by Fern Britton
The donations to the dog poo bin fund were generous and the amount of dog mess was surprisingly minimal, to Faith’s relief, although getting the pony poo into a single bag was rather difficult.
‘That’ll go on my roses,’ Simple Tony said, taking the bags from her.
‘Well, that was a great success.’ Helen was waiting in a patch of sunshine as Angela said goodbye to all the animals and owners. ‘And thank you so much for asking me to lunch.’
‘My pleasure,’ Angela said guiltily. She tried to remind herself that Helen was a lovely woman. One she had no need to be wary of. After all, she was Penny’s best friend. She tucked her arm into Helen’s. ‘Come on. Let’s see how Robert’s doing in the kitchen.’
Robert was at full tilt. The table was laid. The new potatoes draining. Early cabbage and spring greens buttered and fresh mint sauce sitting in two small jugs either end of the table.
‘Perfect timing.’ He kissed Helen first then turned back to stirring his gravy. ‘How did the service go, love?’ he asked Angela over his shoulder.
‘It was wonderful,’ Helen replied.
‘Excuse me. I just need to wash my hands. All those animals, you know.’ Angela went upstairs to her room and shut the bathroom door behind her. Closing the lid of the loo, she sat down and allowed the incipient tears to flow freely.
Mamie clattered in.
‘Darling, do you have any hand cream? I can’t find any and my hands are in a dreadful state from all the gardening for your party … oh my goodness. What’s happened?’
Angela turned her face away from her aunt and grabbed a handful of loo paper. ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’ She blew her nose. ‘I think I have a bit of a cold starting.’
Mamie stood with her hands on her hips. ‘You can’t kid a kidder, Angie. What has happened?’
Angela wiped away a fresh stream of tears. ‘It’s nothing. It’s me being stupid.’
Mamie sat on the edge of the bath. ‘Tell me.’
‘It’s Helen.’
‘What has she done?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So?’
‘Oh, it’s silly …’
‘Not still worried about her and Robert?’
Angela looked up with pleading eyes. ‘Do you know something?’
Mamie shook her head. ‘I only know that Robert adores you.’
‘But Helen is so pretty.’ Angela began to cry again. ‘And I am not as pretty as her and Robert is so attractive and they have been spending so much time together …’
‘Darling, you’ve got to stop this. Robert loves you and Helen loves Piran. Robert is not the bonking kind and Helen is too classy. I wouldn’t blame her if she had a bit of a crush on him – I think the whole village does. Audrey Tipton certainly does. But for him to cheat on you? Never in a million years. I’d stake my life on it.’
‘Honestly? You really think so?’
‘I really think so.’
‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Faith came in. ‘Dad says lunch is ready. Have you been crying?’
‘Your mother has a headache,’ Mamie said. ‘And I’m not surprised. She doesn’t get a minute’s peace to herself. Even this bathroom is like Piccadilly Circus. Tell your father we’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Poor you, Mum. I’ll tell Dad. Can I get you anything?’
Angela sat up straight and gave Faith a reassuring smile. ‘No. I’ll be fine.’
Mamie shooed Faith out, then said to Angela, ‘Come on. You always have me in your corner, no matter what.’
21
The days ticked by and Angela settled down again to concentrate on her work and her family.
Robert and Helen were spending less time together now that the website was up and running, and his job at the Trevay Times had expanded into cinema reviews and writing colour pieces on local places of interest. He and Angela even managed to see a film together after a day out in St Ives. But there was a feeling she couldn’t quite shake away …
May Day arrived and the maypole was carried ceremoniously to the green, where it was placed snugly into its newly dug hole. With a final push, Robert, Don and Piran let it go, whereupon the ribbons fluttered, criss-crossed, wrapped and knotted themselves with glee.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ Mike Bates was beginning to lose his cool. ‘Somebody get hold of those ribbons and secure the damn things.’
Audrey, who adored witnessing others’ discomfort, glowed with self-righteous delight.
