The Newcomer

by Fern Britton

  He knelt next to Polly. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Mike,’ Polly said without pausing in her chest compressions.

  ‘OK.’ Derek took one of Mike’s hands and began talking to him. ‘Mike, my name is Derek. I’m part of the emergency medical team. You’ve had an accident but we are helping you.’

  Janet arrived and handed over the defibrillator case. ‘Trolley ready when you are.’

  Before Derek could open the defibrillator case, Mike suddenly coughed and took a deep breath.

  ‘That’s it, Mike. Well done,’ Polly told him calmly. ‘We’re going to get some oxygen in you and get you to hospital.’

  As Mike was driven away, Polly looked at an ashen Digger Pete, and put her arm around his shoulder for support. ‘Sit down, Pete.’

  ‘No. I need to follow Mike to hospital.’

  ‘Not right now. Sit down. You’re in shock. I’ll take you to see Mike once I’ve checked you over.’

  The village may have thought her an oddball, but she had saved Mike and now she ushered Digger Pete into the back of the ambulance with such care and patience that everyone looked at her in a new light.

  Angela and Piran had stood back while Mike was being treated, knowing they would be more hindrance than help. Angela had sent Faith and Ben back home.

  ‘Tell Mamie what’s happened,’ she had instructed them. ‘She’s very fond of Mike. I will bring Dad back as soon as he’s feeling better.’

  At the vicarage, Mamie had woken up with a dull head.

  Queenie was snoring.

  The memory of their lurid afternoon came back to her in tiny pictures. Making tea. Smoking. Laughing. Bacon sandwiches. Chocolate.

  Faith and Ben.

  Oh God.

  Faith and Ben.

  She looked around the kitchen. Spotless. No evidence of bad behaviour. Had it happened? Was she hallucinating?

  The back door opened and Faith came in with Ben behind her.

  Mamie stood up, hanging onto the Aga rail to stop the room from tilting.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Queenie and I have been having a little nap.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Faith. ‘And a lot of weed.’

  ‘Not a lot of weed.’

  ‘We haven’t time to talk about it now.’ Faith had to act fast. ‘Mum and Dad will be here any minute. Mike was knocked over and buried by the digger. You need to tidy yourself up.’

  Mamie sat down heavily. ‘Mike? Is he OK?’

  Faith’s eyes were darting around the kitchen, checking she and Ben hadn’t left any evidence of Mamie and Queenie’s druggy afternoon.

  ‘Well, Polly was pumping his chest so I’m guessing he’s not.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Mamie was stricken.

  ‘Yeah. And you two were getting stoned,’ Ben said wryly. ‘In the vicarage.’

  ‘We did it in the garden, actually,’ Mamie whimpered with some dignity.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ demanded Faith.

  ‘It was to help Queenie’s arthritis.’

  ‘The garden!’ Ben ran to the back door. ‘Faith, we didn’t check the garden.’

  ‘Hellooo.’ Angela called out as she came through the vicarage front door holding Robert’s arm. ‘We are hoo-oome.’

  Faith sauntered from the kitchen into the hall. ‘Oh, hi. How are you feeling, Dad?’

  ‘I have had better days.’

  ‘Ben’s just putting the kettle on for you,’ smiled Faith, replacing her mother’s helping arm for her own.

  ‘Bless him,’ said Robert.

  Angela was dumping her bag on the stairs. ‘I’m thinking of making us a bacon sandwich. What with all the hoo-ha this afternoon we forgot to have lunch. Would you and Ben like one?’

  ‘Never say no to a bacon sandwich,’ said Faith, ‘By the way, I found your phone in Mr W’s bed. I’ve told him he has to break his online shopping addiction.’

  ‘You found it! Oh, thank goodness. He must have taken it out of my bag.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Faith shrugged and escorted her father into the kitchen.

  Ben was standing by the kettle, hands in pockets and whistling innocently.

  ‘Where’s Mamie?’ Robert asked, heading for a chair.

  ‘Just taking Queenie home,’ Faith said, smiling. ‘Are you comfy there, Dad? Another cushion?’

  Robert stared hard with narrowed eyes at both his daughter and Ben. ‘What’s going on?’

