some of you may know this, Mike fought in the Falklands War. He happened to mention the fact to me the other day and I thought it would be a fascinating story for us to hear from a real-life hero in our midst.’
Mike was embarrassed. ‘Well, I don’t know about that. I’m rather afraid that you’ll think me an old war bore.’
‘Not at all,’ said Sarah. ‘My Joe, Santi’s dad, he joined the navy after meeting Simon Weston.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mamie, handing Mike his whisky, ice cubes clinking. ‘He was that marvellous boy who got so badly burnt when his ship – Sir Galahad, wasn’t it? – was bombed. Such an inspiration.’
‘I remember it like it was yesterday,’ said Queenie. ‘We hadn’t a clue where the Falklands was. Thought they were up near the Orkneys or something, couldn’t believe it when we found out they was down near the South Pole. Penguins and everything.’
‘Let’s get on with it, shall we,’ grumbled Audrey. ‘We don’t have all night and I have cancelled an engagement to come here and discuss my choice for the first book club.’
‘Oh, I had no idea your agenda was so busy,’ said Mike. ‘Are we all ready?’
Angela made sure everyone had their glasses topped up and Sarah asked Mike if he minded her breastfeeding Santi in front of him. Loosening the grip of his collar from his throat, he said it would be ‘absolutely fine’. But he made sure he kept his gaze firmly away from where it was all happening on the sofa.
‘You are quite right, Queenie. No one knew where the hell the Falklands were, but very quickly we knew that our training on Dartmoor would not go to waste. The Falklands terrain is very similar. Rocky, craggy, windy, cold.’
‘Yomping,’ Queenie said knowingly. ‘That’s what you did, weren’t it?’
‘Oh, by jingo we yomped. No other way of getting around. Marching day and night with very heavy kit bags. About six or seven stone each.’
Sitting nearest to the door, Angela slipped out of the room, remembering she’d left her choices of book club books by her bed. Mike had told her his war story earlier in the week and she knew he wouldn’t mind.
Her bedroom was quiet. The bed inviting. She lay down for a moment and stared at the ceiling. Helen was downstairs and Robert was at the pub. Faith and Ben were in the kitchen cooking pizza. All was well in the world. She closed her eyes.
‘Mum? Mum? Wake up. Audrey wants you downstairs.’ Faith was gently shaking her awake.
‘Oh bugger. How long have I been asleep?’
‘Don’t worry. Only about half an hour.’
‘Oh, thank goodness.’
Faith giggled. ‘I don’t blame you. No offence but your meetings are boring, aren’t they?’
Angela laughed in spite of herself. Then said, ‘No. I was just a bit tired, that’s all. Be a darling, would you, and top up their drinks. I’ll be down in a second. And don’t tell them I was asleep.’
Back in the sitting room Angela found everyone in lively discussion. Mamie spotted her. ‘Darling, Mike has given us such a thrilling account of war. Truly gripping.’
All the other women agreed: ‘Oh, yes, really exciting,’; ‘Like one of them films,’; ‘But real-life sad,’; ‘Very sad, yes.’
Mike was happy it had all gone so well.
‘Let me get you another whisky,’ Mamie said, whipping his glass away before he could stop her.
Audrey, whose nose was clearly out of joint, said loudly, ‘What happened to your wife?’
The chatter ceased and uneasy eyes moved from Audrey to Mike Bates and back again.
‘I, er …’ he began. ‘She left me. A couple of years after I left the army.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Helen, filling the silence with sincerity.
‘Water under the bridge, my dear. Probably for the best. Being an army wife is not the easiest job.’
‘Not always, no,’ said Sarah, passing Santi to Angela as she hooked up her nursing bra. ‘But I’d never leave my Joe. I couldn’t do that to Santi.’
Mike smiled awkwardly. ‘Your Joe is a jolly lucky fellow to have you both. Unfortunately Phyllis and I weren’t blessed with children.’