‘I did tell you that ribbons as long as those need to be held in sections and tied securely to the pole before you even attempt to move it,’ she crowed.
‘Thank you, Audrey,’ Mike said with enormous self-control. ‘I shall know better in future.’
‘I hope so,’ she sniffed.
An excitable crew of village children were advancing from the other end of the green, dressed in colourful shirts and shorts, led by Angela and Helen.
‘Here we are, children.’ Angela grinned. ‘The real maypole!’
The children, who had been practising their dancing around a small broom in the village hall, gazed in awe.
‘That’s bleddy enormous,’ gaped a young boy in a cut-down Hawaiian shirt that his mum thought would do.
‘Language, Craig,’ admonished Angela.
‘Sorry, Vicar.’
‘Where are their pretty frocks?’ Audrey criticised. ‘And why aren’t the boys in waistcoats?’ She shook her head dismissively. ‘No, no, this won’t do. If you are going to revive an old Pendruggan custom, you must do it properly.’
Two angry spots of colour appeared on Angela’s cheeks, but before she said something she would regret, Piran stepped in.
‘Right, kids, before your mums and dads arrive, who wants to help unravel the Ribbon Puzzle? ’Tis the tradition of all maypole dancers to get the ribbons sorted out first. And when you’ve done it, we’ll take a big photo of you all, before you do the dancing and get the ribbons all muddled up again. What do you say?’
‘Yeeeees!’ the children shouted.
‘Right, let’s get started.’
Mike Bates rocked on the heels of his well-polished brogues and relished the look of pure fury on Audrey’s face. ‘Now that’s what I call leadership. Marvellous man, Piran, don’t you think, Audrey?’
Audrey couldn’t speak.
Angela, riven with Christian guilt that she was so happy to see Audrey squashed, said, ‘Maybe next year you could help in the design of the costumes, Audrey? But for now, I think they all look lovely.’
‘Me too,’ Helen added. A sudden flurry of activity outside Pendruggan farmhouse caught her eye. ‘What’s going on over there?’
Angela turned to see Evelyn hurling a cumbersome suitcase at a man who had his arms up, presumably protecting his face. He was shouting, ‘Evie. Stop it. I’ve come home. To you. I made a mistake.’ Evelyn picked up a shoe and threw it at his head. ‘Ouch!’ he yelled as it landed four-square on his skull.
‘Get away. Get out. Get out,’ she screamed. ‘Just because that tart of yours has thrown you out, don’t mean you can come back here.’ She picked up the other shoe and threw it but he ducked.
‘This is my house, you daft cow.’ He began to advance towards her. ‘You can’t throw me out. It’s been in my family for generations. You have no right to be here. In fact, I can throw you out.’
‘Don’t you threaten me,’ Evelyn said.
He kept walking towards her, his face twisted with anger, his voice low and dangerous. ‘I can do what I bleddy like to my own wife. Without me what would you be? Another drain on society? I took you in. Fed you. Clothed you. You’re nothing.’
Evelyn’s bravado began to slip. ‘You wouldn’t dare. Not with all these people watching.’
He turned round and saw Piran, Mike, Robert and Gasping Bob walking towards him.
‘All right, Malcolm?’ asked Bob.
Malcolm turned to face the men, arms hanging out at his sides as if he were a cowboy. ‘Just a little woman t
rouble. The silly bitch don’t know what’s good fer ’er.’
‘And what would be good for her?’ Piran growled.
‘None of your business.’
Mike took a step in front of them. ‘Evelyn? Are you OK?’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
‘Would you like to come over here and stand with me?’ he asked.
‘You stay where you bleddy are, woman,’ said Malcolm.
‘Evelyn? Come over here and we can get you a cup of tea or something. Looks like you could do with one.’
Malcolm turned to stop Evelyn but she held her head up. ‘I’d like that. Thank you, Mr Bates.’ She walked slowly towards him, leaving plenty of distance between her and her husband.
