Kitabı oku: «The Newcomer», sayfa 4

After he’d heard the story, he was torn between respect for Piran and a desire to go round and punch his lights out. ‘I had my doubts about the man when I met him yesterday.’

‘Did you really?’ Angela contradicted. ‘I thought you said you were looking forward to going fishing with him.’

‘Going fishing with him and liking him are two entirely different things.’

‘He’s a swine.’ Mamie tipped the brandy into her mouth and held out the glass for Robert to refill.

Angela plonked the remains of a Victoria sponge onto her plate and sat down. ‘I think he was in shock. Remember, Robert, when Faith was small and we lost her in that hypermarket in France? When we found her you shouted at her until you were hoarse.’

‘That was with relief.’

‘Quite. And I believe that Piran was feeling the same. Relief. Shock. The poor man was only out on a walk with his dog and ended up fully submerged in the icy Atlantic, saving the life of a strange, fully clothed woman.’

Mamie growled, ‘I was the victim.’

Angela pulled a face of disbelief. ‘You have never been a victim. I shall go and see Piran and Helen tomorrow and pour oil on troubled waters. We have only just arrived and I want to be friends with everybody. I want this year to be a success.’ She glared at her aunt and husband. ‘You two have to buck up and be nice. Understood?’

Mamie pursed her lips and looked over at Robert. ‘I suppose I could,’ she said reluctantly. ‘If Robert will.’

‘I will,’ answered Robert slowly. ‘Just as long as no one else takes a pop at either of you.’

‘Good. That’s sorted.’ Angela smiled at them both and pushed a large chunk of Victoria sponge into her mouth.

Two hundred yards away, across the village green, Helen was having words with Piran in her cottage.

‘How could you? You have insulted Angela by suggesting she’s not welcome here, and you have been extremely rude to an elderly lady.’

‘She ain’t no lady. I can tell. Smelling like a tart’s boudoir and pouring herself all over me when I put her down. You should have seen her face when Jack cocked his leg on her foot. Priceless.’

Helen picked up Piran’s wet jumper from the rail of the Aga and threw it at him. ‘Goodbye.’

Piran caught the jumper in astonishment. ‘Now what’s got into you? I thought you was cooking supper?’

‘I am cooking supper. But not for you. I don’t like it when you go all Neanderthal. Go to the pub and get something there.’

‘But my trousers are still damp.’

‘Well, go back to your house, get changed, and then go to the pub.’

Scowling, Piran went to the door, whistling up Jack behind him. ‘Come on, Jack. Someone’s had a sense of humour failure.’

Helen winced as he slammed the front door. Piran was one of the kindest, gentlest men she had ever met. But, unfortunately, he still had rather a large slice of chauvinism in his blood.

Helen abandoned the idea of making a lasagne, and took a Scotch egg, some salad and a bottle of wine out of the fridge. Putting the small meal together she went to her snug front room and turned on the television. A romantic comedy starring Ryan Gosling was just starting. Helen settled into the sofa and balanced her plate on her lap. She took a sip of wine and put her feet up.

‘He’ll be back,’ she said to herself. ‘Idiotic man.’

6

‘Good morning, darling.’ Mamie put her face around the door of Angela’s office where Angela was on her knees stacking books onto Simon’s emptied shelves. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Always.’ Angela heaved herself up and kissed her aunt. ‘How are you after yesterday? No bruises or chills?’

Mamie laughed her throaty laugh. ‘It’d take more than a dunk to kill me off. And in retrospect, my rescuer was rather handsome.’

Angela shook her head. ‘He’s taken.’

‘My dear, I have never stooped to stealing a man.’

‘Well, don’t start now, please.’

‘Even when John was having a “break” – I think that’s the modern term – from Yoko, I told him firmly, no.’

‘You mean …?’

‘Yes. And he was sweet. But so was she.’

Again Angela shook her head in amazement. ‘Why have I never heard about that before?’

‘One forgets all that one has done in one’s past,’ Mamie replied airily. ‘I am going to explore the village shop. Get some stamps … and some local gossip.’