Queenie shook her head sorrowfully. ‘It’s a shame for you. A crying shame.’
Mike reached for the jacket he’d taken off while describing how he spent two days crouched in a fox hole. ‘I’d best be off.’ He turned to Angela. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me. It’s been really super. See you all soon.’ He lifted a hand of farewell to the women.
‘Let me see you out,’ Angela said, and they left the room.
Queenie looked at Audrey and tutted. ‘You happy with yerself?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You know very well what I mean. You put that poor man in a terrible spot. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about his wife. Shame on you.’
Audrey’s cheeks bloomed puce. ‘Don’t you speak to me like that.’
‘I’ll speak to you how I bleeding like.’
Mamie stepped in. ‘Now, ladies. It was an ill-chosen moment. That’s all. I think we can all agree with that.’ She turned to Audrey. ‘I’m sure with hindsight you would like to admit your mistake, Audrey?’
Audrey looked at the mutinous faces around her and swallowed hard. ‘Maybe I chose the wrong place and time.’
‘Apologise,’ said Queenie fiercely.
Audrey would rather have taken Queenie’s shoulders in her hands and rattled her until her eyes popped out but she had the wit to realise she was cornered. ‘I apologise.’
Angela came back in and immediately felt the tension in the room. ‘Everything OK?’ she asked, looking at Mamie.
‘All fine. That was very interesting. Sweet man. But now we must choose our book club book, mustn’t we?’
Angela took her aunt’s words as a coded instruction and did as she was told. ‘Ah, yes. As you know, Audrey and I have been discussing the idea of a monthly book club for the last couple of weeks. Are you all still interested?’
Mamie put her hand up. ‘It depends on what kind of books. At my age I don’t want to tackle War and Peace.’
There were murmurs of agreement.
Angela turned to Audrey. ‘I know you were keen on Wuthering Heights. Is that still on your list?’
‘Absolutely.’ Audrey folded her large arms over her enormous bosom. ‘That or The Old Curiosity Shop by Dickens.’
‘Two excellent classics,’ Angela said.
‘What are your choices, Angela?’ asked Helen.
‘While I love the classics, I thought we might try something a little more modern. Kate Atkinson’s marvellous Life After Life or Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman. I have a copy of each here for you to pass round and look at.’ She handed them out. ‘Audrey, do you have copies of your choices?’
Audrey was wrong-footed. ‘Er, no … I have forgotten them. Geoffrey didn’t re
mind me.’
‘Never mind. Right, ladies, when you’re ready we’ll have a show of hands for each as I call them out.’
Eleanor Oliphant was in by a mile.
‘And what are we supposed to talk about when we’ve read it?’ asked Queenie.
Audrey, desperate to salvage some superiority in defeat, said, ‘I shall be looking for your thoughts on the characters, the plotting of the author, and the story’s arc. We will share discourse on the relevance of the story to our own lives. I consider myself something of a scholar of the classics and so it will be very interesting to discover if the book you have chosen does indeed have any merit at all. Reading this book will be as challenging for me as it is to you, yet for very different reasons.’
‘I will get copies to you all over the next few days,’ Angela smiled. ‘But for now, I would like to thank Audrey for using her precious time to be here tonight. Now I am sure you want to get home to your husband.’
Audrey found herself being bustled out of the front door. ‘I am so grateful, Audrey,’ said Angela at the front door. ‘Goodbye.’
Angela leant on the back of the closed front door and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘What the hell was that all about?’ Mamie asked when Angela returned.
Queenie chuckled. ‘I know what she’s done, girls. She’s called Audrey’s bluff. That woman will have less time to interfere if she’s got books to read. Well done, girl.’ She smiled at an innocent-looking Angela. ‘That’s what you’ve gone and done, innit?’
‘I cannot possibly comment,’ Angela said. ‘Now, who would like their glasses topped up?’
Once they were all resettled, Angela reached for her iPad. ‘Can I just go through some of our summer events? Any feedback or help would be gladly accepted.’