Malcolm was shimmering with rage. ‘If you go with him, don’t think you’ll be able to come back. I’ll get the locks changed tonight. Burn everything that’s yours. I’ll wipe you out … for good.’
‘That’s enough, Malcolm,’ said Robert, who had taken his phone out of his pocket. ‘There are witnesses to all you have just said. I am calling the police now.’
‘Oh, sod off, you whiny little househusband,’ Malcolm taunted him. ‘Real men have women to look after them. Not the other way around. You think I’m scared of you? You don’t have the balls to call the police.’
‘By all means try me, but I suggest you pick up your bag and shoes and leave the village right now.’ Robert’s finger pressed twice on the nine button of his phone. ‘One more and they’ll be here.’
Malcolm tipped his head back and laughed. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ve got better places to be.’ He turned and, collecting his case and his shoes, jumped into his farm truck and sped off out of the village.
Angela and Helen went to Evelyn, who was shaking. ‘Thank you, Mr Bates, Piran. Robert, you were wonderful.’
Gasping Bob came to her and took her in his arms. ‘I’m so sorry. So sorry. He’s been my mate for years but I had no idea how bad things were between you. Robbie said one or two things but I couldn’t believe her. That’s the first time I’ve seen him talk like that. Stay with Robbie and me tonight. For as long as you want.’
Evelyn was crying into his shoulder. Her entire body shuddering in shock. ‘Robbie don’t need me around. Not while she’s waiting to hear about … you know.’
Bob began to smile and pushed Evelyn away a little so that he could see her face. ‘She ain’t managed to get hold of you, has she? We heard today. Biopsy all clear. She hasn’t got cancer. It’s just an ordinary harmless little lump.’
Evelyn’s hand flew to her mouth in joy. ‘She’s OK? Where is she?’
‘At home. Go on. She’ll give you a cuppa.’
Evelyn needed no more encouragement.
Everyone watched her go while congratulating Bob on Robbie’s news.
Even Audrey managed a gracious, ‘Please send her my best.’
The church clock struck midday, signalling the start of the May Day festivities. Looking around, Angela could see a group of eager parents and grandparents ready with their phones to capture the highlight of the day.
‘Come on, Bob,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘I’m expecting you to play with even more happiness today of all days.’
‘Righto.’ Bob lit a roll-up that he’d had waiting behind his ear and picked up his piano accordion. ‘Ready when you are, Vicar.’
Twenty children under the age of eleven, in charge of weaving multi-coloured ribbons in complicated patterns to tunes including ‘Trelawny’, ‘D’ye Ken John Peel’ and ‘The Sweet Nightingale’, played by a chain-smoking Cornishman on his ancient accordion, was an experience not to be missed, Angela thought. Proud families laughed and clapped along, taking endless photos and videos.
As Bob played his final rousing chord the children, hot and thirsty and smelling of fresh air, bowed and curtsied and ran to their mums and dads for hugs and the promise of ice lollies.
Mamie, who had missed all the earlier excitement, just caught the last dance. ‘Well, that was marvellous and Queenie will be thrilled with the custom you are sending her way.’ She slipped her arm through Angela’s. ‘Now tell me all about what I have missed.’
By the evening, there was not a soul in Pendruggan who hadn’t heard about Evelyn and Malcolm.
It would be a while before anyone heard from him again.
But Evelyn had never felt better. Thirty years of bullying had finally been laid to rest and her new chapter was just beginning.
22
The second anonymous letter was among the bundle of birthday cards that Faith brought up to Angela on her birthday breakfast tray.
‘Happy birthday, Mum. The postman has been.’
Angela grinned. ‘You spoil me.’
‘Well, sit up and let me put this on your lap. It’s heavy.’
She did as she was told, inwardly smiling at her daughter’s definition of heavy – a cup of tea and plate of toast – but she said, ‘Thank you, darling.’
Faith, her duty done, already had other things on her mind. ‘Right, I’m off. Dad’s giving me and Ben a lift to school. Have a nice day doing whatever it is old people do.’
