The Newcomer

by Fern Britton

  When Mamie came upstairs with the coffee and found Angela and Robert both sleeping, she left them to it, and took the tray to Faith instead.

  ‘Morning, Faith,’ she trilled, putting the tray down on the blanket box at the end of the bed and pulling the curtains open. ‘We have a garden party to prepare for.’

  Faith, eyes squeezed shut, pulled her head under her covers. ‘Close the curtains.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful day outside. Come on. I’ve made coffee. The team of volunteers will be here at eight.’

  Faith’s hand came from under the covers and, patting around her bedside table, found her phone and dragged it back inside the bed. ‘Auntie Mamie, it’s not even seven o’clock.’

  ‘Early birds catch the worm. Would you like sugar?’

  Faith’s head, tousled hair and grumpy expression appeared. ‘Sugar is a poison.’

  ‘I know. But it’s fun.’ Mamie stirred a heaped teaspoonful into a mug and passed it to Faith. ‘Drink. It’ll chirp you up.’

  ‘Urrggh.’ Faith took the mug and drank. ‘I’m so tired.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t be watching Netflix until all hours.’

  ‘Like you don’t.’

  ‘That’s entirely different. My brain no longer needs to work as it did. I have learnt about as much as I can get in it, and what I can’t learn now I don’t need or want to know.’

  Faith wriggled up the bed. ‘OK. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘That’s better. I have made lists for different working groups. You and Ben are in charge of putting up bunting, making arrow signs to direct visitors to the downstairs loo and a sign for the loo door. Also, you need to take Mr Worthington on a good walk so that he doesn’t do anything embarrassing on the lawn. If there is time after that, you can both help me in the kitchen with making sandwiches. All clear?’

  ‘Yes, Auntie Mamie.’

  Mamie patted the long slender legs muffled by duvet. ‘Good girl. Sarah is getting Ben over here by eight thirty and I shall have bacon rolls ready for whoever wants them. So, you’d best shake a leg. I don’t want your mother to have to do anything today. Understood?’

  Angela woke up to Robert’s hand running over her tummy and hips. ‘Morning,’ he mumbled, nuzzling her neck the way he knew she liked.

  ‘Morning,’ she replied softly.

  Later, as she lay in his arms, she thought about the idea of Robert and Helen together. She saw it now as preposterous and with some apology she said, ‘Thank you for last night. It was wonderful. I’m sorry if I got a bit grumpy. I think I had too much wine.’

  He hugged her closer. ‘You have a lot on your plate. Do you honestly like your new dress?’

  ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘I was nervous that you might not like it. To be honest, there was a lovely little yellow dress with a flowery pattern and buttons down the front. It was the type of material that sort of moved nicely. I pulled it off the rail but by then Helen had found the other one. The shop assistant and Helen were very persuasive. Did I get it right?’

  Angela hesitated for a moment. ‘I would have liked anything you chose for me. The yellow one sounds lovely.’

  ‘Yes, but the one you have is much more special, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe it’s more Helen than me?’

  ‘I think that’s why I liked it. I like to see you looking glamorous. It’s not often I get to see you all dressed up.’

  Doubts crept back into Angela’s mind. ‘I’m sorry. I have let go of that sort of thing. Sorry.’

  ‘Well, I’ve emailed the others and excused you from running club. So you’ve got all morning to get yourself dolled up.’ Robert pulled his arm from under her and swung his legs out of bed. ‘I’d better go and lend a hand. I promised Tony I’d help with the pop-up tea shelter. Bless him, he’s worked so hard on the garden.’

  He went to the bathroom, still talking about Tony’s hanging baskets and patio pots while Angela lay in bed and turned the phrases ‘I like to see you looking glamorous’ and ‘You’ve got all morning to get yourself dolled up’ over and over in her mind.

  It’s true she had let her beauty regime, scant though it had been, go over the years. When was the last time she’d had a pedicure? Manicure? Or shaved her legs?

  She curled herself into the foetal position, feeling vulnerable and undesirable. Helen was a million times prettier and more glamorous than she was. Robert was a lot more handsome than Piran was; although, she thought with a small amount of guilt, Piran was a very attractive man in a strong and manly way.

