by Fern Britton
‘Ha, he’ll never know this,’ scoffed Mike.
‘Do you know it?’ asked Mamie.
‘Of course I don’t. Who would!’
The young contestant was looking anxious.
‘Come on, Toby. You need this to stay in the game,’ Ben urged.
‘Is it,’ Toby hesitated, ‘is it Kazuo Ishiguro?’
Ben’s grin lit up the screen. ‘That is correct! How did you know that?’
‘The Remains of the Day is one of my favourite books,’ Toby said without showing off.
‘A-ha!’ crowed Mamie. ‘Never assume anyone knows less than you, Michael Bates.’
‘Fair play to him,’ Mike allowed. He tipped the last of his whisky into his mouth. ‘Any chance of another one?’
‘None.’ Mamie stood up. ‘I’ll get you your supper. Pork pie and salad OK?’
The carer to get Mike ready for bed arrived just after eight, by which point Mike was tired and happy to get an early night.
‘It’s been a very exciting day,’ he yawned. ‘So happy to be at home and so thankful for your company.’
Mamie placed a glass of water on the table by his bed and a little metal bell next to it. ‘If you need me, just ring. I’m only at the top of the stairs.’
He took her hand and said sincerely, ‘Thank you, my dear. For all you have done. Means a great deal to me.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ She kissed his brow. ‘Sleep tight.’ And for the first time in her considerably adventurous life, Mamie could see that a simple life could indeed be an adventure she was ready for.
As the week went on, Mike got stronger and more mobile, while Mamie, although tired, enjoyed their daily routine of doing the crossword, listening to music or simply snoozing together on separate armchairs after lunch.
On Thursday Mamie decided that lunch would be one of Queenie’s pasties.
‘I haven’t seen her for days,’ she told Mike. ‘I miss her.’
‘And her gossip?’ he suggested.
‘Well, maybe a little. Would you like to come? I can get the wheelchair out of the car?’
It was now August and the village children were enjoying the summer holiday by playing rounders on the green.
Mamie and Mike stopped for a few minutes to watch. ‘I suppose before too long Faith will getting herself ready for school.’ Mike smiled. ‘I remember the fun of getting smart new pencils and rulers for the start of term.’
‘Me too.’ Mamie thought back. ‘My poor mother would take my sister and me to buy new shoes because our feet would have grown so much since the beginning of the summer. There would be terrible rows over what styles we wanted and what styles our mother said we had to have. All of us would leave the shop in tears, every time. Those poor shop assistants. They must have dreaded us coming in.’
A light breeze blew up and Mamie noticed Mike had goosebumps on his unplastered leg. He could only wear shorts for the time being.
‘I told you I should have brought a rug for your knees.’
‘Don’t fuss, darling. I’m fine.’
She turned his chair towards the village shop. ‘It’ll be warmer in Queenie’s.’
Queenie was delighted to see them and busily set about making tea and selecting two of her best pasties.
‘Fresh this morning,’ she told them, licking her fingers to open a paper bag and popping the two pasties inside. ‘There you go, my ducks. On the house.’
‘Thank you. They smell very good,’ Mike said. ‘Have you got the latest Country Life?’
Queenie bustled to her magazine shelf. ‘Here we are. I’ll bring the little heater closer for you and you can have a read while I catch up with Mamie.’
‘You go ahead,’ said Mike, finding his reading glasses and putting them on. ‘I’m happy here.’
Queenie nudged Mamie while Mike was engrossed. ‘Here.’ She winked and pointed to the back of the shop. ‘Come round the back for a quiet chat. Is it true your Angela is moving back to London?’
Meanwhile at the vicarage, the night Faith’s sins were revealed became a moment that, when they looked back at the thread of time, had a red flag planted upon it.
As happens in families, all three of them had not noticed that the bonds that kept them close had loosened. Each of them, without recognising it, had drifted on the current of their own wants and needs. Angela focused on the parish and her future. Robert looked for things to occupy his mind while not admitting to himself that he couldn’t wait to get back to London and the dog-eat-dog world of political journalism. And in between the two of them a fifteen-year-old girl dispossessed of her friendship group, afraid to tell her parents she was being bullied at school, and investing all her anxieties in working on a plan to get her family back to the home she knew.