Mamie piped up, ‘I have the garden party under control, thank you.’
‘I know, and thank you. I’m thinking more about May Day. I know Trevay celebrates it with the procession along the quay and music and dancing …’
‘One enormous pub crawl, actually. I lose Piran for at least forty-eight hours each year,’ said Helen with raised eyebrows.
Angela nodded. ‘I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of tradition, but I wondered if the children would like to do a bit of dancing on our village green in the morning. Before the Trevay parade kicks off.’
‘We used to have a maypole,’ said Evelyn. ‘Do you remember, Robbie? We used to dance round it when we was at school.’
‘Oh, yes. Every year Miss Hunter would shout at us for tangling up all the ribbons.’
‘And the boys had to wear ribbons round their arms.’ Evelyn began giggling. ‘You had a crush on Martin Newton, remember?’
Robbie began to laugh too. ‘Oh, yes. He had lovely teeth. My Bob was so jealous he let the tyres down on Martin’s Chopper bike.’
Queenie joined in. ‘Martin Newton was a tyke. A good-looking boy but a little tyke.’
‘Well,’ Angela jumped in, ‘before you all go off down memory lane, I have found your maypole. Well, Mike Bates found it in the old store room at the back of the village hall. It needs a lick of paint and we need new ribbons because the mice have been at them, but Mike has agreed to let us put it up on the green and hold a small celebration.’
‘Does anyone know how to dance round the maypole nowadays?’ asked Mamie.
‘Hang on.’ Helen reached for her phone. ‘Let me ask Mr Google.’ She typed into the search bar and waited. ‘Here we are. Oh, no!’ She started to laugh. ‘It’s sent me to pole dancing.’
Queenie’s face lit up. ‘That’s very clever. I watched a dockermentary on that. These girls are ever so strong and they do it with no clothes on.’
‘I used to do that,’ Sarah said casually, a sleeping Santi on her shoulder. ‘And you don’t have to do it nude,’ she added.
‘How did you do it then?’ asked Queenie.
‘Topless.’
The women looked at Sarah with a mix of admiration and disbelief.
‘Before I had the kids, obviously. I’m thinking of training up again just to tighten up my bingo wings and mum tum. Not as a job, as a fitness thing.’
‘’Ow much could you earn a night?’ asked Queenie, the business woman in her surfacing.
‘Quite a lot, actually.’
‘But you never ’ad those men’s hands over you? No “extras”?’
‘NO.’ Sarah was firm. ‘Absolutely not. That is not why I did the job. I needed cash, I was very strong and fit, and I liked dancing. At the time it seemed like a no-brainer. I worked in a nice club where you’d get fired if you did anything like that.’
‘And you was topless?’ Queenie was fascinated. ‘So you got the money tucked into your knickers?’
‘G-string.’
‘Gordon Bennett, you kept that under yer hat.’
‘Except I didn’t wear a hat!’ Sarah giggled, then looked serious. ‘Ben doesn’t know and nor does Santi’s dad. I’d rather keep it quiet.’
Helen was still looking through country dancing videos on YouTube. ‘Ah. Here we are. The twist, the plait, the spider’s web …’
‘On a pole?’ Queenie asked mischievously.
‘A maypole, yes. Look.’
An hour later they had divvied up the jobs. Queenie and Mamie would source the ribbons and get them nailed to the maypole. Sarah, Evelyn and Robbie would learn the dances and get Gasping Bob to dust off his piano accordion, and Angela asked Helen to help her paint the maypole in traditional barbershop red and white stripes.
‘We can get Piran and Robert to help,’ suggested Helen, but Angela was firm.
‘No, I’d rather just you and me.’
‘OK. I’ll get the paint and brushes if you like,’ Helen said easily.
The meeting broke up soon after, with Robbie quietly telling everyone that the results of her biopsy were due soon.