Queenie was sitting in her comfy old armchair in the Pendruggan village store chatting to Tony, the village gardener.

‘So I wants some window boxes this year. Make the shop entrance even more enticing.’

Tony scratched his nose. ‘Do you want me to write things down?’

‘Help yourself to one of them notebooks on the shelf behind you and there’s me pen on the counter. I was thinking apricot geraniums.’

Tony sat back down and opened the school exercise book he’d found. ‘I’ll write that down.’

‘And maybe some light blue pansies.’

‘Right you are.’

‘And African marigolds. My husband loved marigolds. Now he did have green fingers. Just like you.’

‘Mrs Merrifield says that too. I don’t know what she mean. Mine fingers are brown,’ said Tony, looking at his weather-beaten hands.

‘Yes, but that’s what makes them green.’

The bell above the shop door rang and Mamie entered, distracting Tony from this puzzle.

Queenie was on her feet in a flash. There was nothing she liked more than a stranger.

Mamie towered over Queenie’s arthritic frame. ‘Good morning.’ She flashed her most charming smile.

‘Good morning,’ replied Queenie, looking the glamorous woman up and down critically, absorbing every detail to recount to her customers. She folded her arms and hitched up her bosoms. ‘Can I help you?’

Tony was sitting with his mouth open, entranced. ‘Is that your Jensen Interceptor sports car outside the vicarage?’

Mamie smiled. ‘Yes. Do you like cars?’

‘No. But I like yours.’

‘Thank you.’

‘A 1976 seven-point-two litre,’ he recited.

‘Yes. My goodness,’ smiled Mamie. ‘You sound very knowledgeable. Would you like a ride in it?’

Tony bobbed his head down quickly, blushing furiously. ‘No. I don’t like going in cars. They make me all bobbled up.’

Mamie put her head to one side and assessed this man-child in front of her. ‘I see. But perhaps you’d like to look at it one day?’

Tony, keeping his head down, nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Any time you like.’ She stuck her hand out. ‘Hello. I’m Mamie. I am the new vicar’s aunt.’

Tony kept his hands by his sides and, without looking at her, said, ‘I’m Simple Tony. I do gardening. But I like washing cars.’

‘What a marvellous thing.’ Mamie took her hand back. ‘She needs a good wash and polish. When are you free?’

‘I’ll go home and get a bucket and a sponge now.’ He looked at Queenie. ‘Am I allowed to?’

‘Of course you are.’ Queenie was pleased to get Mamie all to herself. ‘Off you go.’

The two women watched him leave, his dark shiny hair as sleek as a mole’s.

‘He’ll do a good job. Don’t worry,’ Queenie reassured Mamie.

‘I’m sure he will.’ Mamie looked around at the shelves in the shop and took in the time warp of goods on offer. Blakey’s heel studs. Bra strap extenders. An impressive news stand laden with gossip magazines. Faded stationery items. Tinned mandarins, frankfurters and processed peas. A vast display of cigarettes, vapes and pipe tobacco. Cheap plastic dolls and boxes, small and large, of jigsaw puzzles. Mamie twirled on the spot to take it all in. ‘This isn’t a village store,’ she breathed in admiration. ‘This is an emporium.’

‘Oh, yes, me duck, it is that. I can send a parcel to Peru from me post office counter and feed you a homemade pasty, all in the same five minutes.’ Queenie moved a tatty lamp with a pink-fringed shade out of the way and took herself behind her ancient wooden counter. ‘So, how can I help you?’

Mamie pointed a fiery red fingernail at a jar of red sweets. ‘May I have a quarter of the aniseed twists, please?’

Silently Queenie weighed her up. She recognised something in the woman in front of her, one gossip to another. ‘What have you really come for?’

Mamie held her hands up in surrender. ‘I’m new and want to know the ins and outs of the village.’

‘Take a seat.’ Queenie pointed at Simple Tony’s empty chair. ‘I’ll put a pot of tea on.’