Angela could understand why Faith had done the terrible things she had done but Robert found it harder.
‘It’s as if I don’t know you any more,’ he told her. ‘I don’t know what to think or what to say to you.’
Faith was exhausted by her tears and her father’s reaction. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry and I truly am.’
Angela, sitting between them on Faith’s bed, appealed to Robert. ‘We can learn from this. I’m grateful that we know the truth. Faith needs us to listen and hear what she’s saying. We can be angry or we can rebuild ourselves and face the future. Together.’
Faith began to smile.
Robert glared at her. ‘I’m glad you think is funny.’
‘No, Dad, I don’t, but Mum sounded just like a TED Talk then.’ She started to giggle.
Angela’s lips twitched. ‘Oh golly, I did, didn’t I!’
‘I’m sorry, am I missing something?’ Robert was still angry. ‘What is a TED Talk?’
The girls began laughing helplessly. ‘It’s like a podcast, Dad. Inspirational motivational …’ Faith couldn’t finish the sentence and rolled on to her back shrieking with laughter.
Angela tried to explain, ‘It’s all very modern and trendy and …’
Robert interrupted, ‘Bloody claptrap is what it sounds like.’ Which set mum and daughter off again.
‘Oh, Dad, I do love you.’ Faith reached over to him and hugged him.
‘Yeah, well, I love you too.’ He kissed the top of her head. The smell of her overwhelmed him as it had since the day she was born. ‘It’s going to take me time to forgive you for doing that to your mum, young lady. But I do love you, nothing will ever change that. So what happens now?’ He asked.
‘We go back home,’ said Angela. ‘As a family.’
As anyone knows, news spreads fast in a small community but in Pendruggan it spread infinitely faster than in most.
Within forty-eight hours, Angela’s front door had seen more visitors than it had in the previous six months.
Her larder was filling with welcome gifts of homemade marmalade, local honey, artisan gin and Sea Salt Scented St Eval candles, and each day several invitations to lunch or tea would arrive.
She couldn’t possibly accept every one of them, because her date to leave the village and take up her new job had been confirmed. It was in three weeks.
It was with mixed feelings that she announced her plans at church the next Sunday.
‘Good morning, everybody.’
‘Mornin’, Vicar,’ replied Tony from his pew, his glossy sleek hair slicked down for the occasion.
‘I believe you have all heard that it won’t be long before I have to leave you, earlier than I intended, but as it turns out, not earlier than God intended. I have been called to another parish, one that will be my own. My first true parish.
‘I am due to start in just a few weeks, but you won’t be left in the lurch. Rev Rowena, of St Peter’s in Trevay, is going to share you with her parish until Simon gets back in the New Year. But I want you all to know how much you and this church, in Pendruggan, will forever be in my heart as the place where my life as a vicar began. Each and every one of you have given me courage, friendship and memories that ca
n never be erased.
‘Yesterday I received an email from Simon in Brazil, wishing me well and asking me to leave notes on how to run the animal blessing service. He seems determined to make that an annual event.’ A ripple of amusement ran round the church and Tony clapped.
‘The running club is doing very well. OK, there may be only five of us who run regularly,’ she paused for more laughter, ‘but we five are up to ten miles non-stop now, which I count as a huge success.’ She looked around the faces gazing up at her. ‘Where are my runners? Stand up, would you, and take a bow.’
Dorrie, Ella, Ben’s mum Sarah and Helen stood to a polite round of applause.
Angela went on, ‘One of my least successful events was the digging of the old pond. It led to Mike Bates having his leg and several ribs broken. If it hadn’t been for Polly’s quick medical attention, he might not have been here today.’ Her voice faltered as she felt her guilt and stupidity. She searched for Polly. ‘Polly, stand up and take a well-deserved round of applause.’
‘Oh, ’tis nothing.’ Polly smiled, flapping her hand to make the noise stop, before sitting down.
