The Newcomer

by Fern Britton

  Mike walked back to his seat, his heart breaking, while all around him people wept.

  Simple Tony stood up and walked to the altar. Nervously, he smoothed his hair down and looked at Angela, who gave him a tearful nod of approval.

  He began.

  ‘Missus had a lovely car. A Jensen Interceptor sports car. 1976. Seven-point-two litre. She let me clean it. Once, she let me sit in it while she turned the engine on. We didn’t drive anywhere because I told her I didn’t like driving in cars, so she put the radio on and this song came on. She said it was her favourite and I would like to sing it for you today. It’s called “Unforgettable” because she was.’

  He cleared his throat and then began. His beautiful clear singing of the great love song swept along the aisles and swooped up into the vaulted roof and gradually people joined in, as best they could through their tears.

  Angela’s final words before they headed out to the churchyard for Mamie’s burial were heartfelt.

  ‘This is my last service here. How well I remember sitting in this empty church with Mamie just before I started. She told me that all parishes, small cosy ones like Pendruggan or large inner-city ones with knife crime, racial tension and poverty, were the same under the skin. She told me that humans couldn’t help but make a mess of their lives and will keep on doing so. That is the challenge of being human and being alive. It’s a challenge that my family have faced and that your families have faced. I came here a newcomer, but I leave as your friend.’

  Mamie’s grave was in a pretty corner of the churchyard. A cherry blossom tree stood at one end and the other was open to the sunny skies.

  As the service drew to a close and Angela committed Mamie to her final resting place, Audrey, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly fled, a concerned Geoff calling after her.

  Queenie watched her go with her shrewd eyes. She spoke under her breath as though Mamie were standing next to her. ‘Now where the ’ell does she think she’s going? Summink’s not right there, I’m telling you. And by the way, Simple Tony done you proud, didn’t he?’

  The wake was in the village hall. It could have been at the vicarage but Angela felt that only the most macabre of guests would enjoy stepping on the exact spot where Mamie had died.

  The trestle tables were covered in cakes and sandwiches, and tea flowed constantly, oiling the conversations and the anecdotes about Mamie.

  Angela found Queenie sitting in a corner chatting to Mike. ‘May I interrupt?’ she asked.

  ‘You go ahead, me duck. Mike and I were just saying how well you did today.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. Actually, Queenie, Mamie wanted me to give you something of hers. She thought you might like it.’

  ‘Ooo-er!’ said Queenie, thrilled. ‘Whatever has she left me?’

  ‘You know her fur coat?’

  Queenie began to cry. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s yours.’

  ‘Rita Hayworth’s coat?’

  ‘The very one.’

  Queenie patted her heart with shock. ‘Oh my good Gawd. Oh, me heart. That lovely coat? Mine? Has anyone got a drop of brandy? My heart’s going ten to the dozen. Can I come and get it now?’

  ‘I’ll bring it over to you tomorrow. How about that?’

  ‘Oh, yes. That would be lovely. Oh, I don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight, I really don’t.’

  ‘I’ll get Robert to walk you home now. I think we are all tired.’

  No one wanted any supper that night. Angela had asked Mike if he would like to stay with them for a bit, but he made his excuses and went back to his cottage. Angela could see the pain of his grief and promised herself that she would always stay in touch. As Mamie would have wanted.

  Angela decided on a hot bath and an early night and was on her way upstairs, thinking always of Mamie, when there was a knock at the door.

  Robert appeared from the sitting room. ‘Who the hell is that? Bit late, isn’t it?’

  He went to the door and opened it. Outside were two police officers with Audrey and Geoffrey.

  ‘Mr Whitehorn?’ asked one of the officers. ‘May we come in?’

  ‘Er, yes. Of course. Can I offer you some tea? Coffee?’

  ‘That’s kind, but no thank you.’

  Robert stepped aside, allowing the visitors to come in. He had no idea why they were here. Angela came back down to join him.

  In the sitting room, Audrey and Geoffrey were sitting mute and small on the sofa.

  ‘Do you know these two?’ asked one of the officers.

  ‘Yes. Mr and Mrs Tipton,’ said Robert. ‘Why? Are they in trouble of some kind?’

  ‘Possibly. You see, Mrs Tipton handed herself into the station this afternoon claiming she murdered a woman in this house.’

  Angela felt her knees shake and she sat down quickly. ‘What?’

  ‘I believe your aunt is recently deceased?’

  ‘Yes.’ Robert went to Angela and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘My wife’s aunt. We buried her today.’

  ‘Well, that concurs with the story Mrs Tipton told us earlier. She feels she was responsible for her death.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Angela.

  Audrey spoke. ‘It was me. You see, the night of the dinner party, Geoffrey was talking to Mamie about her perfume and when we got back home he wouldn’t stop telling me how much he liked it and that I should get some. I was so, so … jealous that, once Geoff was asleep, I came over here and let myself in with the key Simon gave me as guardian for when he was away. Geoff had told me that Mamie had told him she kept a bottle of perfume in the downstairs cloakroom so I thought, if I crept in and made a note of the name of it, I could creep out again and no one would be any the wiser. But …’ Her face fell and she began to cry. ‘But Mamie heard me and she came out onto the landing and she said, “I can see you. I know who you are,” and I got scared and bolted for the door. I got it open and she was coming down the stairs and as I was about to run off, she fell and banged her head and … and … God forgive me, I ran away.’

  ‘Did you touch her? Push her?’ Angela asked angrily.

  ‘No, no, I promise. But if it hadn’t been for me she wouldn’t have fallen on the stairs.’

  Robert addressed the police officers. ‘Is there a case to be answered here?’

  ‘We can definitely investigate it now we have this witness statement from Mrs Tipton.’