‘Charming. And you, darling. Give us a kiss.’
A car horn sounded outside.
‘Dad’s waiting. I’m going to be late.’
‘Kiss me.’
Faith, tutting, kissed her mother, checked herself in the long mirror and left, calling, ‘Laters.’
‘Love you,’ Angela replied.
Tea and toast in bed, with strict instructions to have a lie-in, was heavenly. She picked up her tea and sipped at it, flicking through the birthday envelopes.
The unstamped ones were obviously from Robert, Mamie and Faith.
The majority of the stamped ones had handwriting she recognised.
Unconsciously she sifted through them to find the one from her mother before catching her breath as the pain of knowing there wouldn’t be one hit her once again like an express train.
Her mind went to a birthday, many years ago, when her mother and Auntie Mamie, her only family, had taken her out for a trip into London. She’d been about thirteen and deemed mature enough to have lunch at the Ritz followed by a matinée of Gershwin’s Crazy for You.
Angela lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes. She allowed the happy memory to fill her. She remembered the touch of her mother’s loving arm around her as they left the theatre humming the glorious tunes.
She could hear her mother’s voice, happy and excited. ‘What a birthday treat. One we shall never forget, shall we, Angela?’
Angela would never forget.
Finishing her tea, she put the cup down and went through the cards again, thinking about which to open first.
It was then she saw the letter.
The address had been typed on a white label and stuck to the white envelope. The postmark was blurred.
Curious, she put the birthday envelopes to one side and opened it.
One blue sheet.
Folded in two.
She unfolded it.
Sixteen typed words:
YOUR HUSBAND IS NOT THE MAN YOU THINK HE IS.
HE KEEPS A SECRET.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
She read it again.
And again.
She turned the paper over.
Nothing more.
She felt a familiar queasiness in her stomach.
The letter was shaking in her hands.
Who was sending these horrible things?
What secret was Robert keeping?
It must be a mistake.
She checked the envelope.
No mistake. It was addressed to her.
Maybe it was Faith and Ben. A terrible coincidence. They had no idea that she’d received one of these before. Having a joke. Yes. The secret must be something to do with her birthday. A present? Or an outing? That had to be it. It was nothing malicious. Just poorly executed.
She put it back in its envelope, and slid it into
her bedside drawer.
She’d keep it to herself.
She wouldn’t let on.
She didn’t want to spoil her birthday.
Or admit that it had upset her.
Given her a shock.
No.
She’d keep it to herself until the secret, her birthday secret surely, was revealed and then they’d all laugh, and that would be that.
She put her breakfast tray, the toast now cold, to one side and got out of bed.
In the bathroom she turned the radio on.
John Humphrys was giving some cabinet minister hell.
Normality.
Reality.
She stepped into the shower and turned her thoughts to the garden party. Only one more day to go. Perhaps they had a surprise planned for that? A hot air balloon ride or a coachload of old school friends, or …
Of course she knew who her husband was. They had no secrets from one another. Not a single one. No. Never. She told him everything and he told her everything. Except she wasn’t going to tell him about this one. Not yet.
That was the basis of their relationship. They never had time apart. Ever.
So silly.
And yet, if it wasn’t Faith playing a game, it was someone very sick.
Someone who needed help.
Someone who knew it was her birthday today.
As far as the village was concerned, her birthday was tomorrow.
The day of the garden party. It had seemed easier to let people think that than have the kerfuffle of two birthdays.
So it must be someone she knew.
She frowned, trying to think of anyone in the village who had exhibited odd behaviour.
Anyone she had upset unknowingly.
She hated herself immediately. How could she even begin to suspect her lovely new friends and villagers?
She snapped the shower from pleasantly warm to icy cold and told herself to forget it. A one-off. She’d got the wrong end of the stick. Or someone else had.
She spent the early part of the morning in her office, distracting herself from the irrational and unwanted thoughts worming their way into her brain.