‘Coffee, love?’ Robert nudged the office door open with his elbow. Angela had filled all the bookshelves but the very top one, and was now balanced on a chair with several hardbacks in her hands. ‘Let me do that,’ he said.

She reached up on tiptoes but still couldn’t quite reach. ‘Couldn’t find the stepladders.’

Robert put the mugs down on the desk. ‘Come down. I’ll do it.’ He put his hands on her waist and effortlessly lifted her to the floor. ‘Drink your coffee.’

‘Thank you.’

She sat and watched as he pushed the books into their new home. ‘Any more?’

She shook her head. ‘Done.’ She sipped her coffee and put a foot on his lap as he pulled the chair he’d been standing on closer and sat down.

He rubbed it gently. ‘Where’s Faith?’

‘In her room grumbling about the Wi-Fi. Has the Sky TV man fixed the telly?’

‘Oh, yes. My fifty-four-inch pride and joy is now receiving all the favourites and Love Island.’

‘Couldn’t we lose that one?’

‘And lose Faith too?’

‘Life would be quieter …’

He nodded. ‘And cheaper.’

They quietly acknowledged this truth.

Robert broke the silence. ‘Nice view of the village green from here.’

‘Mr Worthington likes it.’

‘Where is he?’

‘On Faith’s bed.’

‘I thought we said no …’

‘We did but he persuaded me she needed him.’

‘You’re too soft.’ He stopped rubbing her foot. ‘Other one.’ She swapped. ‘That’s why I love you,’ he said. ‘I love all of you. Even your cheesy feet.’

She smiled. ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming all this way. Uprooting yourself, and Faith, to support me.’

‘I am a saint.’

‘You are!’

‘Is there a Saint Robert?’

‘Yes. I’m looking at him.’ She drained her coffee and took her foot back. ‘How many more boxes have we got left to empty?’

‘The last few are in the sitting room. Only my books. I thought I’d put them on the shelves by the fireplace?’

‘I’ll help you and then we could take Mr W for a walk?’

There was a sharp knock on the front door. ‘And so it begins.’ Robert stretched his arms above his head. ‘A parishioner. I’ll bet a fiver.’ There was a second impatient knock. ‘Definitely a parishioner. I’m off to hide in the sitting room.’

On her own, Angela opened the front door.

Audrey Tipton pushed her way over the threshold. ‘Ah, Angela. I must talk to you.’

Angela was zipping through her mental Rolodex, trying desperately to remember the woman’s name. She finally got to it. ‘It’s Audrey, isn’t it? Do come into my study.’

Back in the village store, Queenie was rolling a cigarette. ‘And that’s his story.’

‘So he doesn’t mind being called Simple Tony? Only it’s very un-PC.’

‘It’s what his mum and dad called him and he’s happy. But don’t think he’s stupid. Far from it. Innocent. Trusting. Kind. But not stupid. He has his odd little ways but, by God, half the gardens in this village, let alone the churchyard, would be in a terrible state if it weren’t for him.’

‘And he looks after himself?’

‘Oh, yes. He has a little shepherd’s hut in Polly’s garden. She’s at Candle Cottage. Ambulance paramedic and white witch. Lovely woman. She keeps an eye on him. And next door to her is Helen. Londoner, like me. Came down a few years ago after her husband had done one too many naughties.’ She cocked an eye at Mamie. ‘You get my drift?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, she’s going out with Piran. Lovely bloke. Kind as they come.’

‘I’ve met them.’ Mamie pulled a face. ‘He pulled me out of the sea yesterday. I fell in.’

‘Did you?’ Queenie was all ears. ‘How’d you manage that?’

‘A dog. A stick. A big wave.’

‘Oh my Gawd. I bet Piran weren’t too happy about that.’

‘No, he wasn’t. He was rather rude and told me off.’

Queenie began to laugh. A warm wheezy chuckle that ended in a coughing fit. She wiped her eyes and the corners of her mouth with a small handkerchief, then tucked it back under the cuff of her cardigan.