  Faith laughed, brightly. ‘What do you mean? Ben and I have been out all day on our bikes. Haven’t we, Ben?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ben smiled. ‘Great fun.’ The kettle boiled behind him and he quickly turned to the mug cupboard, hiding his face from Robert.

  ‘And Mamie?’ Robert queried, looking at Faith. ‘What has she been up to today?’

  Ben and Faith exchanged grinning glances. ‘Having fun with Queenie, I think.’ Faith’s voice broke on a giggle.

  Robert’s antenna was up. ‘Something is going on here.’

  Angela came into the kitchen. ‘What a day.’ She went to the fridge.

  Robert continued to pin his gaze on his daughter, who refused to catch his eye.

  Faith said brightly, ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Mum? You must be in shock after what happened to Mike Bates.’

  Robert became more suspicious.

  Angela had her head in the fridge. ‘I can’t find the bacon. It must be in here. I bought some really good streaky rashers from the butcher up in St Columb. He hand-sliced them for me.’

  Robert rolled his eyes. ‘Keys, phones, iPads and now bacon! Let me have a look.’

  ‘Stay where you are, I don’t need you to find a pack of bacon for me.’

  Mamie arrived at the back door, the sun behind her, her tall shadow falling over the room. ‘Bacon? I had a little with Queenie earlier.’

  Angela turned from the fridge and smiled at her aunt, feeling a slight moment of relief it wasn’t something else she’d mislaid. ‘Well, a couple of rashers won’t have made much of a dent in the amount I bought. Where did you put the rest?’

  Mamie flicked a pleading look towards Ben and Faith. ‘I, er, put it back where I found it.’ She made her way to the nearest chair and sat down slowly. ‘We were … hungry.’

  Angela was now opening the bread bin. ‘I bought a tiger loaf too. Where’s that gone?’

  Ben stepped in, ‘I’m sorry, Angela. I asked Faith to bring the bacon and the bread. For crab-fishing. I didn’t realise. I shall replace it.’

  Angela looked at him, annoyed. ‘Well, I hope they liked it because it was some of the best you could buy.’

  ‘I am really sorry,’ said Ben.

  Faith dropped her folded arms and gave her aunt Mamie a stern look. ‘I think you ought to tell them what really happened.’

  ‘Tell us what?’ Angela rubbed her forehead with her fingertips; a dull headache was making itself known. ‘What’s been going on?’

  Mamie hung her head. ‘It was me. I cooked all the bacon and used all the bread. And you’ll find the lettuce and tomatoes have gone too. And the Hellmann’s. I am so sorry.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Angela said. ‘Did you have friends over?’

  ‘No. It was just Queenie and me. I was trying to help her arthritis.’

  Angela was flummoxed. ‘Bacon helps arthritis?’

  Mamie took a deep breath. ‘No, but cannabis does, I think.’

  Faith sighed. ‘Mum, Auntie Mamie and Queenie got stoned on weed and then got the munchies.’

  ‘WHAT!’ Angela’s eyes were wide in fury. Mamie had never seen her like this.

  ‘Darling.’ Mamie stood up and managed to totter towards her niece while hanging onto bits of furniture.

  ‘Don’t you “darling” me. Look at you. You can hardly walk!’ Angela was truly angry. ‘For God’s sake, could this day get any worse? The godawful Audrey has heatstroke and was sick all over him!’ She pointed wildly at Robert.

  ‘Not my fault. You know how I feel about other pe
ople’s vomit.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Angela told him. ‘I’ve had enough of it. I am more concerned about poor Mike.’

  ‘Oh, goodness, yes.’ Mamie buckled onto a hard kitchen chair. ‘I must go to see him.’

  ‘Not in that bloody state you won’t,’ snapped Angela, picking up her keys.

  ‘Shall I come with you?’ asked Robert, trying to get back in favour.

  ‘No, you damn well can’t. Fat lot of good you’d be in a hospital, full of sick people.’

