by Fern Britton
‘All right, keep your ruddy ’air on. Where’s the fire?’
The words died in his mouth as he took in the vision of his usually elegant and graceful girlfriend. Sopping wet and looking like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, Helen fired out her words like short, sharp pistol shots.
‘If I have to suffer one more night of Chinese water torture in my own home, I, Helen Merrifield, am personally going to beat you, Piran Ambrose, to death’ – she yanked a sodden and muddy welly from one foot – ‘with this Wellington boot!!’ She brandished it at him.
For a moment Piran could only stand there in his hastily pulled on boxers, gawping at her. Then he collapsed into gales of helpless laughter. Helen promptly burst into tears and Piran scooped her up, took her inside and then tucked her up in his bed.
It was now Thursday morning and Helen was watching slightly aghast as a man of indeterminate age, but somewhere between eighty-five and one hundred and five years old hoisted a ladder from the top of a battered white van and staggered towards the door of Gull’s Cry. His wispy grey hair was tied back in a ponytail, he wore the tightest of skimpy shorts that showcased the knobbliest of brown knees. He was wearing a T-shirt bearing the legend Cornish Men Do It Slowly and a brown roll-up poked out of the side of his mouth.
‘This is Gasping Bob? The man who’s going to fix my roof?’ she whispered to Piran, incredulous.
‘Don’t judge a book by its cover, maid.’
Piran greeted Gasping Bob like a long-lost friend and Helen was surprised to see the old man shoot up the ladder and on to the roof with the agility of a geriatric Tarzan.
Moments later, he’d assessed the damage and was back down again.
‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Helen.
Gasping Bob shook his head and said, ‘Ah …’
‘Is that good news or bad news?’
He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Ah …’
‘Well, are you going to fix it?’
‘Ah …’
Helen turned to Piran. ‘Please tell me that this man is going to fix my roof. I don’t think I can take much more of this.’
Piran looked at her with irritation. ‘Leave the man to do his work and stop wittering, woman.’ And with that, he and Gasping Bob wandered off in a huddle and carried on their private conversation in what sounded to Helen like more ahs and umms.
Helen balled her fists in annoyance. ‘Bloody Cornwall! Bloody Cornish men!’
And with that she headed off across the village green to the vicarage in hope of finding a cup of tea, or something stronger.
‘So, you’re camping out at Piran’s until further notice then?’ Penny poured them each a cup of tea from the shiny brown tea pot and offered her friend a chocolate HobNob.
‘Looks that way, but we’ll drive each other nuts after a few days. He can’t bear to have a woman cluttering up the place and he’s impossible to live with – just so bloody male, and Cornish male to boot.’ Helen sipped her tea. ‘Got anything stronger?’
‘Brandy? Can’t join you – Simon’s car is playing up again and I’ll have to pick him up in Trevay.’
‘No fun tippling on your own,’ Helen responded. ‘What about you – you look exhausted?’
‘I am. It’s been one thing after another. What with the shoot, then Simon’s stress levels, plus the whole village contriving to drive us into an early grave … I spent most of yesterday baking with Queenie for this Pendruggan Bake-Off thingummy and then, to top it all, we only went and won the first heat.’
‘Congratulations!’ Helen registered the thunderous look on Penny’s face. ‘Aren’t you pleased?’
‘Pleased? That’s the last thing I needed! Now I’ll have to go through the whole blooming thing again next week. There’s four heats and then a grand final, with Mary Berry herself coming to judge. Still, it’ll be a lovely feeling if we beat Audrey Tipton. That woman is the bane of my life.’
‘Oh yes, very satisfying.’
‘All I want to do is to crawl into bed and shut the world away. The post-production of Mr Tibbs will be a walk in the park compared to this lot. Living in Pendruggan can sometimes feel like being beaten to death with a tea cosy!’
The two friends nibbled on their HobNobs glumly.
‘Wait a minute! I’ve had an idea.’ There was an excited gleam in Penny’s eye. ‘I got a call from the director of Mr Tibbs today. We’re all supposed to be having a break before post-production starts, but he told me there are a few problems with the sound quality and he’s getting David Cunningham to come to the dubbing studios to re-do a couple of things.’