  Oh God. Please, don’t let Robert leave me for Helen. And please don’t let me have these jealous thoughts about Helen either. Thank you.

  When Robert had finished getting ready and gone off to find jobs to do, Angela began her personal spring clean in earnest.

  25

  The garden was filling with guests of all ages. Children were skipping between the legs of adults. Women in summery dresses were chatting and men in shorts were baring white and hairy knees. Angela stood at the landing window looking down at them. The garden really was looking pretty. Pale roses were mingling with deep blue delphiniums and the sweet peas, their canes among a carnival of pansies, were climbing with vigour.

  Angela watched as Queenie opened her fold-up chair in the shade and settled herself beside Simple Tony, who was sitting cross-legged on the grass. She fumbled inside her enormous handbag and produced a carton of his favourite drink: Ribena.

  And there was Mamie under the pop-up tent, ladling out punch from behind an old trestle table. She had claimed the previous night that it was a secret recipe she had been given by one of the royal Balmoral chefs. Angela could only imagine what was in it.

  Faith strolled out from the kitchen into the sunlight wearing sunglasses on top of her shiny hair, with a strapless boob tube and the tiniest pair of ripped denim shorts, which barely covered her bottom. Angela sighed. Where had her baby girl gone and how had she, mousy vicar, managed to produce such a gorgeous example of womanhood?

  Smoothing her dress over her slender hips, Angela began to descend the stairs. Robert and Helen were in the kitchen when she appeared. Robert was leaning on the sink, Helen against a worktop, and they were sharing an easy conversation.

  ‘Hi,’ Angela said.

  Robert looked up and a slight frown wrinkled his tanned forehead. ‘Wow. Don’t you look wonderful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Angela said.

  ‘Your dress looks lovely,’ said Helen.

  ‘What happened to the one I bought you?’ Robert asked.

  Angela touched her throat nervously. ‘It’s just too nice for a garden party. I want to keep it for a special occasion.’

  Helen came towards her with open arms. ‘You look fabulous anyway.’ She kissed Angela and took her hand. ‘Come on. Everyone’s waiting for you.’

  As Angela appeared on the sunny kitchen step, Mamie spotted her and immediately began a round of applause and a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’.

  Mike Bates came forward. ‘My dear, you look radiant.’

  ‘It’s just a bit of lipstick really.’

  He turned to face the party. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have some quiet, please?’

  A gradual hush fell over the guests.

  ‘Our vicar, Angela, hasn’t been with us long but I think we can all congratulate her on bringing a new freshness to our village. I am hoping that dear Simon will consider the pet blessing as an annual event when he returns from Brazil.’ He turned to Angela and said, ‘Angela, I thank you on behalf of all Pendruggan residents, for giving us this year of your life. And happy birthday.’ He signalled to a small girl holding a delicate posy, who came forward shyly and handed it to Angela.

  ‘Thank you. How kind of you.’

  Happy applause followed before Mamie came to her with a large cup of punch.

  ‘What’s in it?’ Angela whispered suspiciously, looking at the floating strawberries and bits of orange.

  ‘Three of y
our five-a-day, darling. It will help you mingle.’

  Angela took a sip and coughed. ‘So this is where the Christmas Cointreau went?’

  Mamie did not reply but took her by the elbow. ‘Come along, we have some fun little contests for you to judge.’

  Angela’s face creased with anxiety. ‘Really?’

  Mamie stopped at a table decked prettily with a white lace tablecloth and four crocheted dolls wearing enormous skirts. She pressed a red winner’s rosette into Angela’s hand. ‘First up, a display of crochet work. Darling, which of these delightful examples deserves first prize?’

  Audrey, licking her lips and breathing heavily, hovered next to a particularly ugly example: a dark-haired dolly in a purple frock.

  ‘Offerings from my crochet crafters circle,’ Audrey told her. ‘Such a marvellous hobby.’

  Angela took a deep breath. ‘Well, how charming. Any little girl, or boy, would be delighted to have one.’

  ‘These are not toys, Mrs Whitehorn. These are Decorative Toilette Accessories.’

  ‘Ah.’ Angela was confused.