‘He don’t like strangers.’

‘Clearly. Handsome bugger, though.’

‘Keep your hands off.’ Queenie frowned. ‘He’s Helen’s.’

Mamie laughed. ‘Darling, that’s not my thing. I made a promise to myself when I was young. So many men with “attachments” are only too keen to cheat, but it’s the women they pursue who get the blame.’

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Queenie crossed her arms and gave Mamie a hard stare. ‘So, tell me your story.’

‘So you see, there is an awful lot of work left to me,’ Audrey boomed, ‘because the village rely on my organisational skills and artistic flair, constantly.’

Angela was trying hard not to quail. ‘From this list,’ she held the five A4 pages in their clear document case that Audrey had thrust upon her, ‘I see there are many things.’

‘Indeed.’ Audrey buttoned up her tweed jacket and brushed the pleats of the matching skirt. ‘Now, if I may just take a look around …’

‘Around?’

‘Yes,’ Audrey said in astonishment that this mousy woman should challenge her. ‘I am keeping an eye on things while Rev Canter is away.’

‘There is no need,’ Angela said firmly, moving to open the study door and get this woman out of her home.

Audrey was not used to being disobeyed. ‘Mrs Whitehorn, this is not a slight on your abilities …’

‘Please call me Angela or Reverend Whitehorn.’

Audrey’s lips tightened. So did Angela’s.

Robert’s voice called from the sitting room, ‘Ange. Come and have a look. Is this OK?’

Audrey took her chance and pushed past Angela, heading for the sitting room.

‘Mr Whitehorn. Good morning,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘I just dropped in to talk one or two things through with your wife.’ She advanced towards the tall, dark and handsome Robert. ‘I’m Audrey. We met at the vicar’s leaving party.’

Robert responded firmly, ‘Or, as I like to call it, the new vicar’s welcome party.’

Audrey surveyed the room. Much as she hated to admit it, Penny Canter had good taste and had left the room perfectly furnished while removing only the more personal possessions. She walked to the bookshelves and inspected the titles.

‘I have a penchant for crime stories,’ Robert felt obliged to explain. ‘Love a good murder mystery.’

Audrey scanned the spines of the books, then spun on her heel to face him. ‘I’ve had the most marvellous idea. You shall give the WI a talk on crime writers and great detectives of literature. I’ll check the diary and find a suitable date.’

‘But I have never given a talk to the WI, or anybody else for that matter. Let alone on crime. I could perhaps talk about my work as a political writer?’

‘Well, that’s two talks you will give. What a productive morning. Now I must get on, good day to you both.’

Queenie was engrossed in Mamie’s life story. ‘You never did.’

‘I certainly did.’ Mamie leant closer. ‘He was absolutely charming, but a rogue.’

‘I loved his voice. I had lots of his records. Gave them to a boot sale.’

‘He sang “Fly Me to the Moon” once, over dinner. He was on the tonk, of course. Never truly sober.’

Queenie gave a whoop of joy. ‘You’ve lived, entcha! Did you ever meet Elvis?’

‘We locked eyes over a crowded room once. He was a man with grace and animal magnetism.’ Mamie halted at the memory, then sighed. ‘But he was with Priscilla so …’

‘Cor, I’d’ve been at him like a rat up a pipe.’

‘Queenie! You shock me.’

‘I haven’t had such a good chat for ages.’ Queenie settled into her chair, groaning slightly as she stretched her old legs in front of her. ‘Getting old is no bleeding fun, is it?’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Mamie laughed. ‘By the way,’ she pointed at Queenie’s tobacco pouch and Rizla papers, ‘have you ever smoked a little pot?’

‘You what?’ Queenie was bemused.

‘Had a little toke? A swifty? A bifta?’

‘Are you talking about – marryjuana?’ Queenie frowned.

‘Well, yes,’ smiled Mamie.

‘No,’ Queenie said slowly, ‘but I’ve wanted to have a go.’