Helen nodded, wondering where this was leading.
‘David’s only free for a few days before he moves on to a new project, so they’re recording this weekend,’ Penny continued, her voice bubbling with excitement. ‘While they don’t need me, strictly speaking I should be on hand to make sure all goes well. Which gives me the perfect excuse to nip up to London for the weekend. All I’d have to do is literally pop my head in to make sure that everything’s tickety-boo – once I’ve done that, we can have the whole weekend to ourselves. What do you think?’
Helen sat up and clapped her hands together.
‘London! Oh, Pen, that would be just the tonic we both need. Cornwall’s lovely, but right now, I could just do with a bit of an urban fix. Pizza Express!’
‘Yes!’ said Penny. ‘Twenty-four-hour corner shops that sell everything from corn plasters to condoms!’
‘Harvey Nicks, Selfridges, M&S!’ Helen said gleefully. ‘And I’m sure we could squeeze in dinner at Chez Walter. I’ve such a craving for their slow-roasted pork belly!’
‘I’m a sucker for their venison cottage pie, myself.’ Penny grabbed her friend’s hand conspiratorially. ‘We could even have a night at Mortimer’s.’
‘Oh, God! Champagne cocktails to die for, in the heart of Mayfair! Let’s go now, now, now!’
Suddenly the excitement evaporated from Penny’s face and she slumped back in her seat. ‘Hang on, what about Simon? He’s really under the cosh at the moment. It would be too awful if I left him to it.’
‘Oh, come off it, Simon’s got loads of help. What about the blue-rinse brigade? They always muck in, don’t they? And it’s only for a couple of nights. Piran will be glad to get rid of me and my constant nagging.’
‘I’m not so sure about Simon. We all agree that I’m not the greatest vicar’s wife, but he does rely on me. The trouble is, I’ve had it up to here with it all.’ She waved a hand above her head. ‘If I don’t get away, I’m afraid our marriage will suffer. Is that terribly selfish of me?’
‘Of course it isn’t.’ Helen gave her friend an encouraging smile. ‘You do more for Simon than you realise: you keep him on the straight and narrow; you’re his gatekeeper, holding all the busybodies at bay. You’ve just worked twelve weeks solid, around the clock – you deserve a break.’
‘I know,’ said Penny, miserably. ‘But I’m not sure Simon will agree.’
‘But the timing is terrible.’ Simon’s face was full of consternation. He had been in the study, working on his sermons for the coming weekend’s services, when Penny had come in to broach the subject of going away. His reaction had been much as she’d expected.
‘I know. But they really can’t manage without me,’ she said guiltily, knowing it was a fib. ‘It’s my job to be there,’ she added, which at least was technically true.
‘Well, I’ll just have to manage without you then. I’m sure that some of the other villagers will help out here in Pendruggan.’
‘Of course they will, darling. They’ve never let you down.’ Unlike me, she thought.
‘But you will be back here on Tuesday, in time for the blessing of the bell tower?’
‘Yes, Simon, I’ll make sure we’re home by then.’
‘We?’ Simon raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Oh, Helen and I are travelling together – didn’t I mention it?�
��
‘No, you didn’t.’ Simon’s face was suddenly serious. ‘I realise that you have your own life, Penny, but being a vicar’s wife is important too.’
Penny felt a hot flush of shame creep up her neck, but she needed a break, dammit. Couldn’t he see that? It wasn’t as if she was running off to join the bloody circus!
‘Simon, I promise, I’ll be home on Sunday. It’s just a quick hop. You’ll hardly even notice I’ve gone.’
She gave him a hug that was returned only reluctantly.
Leaving Simon to his sermons, she closed the study door, tiptoed down the hall and then did a little dance for joy. Despite the pangs of guilt, the prospect of her forthcoming great escape filled her with euphoria.