  ‘Yes. These are placed over unsightly spare toilet tissue rolls. Certainly not toys.’

  Angela bit her lip to stop laughing. ‘Of course, what I meant was, any child would appreciate the fun of them.’

  Audrey glared at her before fingering the purple monster next to her. ‘So which one wins?’ she asked with a malevolent glint in her eye.

  ‘Well, let me have a good look at them.’ Angela bent close to the figures and tried her best to find the one that was the least unattractive.

  ‘Mum.’ Faith pushed in between her and Audrey. ‘Can Ben and I take Mr Worthington to the beach?’ She glanced down at the loo paper dolls. ‘Gruesome or what!’

  ‘I am judging them, Faith.’

  ‘Oh, well, the pale pink one is the least offensive, I suppose. So, can we go to the beach?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t be too long.’ Faith skipped off and Angela caught Audrey’s piggy eyes. ‘And do you teach the crochet, Audrey?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I thought as much.’ Audrey’s face was a picture of triumph. Angela continued, ‘Because the purple one has the look of a professional’s work.’

  Audrey’s lips twitched into a half-smile. ‘Well yes, that one is mine. I was inspired by a portrait of Marie Antoinette.’

  ‘How interesting.’ Angela nodded. ‘So you will understand that my decision must exclude yours because it is in a class of its own, and I would like to award the prize to the Pale Pink Lady.’

  Mamie gave Angela a sideways glance and muttered, ‘God, I am so proud of you.’

  Audrey was puce, stuck between the conflicting emotions of triumph and defeat. Mamie swore later that Audrey had actually growled before Mamie had swept Angela off to judge Best Buttonhole.

  The afternoon wore on in a pleasant haze of sunshine, the Mums n’ Dads hula-hoop contest and mountains of cucumber sandwiches and scones.

  Feeling light-headed, Angela found Sarah sitting on a blanket in the shade with baby Santi sleeping peacefully in her large pram.

  ‘Oh, how I’d like to be in her position,’ Angela said, sitting next to her. ‘Fresh air, covers off and legs akimbo.’

  ‘How much punch have you had?’ smiled Sarah.

  ‘A bit too much, I think.’

  ‘I’ve been keeping my eye on the new arrivals.’ Sarah shifted her gaze in the direction of a burly man in his late forties with a can of strong beer in one hand and a peroxide blonde with plump thighs in the other.

  Angela squinted at them. ‘Oh, no. That’s Malcolm. Evelyn’s husband.’

  ‘I wondered.’

  ‘With the postmistress from Trevay?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Where’s Evelyn?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Sarah scanned the garden. ‘Oh dear. She’s just come out of the kitchen. See?’

  Angela scrabbled to her feet. ‘I’ll cut her off. Warn her.’

  Sarah put out a hand. ‘Too late.’

  The two of them watched helplessly as Evelyn stood immobile, stricken by the sight of her bullying husband and the public evidence of his mistress.

  Afterwards it was agreed that Evelyn had shown tremendous turn of speed. Like quick-fire, she rushed at the shameful pair and began battering them with her ‘good’ handbag.

  Angela ran to them. ‘Evelyn. Evelyn. Come away. Stop.’

  Evelyn, momentarily distracted from her attack, turned to see who was calling her. As she did so, her brutish husband pulled his right arm back and with clenched fist began to swing a punch at her. He didn’t complete the move. Piran was already behind him and held back the muscled arm.

  ‘Don’t you touch her,’ Piran threatened as he pulled the man back in an armlock. ‘You were a bleddy bully at school and I should’ve knocked seven bells out of you on May Day when I had the chance.’

  ‘Malcolm!’ screamed the girlfriend as Evelyn squared up to her again. ‘Stop her. She’s mad.’

  Robert arrived and put himself between the two women. ‘What the hell is going on? Angela, call the police.’

  Evelyn wasn’t finished. The worm had well and truly turned.

  ‘You’re welcome to that pig. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. He’s not only a cheat, he’s a bloody liar. I’ve had enough of being lied to, knocked about, made to feel worthless. He’s all yours.’