  31

  Angela slammed her car door shut and sat shaking with anger. How the hell was she going to handle this shit-storm? She leant her head on the steering wheel, the backs of her eyes prickling with tears of frustration. She sat up straight again and took three slow deep breaths. How could Mamie and Queenie have been so very stupid? She’d have to clear that mess up later but, for now, top of the priority list was Mike. The poor man could have died. He could still. Oh God, she hoped he had covered the event sufficiently with insurance. The health and safety lobby would be all over this. Why had she ever thought that digging out a stupid pond was a good idea? She’d just been trying so hard to bring the village together and it had nearly killed poor Mike. With another deep sigh, she put the key into the ignition, slammed into first gear and set off for the hospital.

  Angela’s mood didn’t improve when she entered the hospital car park and found it full. She cruised around for twenty minutes, praying to Saint Philomena (who had never let her down for a parking space before), until finally, she saw the blessed white reversing lights of a small red car come twinkling about ten spaces from her. She pulled over, indicating her intention, and waited and waited.

  A young man in an Audi stopped close behind her and beeped his horn.

  She opened her window and waved him past, which he did while tapping his temple as if she were a moron.

  Swallowing a searing spear of anger, she ignored him, focusing on the space she wanted. She could see that the driver was an elderly man in a trilby hat, and she moved her car a little closer so that he could see her. He spotted her and waved affably.

  Her grin, she hoped, suggested that she was in a bit of a hurry, and she added a thumbs up to encourage him to get a move on.

  Returning her thumbs up, he very slowly got himself settled.

  He readjusted his rear-view mirror, found his spectacle case, took out his glasses, polished them and then placed them on his face.

  ‘Come on you, stupid man,’ Angela muttered with a clenched jaw.

  He was pulling on a pair of driving gloves now.

  Angela drummed at the steering wheel, mumbling under her breath, ‘Comeoncomeoncomeon.’

  He began to pull out, then move forward six inches, then pull out again, and move forward a few more inches.

  ‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ she shouted. ‘Please please please get this man OUT OF THAT SPACE.’

  Finally, he slid out and drove away, touching the brim of his hat in gratitude.

  She swung into the space and drove straight into a concrete bollard. The noise brought a young couple and an older man over to gloat at her misfortune.

  ‘You’ve hit the bollard,’ said the older man.

  She unwound the window and said through gritted teeth, ‘Yes, thank you.’

  The young woman threw her pennyworth in too. ‘My mum done that as well. My dad was really, really cross with her.’

  The young man got onto his haunches and looked at the damage. ‘That’s gonna cost you.’

  ‘Right,’ Angela said tensely.

  ‘Do you want me to call anybody?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Your hubby’s going to go mad,’ the young woman said.

  ‘Very probably.’

  Finally, after they’d squeezed as much pleasure from her misfortune as possible, she was left on her own and gave herself permission to cry a little.

  She opened the glove box for the travel tissues she always kept there. But the box was empty, bringing fresh tears of anger and frustration. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve instead and, taking a few more deep breaths, got out of the car and headed for A&E.

  She finally found Mike in a curtained bay with a drip attached to his arm and very sleepy. But, thankfully, very much alive.

  ‘Hi, Mike. It’s Angela. I am so sorry that this has happened. How are you feeling?’

  With some effort he opened his eyes. ‘A bit better. My leg is bad.’

  ‘Have they X-rayed you?’

  ‘Yes. Just waiting to hear what the damage is.’ He closed his eyes again. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m very sleepy.’

  ‘You sleep and I will stay with you.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’

  The hospital staff were overloaded with casualties but Mike’s injuries bumped him up the list pretty quickly. The X-ray revealed that there were three breaks and that they would need surgery to pin them that evening. The force of the digger had also cracked two ribs and given Mike some internal bruising.

  ‘You are a lucky man, Mr Bates,’ said the orthopaedic surgeon who looked about fourteen. ‘Things could have been a lot worse.’

  As Mike was wheeled down to theatre, Angela reassured him that she would be there when he woke up. ‘I want to make sure you are OK, and anyway, they don’t need me at home tonight. They have enough to keep them busy.’

  While she waited for his return, she texted Robert.

  Mike in theatre pinning broken leg. Two ribs broken and internal bruising but comfortable on painkillers. I shall wait here until I know he’s settled. Tell Mamie I will talk to her tomorrow.