‘Then,’ Mamie looked around her for prying ears and whispered, ‘shall we? Just a little? Excellent for arthritis.’

‘Is it? When?’

‘I’ll let you know when I have some.’ Mamie smiled naughtily. ‘I haven’t done it for years but seeing how good you are at rolling your cigarettes, what would be the harm?’

The two women, both so different outwardly, but inwardly so similar, locked eyes as sisters.

‘Grab life by the horns, my mum always said,’ Queenie said. ‘That’s what she told me when I was evacuated from the East End. Gawd, I missed her, but one of bloody Hitler’s bombs didn’t. That’s why I stayed here after the war. Nothing to go back to. Met my husband here and I grabbed life by the horns, like she told me.’

Mamie nodded. ‘I think you and I are going to be friends.’

‘We already are, girl. We already are.’

7

It was the morning of Angela’s first Sunday as vicar of Pendruggan.

Now, she was standing in the vestry, staring into the old speckled mirror at her reflection. ‘Do I look all right?’

Robert looked at her with a nod. ‘Perfect.’

‘My heart is hammering.’

‘I should hope so!’ he laughed.

‘You know what I mean. I’m so nervous.’

‘The bloody bells are enough to make anyone nervous. Do they have to be so loud?’

‘The ringers are doing a special “welcome” peal. Isn’t that nice of them?’

‘Lovely.’ Robert looked at his watch. ‘Right. I’d better find my seat. Faith and Mamie are keeping it warm for me.’ He kissed her lips tenderly. ‘Love you. Good luck.’

Not long after, standing at the back of the church, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The ringing bells in the tower behind her finished on three deep gongs. The vibration shook the ancient stones under her feet and she took a moment to offer a silent prayer of thanks and support.

The organist started the opening notes of ‘Lord of all hopefulness’ and Angela began her walk down the aisle. Heads turned as the parishioners stood to catch sight of her and offer friendly smiles.

She got through the welcome, grateful that she had decided not to make any major changes to Simon’s traditional service. Two more hymns and readings, and now the time had come for her to climb into the pulpit and deliver her first sermon.

In the front pew, Mamie’s shaking fingers found Robert’s hand. She squeezed it with a nervous smile.

Robert looked up at Angela and winked.

Angela swallowed hard and began.

‘Good morning, everyone.’

A few voices returned her greeting. ‘Morning.’

‘I must say I am a bit nervous to be standing in front of you this morning.’

The congregation smiled back, giving her some confidence.

‘I am very new to this as I was ordained only at the end of last year, but I feel so lucky to have landed here in Pendruggan. My first proper job as a vicar. And the first woman to preach here. You may have had some misgivings about me coming here and want to know something about me. So here goes. Robert, my husband, and I have been married for almost twenty years. We met when we were both working for a paper called the Manchester Evening News. Fresh out of university, I thought I’d found my career. The cut and thrust of the newsroom excited me. There wasn’t a cat up a tree or a lost dog that didn’t get my full attention. My sympathetic interviews with devastated pet owners and my incisive writing skills led me to have none of my stories ever printed. All spiked by the editor, a seasoned hack with a bottle of Scotch in his desk drawer and a tongue as sharp as vinegar.

‘One afternoon, following my regular daily routine of chasing a story, typing it up, having it rejected and spending half an hour in the ladies weeping, I bumped into an impossibly handsome man, who was heading to the Gents’ as I came out of the Ladies’. By the time I got back to my desk, the office gossip machine was red hot. All the women were discreetly powdering their noses and applying lipstick, but I had no such tricks to employ. There was nothing in my bag that would camouflage my swollen red eyelids. My friend Tess, sitting opposite me, whispered a name. Robert Whitehorn. The new political correspondent.