She sent a text to Helen:
Pack that Mulberry weekend bag. I’m booking us on tonight’s sleeper. Bring wine! Px
3
Penny and Helen arrived at Truro station in good time to rendezvous with their overnight-sleeper train to London Paddington.
‘What a complete stroke of genius this is!’ remarked Helen. ‘I’ve never been on a sleeper before.’
‘The last time I went on one was over twenty years ago,’ replied Penny as they climbed aboard the waiting train. ‘Went to Cornwall for the summer while I was at uni. Got myself a job in a pub in Newquay. Beach all day, worked like a Trojan until the pub shut, then went clubbing every night. Had a ball.’
‘Holiday romance?’ Helen’s eyes twinkled.
‘A few.’ Penny winked. ‘One really hot lifeguard called Merlin. He had loads of other girls on the go too, of course, but I didn’t care. I just wanted some fun.’
‘Fun – that’s all we girls want, right?’
‘Right!’ Penny agreed. ‘Especially this weekend. But first we need to find our compartment.’
They wandered up the corridor. ‘Ah, here we are!’ Penny stopped outside their berth and opened the door. Inside it was narrow, but there were two decent-sized bunks, one upper and one lower.’
‘Bagsy I’m having the top one!’ said Helen.
‘Hey, that’s not fair!’
There was an unseemly scuffle as both women laughingly tried to throw their bags on to the top bunk. Through sheer force of will, Helen won out, but justice was delivered when she climbed ungainly up after her bag and promptly banged her head on the ceiling.
‘Serves you right,’ said Penny, good-naturedly.
‘Oh Pen, what an adventure,’ From her vantage point, Helen took in the little wash basin with its hot and cold taps. Each bunk had a snug duvet and plump pillows, and they’d each been provided with soap, a towel and a bottle of mineral water. ‘It’s all so dinky and sweet.’
‘Yep, dinky, sweet and a bit of a tight squeeze. There’s a buffet lounge with a bar down the corridor. I think we should decamp there for a bit,’ said Penny.
‘Another brilliant idea.’
Pausing only to grab their handbags, the two friends set off towards the bar.
Helen pointed her finger unsteadily at her friend. ‘You look pished. Your eyes have shtarted to go.’
‘I’m perfectly sober.’ Penny waggled her head equally unsteadily. ‘You’re mishtaken, me ol’ mucker. It is you who is pished. I mean pissed.’
The women giggled loudly, and for longer than was strictly necessary, drawing attention from the adjoining table. Seated at it was serious-looking middle-aged man, who clearly disapproved. He gave a loud tut.
‘I’m sorry? Did you say something?’ Penny peered at him over the rim of her plastic glass. Two hours ago, they’d bought themselves a sandwich and a teensy bottle of red wine, from which they would each get approximately one small glass each. In front of them on the Formica table now lay the detritus of their half-eaten prawn mayo sandwiches plus eight teensy wine bottles.
Without a word, the tutting man closed the tablet he was reading and stood to leave.
‘Was it something we said?’ Helen asked innocently.
The man tutted again but avoided their eyes as he made his way back to his own compartment.
‘Men!’ said Helen, with feeling. ‘Bet he’s bloody Cornish too.’
‘Don’t get us started on Cornwall and Cornish men again! We’ve worked out that you can’t get a Cornish man to do anything in a hurry.’
‘They don’t like it!’ Helen concurred, loudly.
‘And,’ Penny added, narrowing her eyes, ‘they really don’t like women taking charge.’
‘No, except possibly in the bedroom,’ Helen sniggered.
‘I’m serious!’
‘So am I. You’ve got to admit it, Pen. Cornish men are very, very sexy.’
‘What about Gasping Bob? Was he sexy?’
‘Well …’
Penny never got to find out what Helen thought of Gasping Bob’s sexiness or otherwise because the reply was drowned out by the stewardess pulling down the grille and hanging a closed sign on the bar.
‘Sorry, ladies. We’re shutting up for the night.’ She smiled over at them.
Penny and Helen surveyed the empty bottles in front of them.
‘Time for beddywed,’ said Penny.