Simple Tony put his hand up. ‘It was my idea, miss. To dig the pond.’
Angela smiled at his anxious, innocent face. ‘But I made it happen. It was my responsibility,’ she reminded him.
Digger Pete stood up at the back of the church. ‘It was mine, really. ’Twas me who swung the bloody digger arm at Mr Bates and bloody buried him.’
‘No, no,’ said Angela. ‘It was not your fault.’
Mike, balancing on his crutches, got to his feet. ‘I can’t have this. The fault was all mine. I was too damn nosy and put myself in the firing line.’
Piran stood up. His height and bearing, and the general respect in which he was held, stopped the chatter instantly.
He walked to the front of the church.
‘’Twas nobody’s fault. Accidents happen and that’s that.’ He turned to Angela. ‘We did find a little water on the weekend of the dig – not enough to write home about but it was there and it was clean. Since then we have kept the site fenced off. But me, being an inquisitive sort of bugger – beg pardon, Vicar – have been going down there most nights, doing a bit of my own digging. There was plenty of rubbish down there, but not the modern stuff. Looks like it had been used as the village tip and that’s what clogged it up. Hobnail boots, pottery, glass bottles, clay pipes, you know the sort of thing. Anyway, I’ve been slowly clearing all that and a few nights ago I got a helluva surprise when I pulled out a great clump of clay and silt and the bleddy spring only started running like a tap.’
He looked at Angela and grinned. ‘Pendruggan has got a bleddy pond and it’s beautiful!’
Angela gasped. She closed her eyes, put her hands together and sent a silent, personal prayer of thanks.
‘Can we go and see it?’ asked Tony, his sleek otter head bobbing with excitement.
Again Piran looked to Angela. ‘What do you say?’
‘Well, what can I say but, yes!’
Mike, sitting next to Mamie, whispered to her, ‘I don’t think I can go that far on my crutches.’
She frowned. ‘Bring back the bad memory, you mean?’
‘Good God no, woman. I want to go. Just haven’t got the legs to do it.’
‘Oh, that’s easily sorted.’
She beckoned Piran and Don over. ‘Boys, can you two give this old soldier a shoulder to lean on?’
Outside, the sun was low and warm. A slight breeze ran off the beach and up the lane towards them, rustling the long grass of the verges and pulling at the first autumnal leaves on the trees. It seemed the perfect place for Angela to leave this community that taken her to their hearts.
‘There,’ said Piran, stopping the crowd a few yards from the pond. ‘Can you hear it?’
Everybody stopped and listened. They could hear the gentle waves lapping onto the beach and the chuckle of a seagull skittering on the wind above them, but nothing else.
But then, as ears old and young filtered out the waves and the gull, they heard the faintest trickle.
Like a tiny garden water feature.
‘I can hear it,’ said Tony, so excited he was almost skipping.
‘I can’t hear a bloody thing over your racket,’ Queenie scolded.
‘Sorry.’
As quiet fell again and every ear strained, they all began to hear the same thing. A faint but definite sound of bubbling water.
‘You all hear that?’ asked Piran.
Everyone nodded.
‘Then come and see it.’
Just a few steps on and there it was. Not yet a boating pond but a small clear pool of water about six metres in circumference.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Polly with reverence. ‘The earth goddess is pleased.’
Faith wriggled out of her Doc Martens. ‘Can I paddle in it?’
‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ warned Piran. ‘There’s glass and all sorts still in there.’
‘Oh. Well, can I just dip my toes?’ she asked, looking at her mother.
‘Be careful!’ said Angela.
Polly delved inside her large bag and pulled out a small, clean, empty jam pot, the type served with cream teas. ‘I’m going to fill this with the water and bless it. Powerful stuff, this is.’
Angela hid a smile. ‘You bless the water, I’ll bless this place.’
She held her face to the sun and put her hands together.
‘Dear Lord, we thank you for this beautiful pond and the joy it will bring to our village. Bless this ancient spot and keep all who visit here safe. We don’t want any more accidents.’
A wave of laughter swept the group.