  ‘Good,’ said Robert loudly. ‘Mrs Tipton is a busybody.’

  Audrey squawked in horror. ‘Please don’t let me go to jail.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll get a prison term,’ said Robert, opening the sitting room door. ‘But perhaps some community service would do you good. Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I have had a very difficult day and we are tired. Goodnight.’

  38

  ‘Serves her right. Nosy cow.’ Queenie was in full flow. ‘How could she just run away when Mamie had hurt herself? I know what I’d do to her. I’d throw the bloody book at her.’

  Angela rubbed her tired head. ‘Mamie would have forgiven her.’

  ‘Forgiveness, my arse. I’ve lost me best friend. Mike’s lost the love of his life and you’ve lost your aunt.’

  ‘I know that, Queenie, but it was an accident.’

  ‘Humph.’ Queenie folded her arms across her bosoms. ‘You’re too nice.’

  Angela passed Queenie the large bag she was carrying. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘The fur coat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Angela watched as Queenie pulled out the fur coat and held it to her face. ‘I can smell her perfume.’

  ‘Shalimar,’ said Angela. ‘Here, let me help you on with it.’

  Queenie slipped her arms through the satin-lined sleeves and wrapped the coat around her.

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, ‘I feel like the bloody Queen herself.’

  ‘It suits you.’

  ‘Does it? I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘It’s yours.’

  ‘By the way,’ sa
id Queenie, ‘I wonder if you found the silver bell anklet what Winston Churchill junior gave her in Marrakesh so that he could always hear her coming? I think she said there was a necklace that went with it.’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen that. I don’t think I even know the story behind it.’

  ‘Well, if you find them, be sure to keep ’em safe.’

  ‘I will.’

  Queenie took Angela’s hands. ‘You will be sad. And there’s no shame in being sad and missing her. But one day you’ll think of her without getting all upset and you’ll remember funny things you’ll have forgotten at the moment. But she loved you. With all her heart. You were the daughter she didn’t have. She talked about you all the time.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. How clever you are. What a good mum. How Robert loves the bones of you. You see, you have what Mamie dreamt of. She told me that once. She admired all the work you put into juggling your life. She could never have done that. Not until she met Mike. And even then, I’m not sure she would have been able to stay put. But don’t tell Mike that.’

  Angela reached for Queenie and hugged her tight. ‘Thank you. Thank you for telling me that. It makes me feel a bit better.’

  ‘And so it should.’

  Angela left the shop and found herself heading for the church. Mamie’s grave was filled in, the earth heaped up in a mound on top of her. The temporary wooden cross gave her name and dates.

  Angela sat down next to it.

  ‘Darling, I hate to leave you here but I know that your spirit will be on every breeze and in every gin and tonic and smile and thought I have. Thank you for getting me this far. I couldn’t have done any of this without your confidence in my ambition. I am going to miss you for ever but we will come down to visit very often. Robert’s even talking about us buying a little cottage down here. Something for our retirement. Queenie and Mike will take care of you. Mike’s got a planting plan lined up so that you will always be surrounded by flowers, the sun and the soft rain. I’ll be back soon. Send my love to Mum and all my love to you. I’m off to be a newcomer in another parish now, but you have shown me I have nothing to be scared of. Where there is love there will always be open arms to welcome me.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Dear all,

  How happy I am to be back with you. The last year has been rather wonderful and very difficult. The Newcomer was written in many places. It began at home and then, after my amazing mother died, on a mad whim and need for solace, I wrote a huge chunk on the QM2 Atlantic crossing. I hope you can hear the waves!

  One morning I got ready for the Captain’s Cocktail Party but instead that night I found myself in the middle of the ship’s choir. They were singing songs from Les Mis. After a couple of bars, my tears started flowing and I hastened to my cabin, embarrassed. I’d rather have had a cocktail!

  The second part of the book has been written in hotel rooms around the country as I tour with Calendar Girls The Musical. How easy I thought that would be! Theatre at night and writing during the day. What could possibly go wrong?

  Turns out that grief and a big schedule, whilst being a salvation, was also rather exhausting. I missed several deadlines. My many big thank-yous go to:

  My cycling girls who are the greatest support and succour.

  The crew of the QM2 who befriended this lost soul. Thank you for the curry night.

  My wonderful editor Kim Young who held her nerve and supported me through deadline after deadline. There would be no book without you.

  My literary agent Luigi Bonomi who carried me with support and kindness.

  My friend and agent John Rush. The Best.

  Elizabeth Dawson, publicist and soul sister.

  And, last but not least, Lucy, Toby, Damian, Pauline and all my Calendar Girls colleagues who have put up with me these last nine months.

  I really do love you all.

  Fern xx

  About the Author

  Fern Britton is the highly acclaimed author of seven Sunday Times bestselling novels. Her books are cherished for their warmth, wit and wisdom, and have won Fern legions of loyal readers.

  Fern has been a judge for the Costa Book of the Year Award and is a supporter of the Reading Agency, promoting literacy and reading.

  A hugely popular household name through iconic shows such as This Morning and Fern Britton Meets … Fern is also a much sought-after presenter and radio host. She has now turned her hand to theatre and is currently touring with Gary Barlow and Tim Firth’s Calendar Girls.

  Fern lives with her husband, Phil Vickery, and her four children in Buckinghamshire and Cornwall.

  To find out more about Fern’s books and upcoming projects, visit:

  /officialfernbritton

  @Fern_Britton

  www.fern-britton.com

  By the same author:

  Fern: My Story

  New Beginnings

  Hidden Treasures

  The Holiday Home

  A Seaside Affair

  A Good Catch

  The Postcard

  Coming Home

  Short stories

  The Stolen Weekend

  A Cornish Carol

  The Beach Cabin

  Published in one collection as

  A Cornish Gift

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