Helen rose to her feet, swaying rather dangerously. Penny did the same and the two women linked arms as they made their way, rather erratically, towards the door. They thanked the stewardess and gave her a wave before making their way out. The exit clearly wasn’t wide enough for both of them to leave side-by-side, but they tried it anyway. As Helen collided with the doorframe, she let out another loud snigger.
‘Ssssh, people are trying to sleep you know!’ came a muffled voice from behind one of the compartments.
‘Bet that’s Mr Grumpy,’ whispered Helen loudly.
Eventually, after much banging and crashing, they made it back to their compartment. Getting undressed and washed was a rather messy affair, but eventually they were both in their cosy nightclothes.
‘That’s not a onesie you’re wearing, is it?’ asked Helen.
‘Onesie’s aren’t just for kids, you know,’ said Penny, peeking out from underneath her rabbit ears, one of which had fallen over her left eye, giving her quite a comical look.
‘Simon hasn’t seen you like that, has he?’
‘Simon loves me no matter what I look like in bed.’
Helen raised a drunken eyebrow. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
Too squiffy to care what anyone thought, Penny crawled into her lower bunk, pulling the warm duvet up to her neck.
‘Aren’t you going to give me a leg up?’
Penny opened one bleary eye and looked up at Helen. ‘Eh?’
Helen stuck her bottom lip out. ‘I can’t get up there. It’s like climbing Kilimanjaro.’
Penny thought about it for a moment.
‘Pwetty please?’ said Helen hopefully, but her face fell as Penny turned over and was soon snoring like a train.
The first thought that occurred to Helen as she emerged from unconsciousness the following morning was that someone had stuck her eyelids together with glue. The second was that the incessant bang, bang, banging wasn’t the thudding of her heart or the hammering of her headache, but was in fact, somebody banging loudly on the door of the compartment.
She tried to prop herself up on her elbows but as her eyes gradually opened and took in the scene around her, she saw that next to her head were two feet recognisable as Penny’s by the bunny rabbit toes of her onesie.
She gave one of the big toes a hard squeeze.
‘Wake up,’ she croaked. ‘Someone’s at the door.’
The only response was a muffled groan from the other end of the cramped bottom berth. Helen slowly got out of the bed, wincing as a shooting pain pierced her temple. Gingerly she picked her way over the untidy piles of clothes and bags and opened the door. Outside was a fresh-faced young steward.
‘I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, madam, but we’ve reached Paddington. I’ve been banging on the door for ages. I was just about to get the master key to gai
n access. We thought something might have happened.’
Helen, patted her hair in a futile attempt to restore order to what she knew must be her rather dishevelled appearance.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry. We seem to have overslept.’
‘Heavy night, was it?’
Helen feigned indignation. ‘Not in the slightest. The motion of the train must have given us a deeper sleep than usual. That’s all.’
The young man looked at her doubtfully. ‘People often get carried away on the sleeper, but then they forget what an early arrival we have.’
‘Well, we’ll just get washed and dressed—’
The young man shook his head. ‘There’s no time for that, I’m afraid. We’ve been here ages and you’ve got to leave by seven a.m. It’s already well past that and we can’t wait any longer. I’m sorry, but we have to turn the train around or else we’ll be in hot water.’
‘You mean we have to go now?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’ll wait here and help you with your things. There’s showers and … um … facilities on the concourse. You can use them.’
‘Er …’
But there was no time for arguing. The corridor outside their compartment was bustling with people doing useful things and outside their door a smiling cleaner was waiting expectantly with a J-cloth and a mop in her hands. Once Penny was apprised of the situation, she shuffled out of bed and the two women gathered themselves together as best as they could. There was no time to change out of their nightwear or to arrange themselves and within moments, they were hustled off the train with friendly thank-yous and helpful directions towards the Ladies.
Juggling their coats and bags, Penny and Helen blinked and looked around them. After the cocoon of the train, Paddington station was a hive of activity. All around them, commuters swarmed from trains like ants. The platforms were filled with passengers all coming and going. It was dizzying, and in their present condition they were finding it quite a challenge to orient themselves.