‘From that day on he became the office pin-up. Funny. Talented. Handsome, and mysterious. He politely declined all offers from the office vamps of a drink after work and skirted any questions about his private life. This made him one hundred per cent more attractive. I kept out of the way. Why would he be interested in me? The only contact I had with him was the occasional shared ride in the lift or in the canteen coffee queue. He didn’t look at me once. But one day, I was rewriting a late story for the editor, who had loudly berated me across a packed newsroom for being a useless idiot, when a cup of coffee was placed on my desk. I looked up to thank whoever it was and nearly choked. Robert was standing there. “I thought you might like one of these,” he said. I was so surprised, I jumped up and knocked the desk, which tipped the piping hot coffee all down his trousers. And that is how our romance blossomed.’

‘Aahh,’ said all the women in the congregation, and a couple of men too.

‘We got married six months later and, almost immediately, Robert landed a job on the London Evening Standard so we moved south. I managed to wangle a job in the BBC newsroom as a copy taster, reading through the stories as they came in and passing the more interesting ones on to the news editor. At the newsroom Christmas party I introduced Robert to the head of news and the rest is history. If I hadn’t been called to this job, I would have made a great showbiz agent.’

The congregation laughed loudly.

‘I dearly wanted to start a family but Faith, our daughter, didn’t come easily. After a couple of years we were referred to an IVF, test-tube baby, specialist and on the third attempt, and after many prayers, Faith was born to us.’

Angela glanced down at Faith who was blushing furiously, pursing her lips and frowning. She smiled down at her. ‘And now I have embarrassed her.’

Robert reached for Faith’s hand but she shook it off, muttering, ‘Get off.’

‘It was around then that my calling to the Church began to take root. My father died before I was born and my mother had very little time to take me to church, but my faith grew with me hardly noticing. It was just there. Inside me. Seven years ago I told my husband that my life lay in the Church. He reacted by pouring two large gin and tonics. But he never tried to dissuade me. So while he was standing outside Number Ten or Chequers, reporting on the state of the nation, I was at the kitchen table studying until the small hours. He has been my support and mainstay all this time.

‘My mother became ill during that time. I suspect many of you have been in a similar position. The balance of keeping a day-to-day life going while bearing the pain and responsibility of watching a loved one suffering and fading. I would be lying if I told you that my faith hadn’t been shaken at that time. What use were prayers? Where were the answers? I took six months off from my studies to nurse her. Where was God when she cried out in pain? When she died, my strength deserted me. I became depressed. From being the carer, I became the cared for. Robert and Faith were my carers. A horrible, frightening time for them. I was lost.’

She looked around at the rapt faces of her congregation. ‘I can’t tell you that I am the perfect woman, wife, mother or vicar, but my relationship with God grew again once I stopped raging at him and slowly began to see the good in our world. Walking over from the vicarage this morning, seeing the primroses in the churchyard, the birds beginning to build their nests, the number of you who have bothered to come here this morning – all these things fill me with renewed energy and a determination to give all I have to you. I stand here and make my promise to you. Whatever happens over the next twelve months, I will do my best to help you. Build an even stronger community for Simon to return to. I’m particularly interested in empowering women. Show them the opportunities within their reach. A chance to fulfil their latent potential.’

A few of the older generation looked around at friends and partners with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, sending the silent message to each other. Didn’t we tell the bishop that a female vicar, with ridiculous modern ideas about equality, would bring trouble?

Angela saw the exchanges but ignored them. ‘Do come and talk to me. I want to get to know you well. Share problems, joys, ideas, anything. I maybe the newcomer but my vicarage is open to all comers.’

A young woman sitting in the body of the church began to clap. Next to her, Helen joined in, starting a wave of applause through the majority of the congregation.

The organist wiped a dew drop from the end of his nose and struck up the opening notes of ‘Love Divine, all loves excelling’.

‘Darling, you deserve a sherry.’ Mamie shooed Angela into the big vicarage sitting room. ‘Robert, get her a sherry please, and a G and T for me.’

Robert, on the point of entering the room, made a U-turn, and went to the kitchen.

Mamie relaxed into the sofa and kicked her shoes off. She patted the cushion next to her. ‘How did you feel that went?’

Angela sat down. ‘I think it went OK. What did you think?’

‘Darling, you were wonderful! They adored you. You gave them everything.’

