Coming Home
Page 31
I need nothing. I have everything I could ever want. I have found you and you are so precious to me.
I know Mum and Poppa will be happy knowing you are financially secure. Please do whatever you want with the enclosed cheque.
I shall be going back to India with Kafir soon. He is to me what Kit is to you. I do hope you will come and see us as often as you like. I’ll teach you how to wrap a sari.
Thank you for letting me back into your lives.
Love
Mum x
Henry read his.
Dear Henry, my son.
I made such a big mistake years ago. Leaving you was so wrong, but I never stopped thinking about you and loving you. Seeing you walk your sister down the aisle yesterday was the proudest day of my life.
The enclosed cheque is for you. I realise now it’s not my choice but yours.
I love you very much and always have.
Mum x
A Year Later
It was a stiflingly hot day in Agra. Sennen had the ceiling fans in the house doing their best to stir the turgid air, and outside she had set a small table under the shade of a Plumbago tree. She leant back in her chair and took a sip of the iced lemonade she had made that morning.
Kafir came out to join her. ‘Post from Cornwall,’ he said, handing her the letter.
She pulled her reading glasses from her head. ‘Thank you. Have some lemonade?’
She opened the envelope as Kafir helped himself.
Her new reading glasses brought Ella’s handwriting into sharp focus. ‘It’s an invitation.’ She smiled. ‘To Billie’s Christening.’
Little Billie Beauchamp, named after her great-grandfather and just eight weeks old, blinked and gurgled as the Reverend Simon Canter sprinkled holy water from the font on to her head. He blessed her and kissed her and handed her back to her mother, Ella, who beamed. Her grin could not have stretched further.
Sennen took a photograph on her phone and then asked Simon anxiously, ‘Sorry. Is it okay to take pictures in the church?’
‘Of course. A joyous occasion such as this must be recorded. How about I take one of you and Grandfather Kafir with Billie and her parents?’ Aali and Sabu barged in. ‘Oh, yes, and you two. Goodness. Can’t forget the uncles and aunts can we?’ Simon took several pictures before turning his attention to Deborah and Henry. ‘And what about the godparents! Come on, everyone, squeeze in.’
Henry put one arm around Ella and another around Deborah whose pregnant bump was clear.
With all the pictures done, Kit said, ‘Right, time for tea. Simon, you and your wife are very welcome. Pencil House is tiny but we’ll all squeeze in I’m sure.’
‘That’s very kind, I’ll go and collect Penny and we’ll follow on. I have always wanted to see inside Pencil House. It was Ella’s grandparents’ home, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. Their first house. I think Sennen may even have been born there. When it went up for sale, Ella insisted we put an offer in.’
Ella, cradling Billie, touched Kit’s arm, ‘Your daughter will be hungry in a minute and your wife needs a cup of tea. Mum and Kafir are so looking forward to seeing the house.’
Debs was desperate to take her shoes off. ‘Henry, I need to sit down, your son is kicking the hell out of me.’
‘Oh, darling. Sorry. I just want a word with the vicar before he goes. Sit on the pew here.’
Henry caught Simon as he was on his way to the vestry. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.
‘Yes, Henry?’ Simon replied, smiling.
‘I’m not much of a churchgoer, but would you – would we be able to ask you to baptise our baby?’
‘Of course. I’d be delighted. May I ask, have you been baptised?’
Henry hung his head, ‘No, if that means we can’t …’
‘Not at all, in fact, I could always do a double baptism? Father and child?’
‘I don’t think that’s really …’
‘Well, maybe a wedding and a baptism?’
Henry chewed his lip. ‘Ah well, I haven’t asked Debs …’
Simon patted him on the shoulder. ‘Then I suggest you do.’
The little front garden of Pencil House was bright with pots of dahlias and hydrangeas. Kit had hung pink bunting around the windows and front door and outside was a hand-painted sign saying:
BILLIE BEACHAMP’S CHRISTENING GUESTS WELCOME
The tall thin house gathered the day’s joy within its walls and passed that happiness to the people within. Guests left full of sandwiches cake and tea, safe in the certainty that Billie would grow up loved and secure.
The star of the show herself, had not let anyone down and was now sleeping blissfully in her upstairs cot.
Sennen and Ella crept in to look at her. ‘She’s been a good girl, hasn’t she,’ doted Sennen. ‘And she looks so like you.’
‘Does she?’ Ella asked, surprised that Sennen would remember.
‘Oh yes. And I think she will have your temperament too.’
Sennen stroked the sleeping face with the back of her hand. ‘So wonderful. Three generations in the same room. The room where I suppose my cot was and where Mum and Poppa would stand like this looking at me.’