She went on, ‘May Mike continue his recovery. Thank you too for bringing me to this place and teaching me so much about life, love, friends and family. I shall miss everyone and will return as often as possible. Amen.’
‘Amen.’
36
‘You know what?’ Angela announced one morning at breakfast.
Robert lowered his newspaper and peered at her. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to like this.’
‘I am going to host a dinner party for the key people of Pendruggan. To thank them and to say goodbye properly.’
Robert groaned and lifted his paper again. ‘Yep, I knew I wouldn’t like it.’
‘Don’t be so mean. I’m thinking of maybe Thursday night.’
Robert gave up reading and folded his paper. ‘That’s three days away.’
‘Plenty of time then,’ she grinned. ‘Mamie will help me.’
Robert stood up and made for the hall. ‘Don’t let her cook. Please.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To sit in my study and read my paper.’
‘OK. Coffee at eleven?’ she asked.
‘You spoil me,’ he said before closing his study door.
Angela watched him go then found the kitchen notepad and began scribbling down a guest list.
Mamie found her sitting there ten minutes later.
‘Good morning, darling,’ she chirped. ‘Thought I should check in to see how everything is going without me here.’ She put the kettle on and helped herself to the biscuit tin. ‘Oh, good. Chocolate Hobnobs. Mike is a bit of a puritan where biscuits are concerned. His favourites are Rich Tea. I mean, they are no good at all. Very dull. The sort of thing a vicar might have for the nuns.’
Angela gave her a withering look. ‘Thank you for that.’
Mamie made her tea and brought a handful of Hobnobs with her. ‘You are a much more exciting vicar, darling … although there was that Christmas when you only had those ghastly pink wafers in the house.’ She shuddered. ‘I can’t bear to think about them.’ She dunked her biscuit and took a mouthful. ‘Bliss. What are you up to?’
‘We are giving a dinner party on Thursday.’
Mamie raised her eyebrow. ‘Oh, are we?’
‘You will help me, won’t you?’
‘Tell m
e who is coming and I shall decide.’
‘Well, you and Mike of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘Helen and Piran. Ben and Faith. Robbie and Gasping Bob. Don and Dorrie from the pub. Ben’s mum, Sarah. Queenie. Evelyn and …’
Mamie waited for Angela to reveal the next name and then realisation dawned. ‘Oh, no. I will not sit at a dinner table with that ghastly woman and her cringing husband.’
‘They have to come.’ Angela was firm. ‘Audrey and Geoffrey would be very hurt to be excluded and for all her—’
‘Rudeness.’
‘Little foibles, she does have a good heart.’
‘Good heart my arse.’ Mamie dunked another Hobnob. ‘And Geoffrey is King Bore of Bore Land.’
‘He thinks you are gorgeous.’
‘Well, he would! Having to wake up next to that gargoyle every morning. If they share a bed. I bet she has the bed and makes him sleep on the floor next to her, like one of her bloody dogs.’
‘Mamie! That’s a terrible thing to say. I don’t like it when you are so nasty.’
‘You still need my help, though, don’t you?’
‘I can do it on my own,’ Angela sniffed. ‘But yes, I would like your help as long as you keep your horrible thoughts to yourself.’
‘I shall be the model hostess.’
‘Good. I’m working on the menu.’
‘Ah now, I’m good at that. I am cordon bleu trained, after all.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Well, I attended a one-hour cookery demonstration when I was a student at the Lucie Clayton Charm School.’ Mamie stretched her slender legs out under the kitchen table, her mind going back to the sixties. ‘The chef was an absolute dish. I can’t remember what he was making but I can see his eyes now. Like amber pools in his tanned face. Of course his French accent was le icing on le cake. But it wasn’t to be. He went off with bloody Lumley. Took her out for dinner and expected more. Typical French. She told us the next day that she had to smack him. Only made him more keen, of course. We had to hide her under our coats and smuggle her into the school every day. Such fun. Such a great girl.’
‘The last time you told me that story, the chef was Italian,’ Angela said.
‘Maybe he was.’ Mamie ran her hands through her hair. ‘Who cares? Why spoil a good story for a bit of truth?’