Robert returned with a drinks tray and Faith. Mr Worthington followed and hoisted himself next to Angela, before yawning squeakily and burying his whiskery face in her lap.

‘I was just telling Angela how wonderful she was,’ Mamie told Robert as she took the G and T from his proffered tray. ‘Thank you, darling.’

Robert passed a glass of coke to Faith, who had opened a bag of crisps and was tickling Mr Worthington’s tummy, and sat down in an armchair, opening his tin of beer.

‘She really was.’ He lifted his tin. ‘To Angela, the new vicar of Pendruggan.’

‘To Angela,’ said Mamie.

‘Mum,’ said Faith.

‘My wonderful wife,’ smiled Robert.

‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you, my family,’ Angela said, her voice soft.

‘Now now, none of that,’ Robert chided gently. ‘This is your time to shine.’

‘And I wouldn’t be able to do it if you hadn’t taken this year off, away from the job you love,’ she said.

He waved a hand airily. ‘Piffle. You have stood in my shadow too long. It’s time I stood aside.’

‘Oh, Dad.’ Faith rolled her eyes. ‘Women can make their own way now, you know. Like, they don’t need a man to “stand aside” to help them achieve things in life. We are liberated from that sort of patriarchal nonsense, you know.’

Robert was hurt. ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. Your mother is an independent, free-thinking adult woman, but in the past she has been the partner who has supported me while neglecting, maybe, some of things she wanted to do.’

‘Huh. Maybe? Listen to yourself, Dad. She definitely missed out while you were out building your career. How many times were you home in time to read me a bedtime story? How many times were you already at work by the time I woke up? How many times did you take me to school or pick me up or watch sports day?’

Robert was wounded. ‘And who do you think paid for your holidays and looked after you and Mum?’

Angela interrupted them. ‘Hey. Stop it. You make me sound like some sort of downtrodden drudge. Let me make this clear. Making a home and caring for you both was and still is, A Job. One that I love. I would change nothing … other than to still have Granny with us today.’

Faith and Robert were chastened. ‘Sorry.’

Angela took a sip of her sherry and leant back into the softness of the sofa. ‘Now then, this independent, brilliant, superwoman would like her lunch on a tray, right here, watching a movie. And while you lot make that happen, Mr Worthington and I are going to have forty winks. Scoot.’

Later that evening, the phone rang in the hall. The women were watching Poldark, leaving Robert to get up and answer it.

‘Hello?’ he asked tentatively, not certain he would know who was calling.

‘Hi, Robert? It’s Helen here. Helen Merrifield?’

Robert remembered the attractive woman from Simon and Penny’s party. ‘Hello, Helen. How can I help you?’

‘I was wondering if you and Angela would like to come round for supper this week. Would Tuesday be good? Listening to Angela in church this morning, I was thinking how brave she was.’

‘She’s a tough cookie,’ Robert laughed.

‘Yes. And I thought, we tough cookies need to stick together.’

‘That’s very kind, Helen. Hang on, I’ll ask her.’ He put the old-fashioned receiver down on the hall table and popped his head around the door of the sitting room.

‘Who was it?’ asked Angela, not taking her eyes from the television.

‘Shh,’ snapped Mamie and Faith, who were watching a strapping young man gallop a horse across Cornish cliffs, his ruffled white shirt open to the navel and billowing in the breeze.

‘Helen,’ whispered Robert. ‘Wants to know if we can have supper with her on Tuesday night.’

Angela looked at him with bright surprise. ‘Love to,’ she mouthed. ‘Does she want us to bring anything and what time?’

‘What do you want me to put the linen napkins out for? You’ve only got to bleddy wash an’ iron after. Don’t make sense.’

Helen, chopping fruit for a salad pudding, said firmly, ‘Just do it, Piran.’

‘She’s the vicar not the bleddy Queen of Sheba, is she?’

‘Oh, Piran, please, I simply want to make tonight nice.’

‘It’s nice without having to put out the bleddy linen napkins.’