‘Four generations if they were here,’ sighed Ella.
‘I believe they are here,’ said Sennen, ‘in our hearts and minds.’
Much later, they heard a noise on the stairs and Kafir appeared at the door.
Sennen put her finger to her lips, ‘Shh.’
‘I’ve come to tell you that Sabu and Aali are very tired so if it’s okay, I shall take them back to the hotel,’ he whispered.
‘I won’t be long,’ she whispered back.
Ella hugged him. ‘Thank you for coming, Kafir. Billie is lucky to have an Indian grandfather. Think of all those summer holidays.’
‘I am proud to have a granddaughter. In India, I would be called Nannaa I believe.’
‘Nannaa?’
‘Nani, I think.’
Ella looked from Kafir to Sennen, ‘Well, from now on, you are Nannaa and Nanni.’
‘Thank you.’ Kafir bent to kiss Sennen. ‘See you later.’
When Ella and Sennen got downstairs, Kit was setting off the dishwasher and Debs was on the sofa, her swollen legs on Henry’s knee. He was rubbing her ankles.
‘Drink anyone?’ called Kit from the kitchen. ‘I have a bottle of good red that I have hidden away. And an orange juice for pregnant and breastfeeding women.’
Debs groaned. ‘I could murder a glass of Pinot grigio.’
‘Patience my love, patience,’ smiled Henry.
Kit came from the kitchen with a corkscrew and three glasses.
Sennen fetched the orange juice. When she came back Ella, Kit, Henry and Debs were all looking at her. ‘What?’ she said, handing over the orange juice.
Ella looked at Henry. ‘Go on Henry. You first.’
Henry stopped massaging Debs’ ankles and cleared his throat. ‘Over the last few months we’ve all been talking and, well, I have decided to leave my job in London, sell the house in Clapham and …’
‘Not Mandalay Road? I thought you loved it?’ interjected Sennen.
‘Yes, well it seems I love Debs and our baby enough to leave all that behind and buy something here, in Trevay.’
Sennen was amazed. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, and to erm …’
Ella was fidgety with excitement, ‘You know the old Chandlers shop up by the boat sheds?’
‘Yes.’ Sennen was puzzled.
‘We’ve bought it.’
Sennen clapped her hands. ‘Whatever for?’
‘For Granny and Poppa’s art school.’
Sennen’s jaw dropped. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Henry nodded. He continued. ‘It’ll give us all a job. Debs has done the conveyancing. Kit and Ella will run the courses and teach, and I’ll mop up everything else.’
‘But, this is wonderful.’ Sennen’s tears came suddenly. ‘Wonderful. A drea
m come true. I don’t know want to say.’
Henry put his hand in his pocket and threw her a freshly laundered handkerchief, ‘Sorry I can’t stand up. I’m pinned by these galumphing fat ankles.’
Sennen began to laugh, ‘Are you sure about him, Deborah?’
‘As sure as I’ll ever be,’ she sighed.
‘So,’ said Ella, picking up her glass of wine, ‘Let’s raise our glasses to the Adela and William Tallon School of Art.’
‘To Granny and Poppa,’ cheered Henry.
‘And,’ said Sennen, ‘to coming home.’
Acknowledgements
I am so grateful to many people who have really believed in this book.
Firstly Kimberley Young, my editor, who has given me so much faith and support over wine and the kitchen table.
Secondly John Rush and Luigi Bunomi who have tirelessly guided my writing life with infinite kindness and generosity. You are the men I trust and turn to.
Liz Dawson, professionally the finest publicist and personally a great fairy lights arranger.
My dear husband Phil who doesn’t have to read the books because he lives them every day for nine months.
My children who constantly smile and nod and put the kettle on when I need it.
The cats for keeping me company.
And you for reading my books. I hope this one is okay.
With love
Fern xx
About the Author
Fern Britton is the highly acclaimed author of six Sunday Times bestselling novels. Her books are cherished for their warmth, wit and wisdom, and have won Fern legions of loyal readers.
A hugely popular household name through iconic shows such as This Morning, Fern is also a much sough-after presenter. Fern is deeply committed to a number of charities. She lives with her husband, Phil Vickery, and her four children in Buckinghamshire and Cornwall.
To find out more, connect with her at:
www.fern-britton.com,
@Fern Britton
facebook.com/officialfernbritton.
Click here for more information
By the same author:
Fern: My Story
New Beginnings
Hidden Treasures
The Holiday Home
A Seaside Affair
A Good Catch
The Postcard
Short stories
The Stolen Weekend
A Cornish Carol
The Beach Cabin
Published in one collection as
A Cornish Gift
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