On Helen’s way home over the village green she thought about Angela’s negative reaction to her suggestion that Piran and Robert help them with the painting of the maypole. Her intuition was telling her something, but what exactly was it?
20
Life at the vicarage never seemed to slow down. The weather was warming up and the sun seemed to bring out many parishioners from their hibernation.
Mamie’s preparation for the garden party was gathering apace and the unused dining room was filling with tombola gifts, raffle prizes, boxes of bunting and all manner of lists and clipboards.
Angela kept out of the way. Three of her own projects were coming together nicely.
The May Day celebration was coming on.
The running club had added Faith, Ben, Sarah and Ella, and the results in terms of the women’s fitness were looking good.
And the pet-blessing service was greenlit, having been published on the village website and in the local papers, giving it some good publicity.
‘I hope all those who have promised to come actually do come, or it’ll be just us and Mr Worthington,’ Angela said anxiously.
Faith put her arm around her mother. ‘Mum, there will be tons of people, generous people. Perhaps we should, at the end, have a whip-round for the dog-poo bin on the green?’
Angela clamped her hands on her cheeks. ‘Oh my! That is genius! But what if nobody comes?’
‘Then we don’t get a dog poo bin?’ Faith laughed at her mother. ‘Mum, stop worrying. It will be fine, and if it isn’t, no harm done.’
On the morning of the pet-blessing service, the warm early sun rose and cast its golden rays lightly on the fresh green cornfields surrounding the village.
Angela was in the kitchen, back door open, filling small bags with dog treats, cat treats and chopped carrots for any herbivore.
‘What about fish and parrots?’ asked Faith, finishing a carton of orange juice from the fridge.
Angela frowned. ‘Fish? Really?’
‘Probably not, but parrots are possible. Shall I put some toast in for you?’ Faith mooched to the bread bin and held up a brown
loaf and bag of crumpets.
‘No, thanks. Do parrots eat raisins?’
‘Mum, they either will or they won’t, so take some in case.’ Faith pressed a crumpet into the toaster and went to tickle Mr Worthington, who rolled over onto his back and offered his tummy. ‘No weeing in the church, please. Or sticking your nose where it’s not welcome. Understood?’
Mr Worthington answered with a snuffle and a sniff. ‘Good.’ The toaster popped and Faith went to fetch Marmite and butter.
Angela looked up from counting small bone-shaped biscuits. ‘It’s not happening in the church. Dear Simple Tony has mowed the back lawn of the churchyard where there is lots of room.’
‘Good thinking. Giving everyone a poo bag too? Just in case?’
‘For the dogs, yes.’
‘I was thinking more of Queenie,’ Faith sniggered.
‘Faith! That’s very unkind.’
‘Lighten up, Mum. Just a joke.’
Angela sniffed and pointed to a pile of small bags. ‘You can hand those out to everyone, and collect them up afterwards.’
‘Oh Muuum.’
Robert came in from the garden with a bunch of mint and a little posy of roses. ‘Mint for the lamb today and roses,’ he dropped a kiss on Angela’s head, ‘for my wife.’
She smiled up at him and inhaled the fresh sweet scent of the mint. ‘I’ve put the lamb in the bottom of the Aga. It should be perfectly ready for lunch.’
‘Great. By the way, Piran is away for a couple of days. Helen’s on her own so I have invited her for lunch.’
Angela bit her lip. ‘Good idea.’
In the churchyard, gathered around a makeshift altar, Angela was amazed at the sight of so many animals arriving. At least twenty dogs. Three cats in baskets. A litter of black kittens with blue eyes. One cockatiel on the shoulder of its owner. Two rabbits on leads. A pony. A donkey. A baby lamb – Angela couldn’t help but feel guilty over the lunch in the bottom of her Aga – and a chameleon.
The service was simple. It opened with ‘All things bright and beautiful’, followed by a retelling of the story of Noah’s Ark, and then Angela quietly blessed each animal and gave it an appropriate snack from her bag of goodies.