  She pressed send, then turned her phone off. Her stupid, irresponsible, and selfish family could fend for themselves for once.

  Mike came up from theatre very late but the surgeon was pleased with the results.

  ‘The op has gone well and the fractures should heal in six to eight weeks. He was lucky that the breaks were clean. When the swelling goes down over the next few days, we’ll plaster the leg and get him home. He will be on crutches and we’ll schedule some physiotherapy appointments. He won’t be driving until the plaster is off. Has he got anyone at home to look after him?’

  Angela rubbed her scalp, feeling exhausted. ‘He lives alone but I’m sure I can sort something out.’

  Saying goodbye to Mike and promising to look after his dogs and to bring Mamie with her the next day, she headed home, leaving a chunk of bumper on the tarmac.

  Angela got home to a dark house. Letting herself in, she walked through the dark hall to the kitchen where the glow of a soft table lamp led her.

  Robert was sitting up. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How is he?’

  Angela dropped her bag and went to the fridge. ‘He’s OK. He’ll be home in a couple of days but will need help at home. I’ve said we can have his dogs too; at least Mr Worthington likes them. It feels like the least I could do.’ She took out a bottle of rosé and poured a glass.

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ Robert said quietly.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I have spoken to Mamie and Faith,’ he said.

  ‘I’m too tired to hear it.’

  ‘They promise it will never happen again and that nobody will find out.’

  ‘How can they be sure?’

  ‘No witnesses.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘Ben has promised not to say anything either. He’s a good lad.’

  ‘Yes.’ She took a deep draught of the chilled wine. ‘What a terrible day.’

  Robert got up and went to rub the back of Angela’s neck. She tipped her head back. ‘That’s good.’

  He moved his hands across her shoulders, kneading her muscles gently. ‘Do you want to hear the good news?’

  ‘Is there any?’ she groaned.

  ‘The water level at the pond site is rising. It looks like we have a village pond, after all.’

  The next morning, after walking Mike’s spaniels, Danvers and Davey, a weary A
ngela got ready for church.

  What would her parishioners be thinking of her after yesterday’s débâcle? She had messed up very badly. She wouldn’t blame them if they had lost their confidence in her entirely.

  She journeyed across the churchyard, which was pricked with cornflowers and buttercups, dew glistening from them like diamonds, but saw nothing other than her shadow in its long robe wavering towards the vestry door.

  Processing down the aisle to the first hymn, she saw from the corner of her eye people watching her. One or two touched her arm gently as she passed. She heard, ‘You OK, Vicar?’ from one of the Bible group mums. The hymn came to an end and, as the last organ notes died, Angela faced her congregation.

  ‘Good morning, everybody. As you will have heard, Mike Bates had a serious accident at the pond dig, and was taken to hospital with suspected fractures. The good news is that his broken leg was operated on last night and he could be out of hospital in a few days. He also has a couple of broken ribs but the doctor has reassured me that his lungs have not been pierced. He does have some internal bruising but the superficial bleeding has stopped. And the main thing is he’s stable and will just need time to get back on his feet.

  ‘This is the real time that us – the parish of Pendruggan – can pull together. I set out to do the Pond Dig because I wanted to pull the parish together, but it’s the people that make the parish, and each and every one of us can make a difference to Mike to speed his recovery.’

  Her voice wobbling, she paused and searched the upturned faces for Polly.

  ‘May I thank Polly for her swift action and CPR, which, to my mind, saved his life.’ Polly was embarrassed as a murmur of thanks swept the nave. ‘She also helped Audrey Tipton, who suffered from heatstroke and was very unwell. How is she this morning, Polly?’

  Polly stood up. ‘Feeling a lot better. Geoffrey wanted to apologise for them not being here today. But I told him to keep her cool, hydrated and rested for another twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Thank you, Polly.’

  Polly remained standing. ‘And how is your husband? He didn’t seem too well after Audrey’s vomiting spell? I see her and your aunt aren’t here this morning.’

  Angela’s pale face flushed. ‘He’s a lot better, thank you, Polly. Mamie is keeping an eye on him.’ Moving on, she continued, ‘I haven’t been down to the pond site this morning, but I have heard that we seem to have found a water source and that the pond is beginning to fill.’