  The shackled Malcolm struggled fruitlessly to escape Piran’s iron grip. ‘Lou, don’t listen to her. She’s mad. She needs help. I’ve told you that already. You have to believe me.’

  Lou stood confused and in turmoil. She asked Evelyn, ‘He hit you?’

  ‘Many times.’

  She turned back to Malcolm. ‘You said you’d never done it before. You said it was a mistake.’

  ‘She’s telling lies. I never hit her.’ Malcolm was beginning to bleat.

  Evelyn asked with a quiet triumph, ‘He has hit you too, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lou said to the collective intake of breath of the bystanders. ‘So that’s why he came back to me on May Day. You had thrown him out?’ She was slowly piecing it together. ‘What else has he told you?’

  ‘He’s told me you’re leaving the village to go and live in Brighton.’

  ‘Brighton?’ Evelyn began to laugh. ‘This is ludicrous. Why’d I go to Brighton?’

  ‘To look after your sister.’

  ‘I don’t have no sister, love. He’s spinning you a yarn.’

  ‘What?’ Lou’s face paled as she turned to look at Malcolm. ‘Is there anything you’ve told me that’s not a lie?’

  ‘Lou, I told you. She needs help. She’s mental,’ smarmed Malcolm as Piran held him tighter. ‘Ow. You’m hurting me,’ Malcolm yelped.

  Lou lifted one foot back and swung it forward, kicking Malcolm painfully on the shin.

  ‘You cow,’ he spat at her, hopping on his good leg. ‘That’s GBH, that is.’

  Evelyn held out a hand of friendship to Lou. ‘Get rid of him. I didn’t have the strength for a long time.’

  ‘You’re pathetic, that’s why,’ Malcolm stumbled. ‘I should have finished you off years ago.’

  Robert spotted two policemen rounding the corner of the house and entering the back garden. ‘Good afternoon, Officers. This is the gentleman you may like to speak to.’

  Later, Mamie stretched out on the sofa, her sore feet on a cushion. ‘Well, that was a garden party to remember. And weren’t those policemen gorgeous? I rather enjoyed giving my witness statement, particularly when they asked me for my phone contact.’ She sipped her gin and tonic. ‘Thank God Evelyn won’t be seeing that bully for a long time. Did you see how tight those handcuffs were? Not what I had expected at all. Reminds me of summers in Mykonos back in the seventies. I remember, during one party, Peter Sellers rocked up and of course took an instant shine to me. My boyfriend at the time had no idea who this guy was so – Angela, are you OK, darling?’

 
Angela was looking very pale. ‘No, I don’t feel good. Too much sun, I think.’

  ‘Too much of Mamie’s punch, more like,’ laughed Robert from his armchair, where he was trying to find the football scores. ‘You’re dehydrated.’

  Angela gritted her teeth. Irritated. ‘Well, if you had not spent the afternoon hanging around Helen you might have hung around me and made sure I was all right.’

  Robert turned to look at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard.’

  Mamie held up a warning hand. ‘Now now, you two.’

  But Angela was finding her groove. ‘I saw you. Laughing. Sharing your little jokes. It was embarrassing.’

  Robert turned back to the screen. ‘As I recall, you were too busy playing Mother Teresa to your Pals girls. You so enjoy doling out love and prayers, don’t you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’m not talking about this now. We’ll talk tomorrow after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘I will not be dismissed like that. I think this is an excellent time.’ Angela’s head was swimming. ‘Bloody fabulous Helen. With her excellent taste and freckles, choosing my birthday present that you should have chosen.’

  Robert put the television on live pause and folded his arms. ‘Is that why you didn’t wear the dress?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you will regret this in the morning.’

  Angela, truly riled, shouted, ‘Are you having an affair with Helen?’

  Mamie sighed. ‘Darling, we’ve discussed this. You know Robert loves you.’ She turned to Robert. ‘Don’t you? Tell her.’

  Robert was shocked. ‘Hang on. You have discussed this? You have discussed that I may be having an affair with Helen?’

  ‘Well, you did spend a lot of time with her when you were getting the website up and running,’ Mamie said.

  Robert was aghast. ‘I cannot be trusted with any woman I spend more than five minutes with? For God’s sake! What the hell is going on here?’