The Newcomer

by Fern Britton

  ‘The sound of the wind is enough for me.’

  He closed his eyes and as Helen took the turning left into Pendruggan, she glanced at him. Straight nose. Good lips. Dark eyelashes. She felt a flush in her chest.

  Oh, no, she realised to herself. I have a crush on him.

  She pulled up in front of the vicarage to drop Robert off. He protested, ‘But we have work to do on the website and the flipping Pond Dig.’

  ‘I can do that later. You need to write your restaurant review.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Helen tried to sound blithe and carefree. ‘Thanks again for a super lunch, and my love to Angela.’

  Robert looked at the house, frowning. ‘If she’s home yet.’ He turned back to Helen and leant into the car. ‘Can we do this again sometime?’

  She thought quickly. ‘When we’ve got the dig and summer and stuff out of the way.’

  ‘Great. See you soon then.’ He bent to kiss her once again. ‘Bye, Helen.’

  Helen put the car in gear and drove around the village green to her cottage with as much speed as was seemly.

  She closed the front door and leant back on it, relieved. ‘Helen Merrifield,’ she said aloud to herself. ‘Pull yourself together and stop behaving like a twelve-year-old girl with a crush on your history teacher.’ She dropped her bag on the sofa and went to make a stiff coffee. As the kettle boiled she checked her emails. There was one from Penny.

  Helen made her coffee, then settled on the sofa to read the news from the friend she realised she missed so much.

  Angela took Robbie home to her neat house on the village’s small estate.

  ‘Thank you,’ Robbie said. She cast her eyes towards the kitchen. ‘Would you like tea?’

  ‘I’ll make you one. You take your coat off and sit down. It’s been a tough day for you.’

  Tea made, Angela joined Robbie in her sitting room. Robbie was sitting on her two-seater sofa, staring into space.

  ‘When will your husband be home?’

  Robbie looked at the clock on the mantel. ‘About six.’

  ‘So you’ve got a little while. How about a nice bath to relax you?’

  ‘Could do.’

  ‘I do strongly advise you talk to your husband. I’m sure he’ll want to know.’

  Robbie nodded. ‘Mebbe.’

  Angela finished her tea. ‘All right then. You know where I am if you need me. And I say again, nothing that you have told me will go anywhere. I promise.’

  17

  The bell on the shop door rang, jolting Queenie from her warm snooze in the armchair by the counter.

  ‘Darling, it’s only me.’ Mamie shut the door and stood over Queenie in a breeze of Shalimar. ‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’

  ‘No,’ Queenie snapped. ‘I was thinking.’

  Mamie pulled up the chair opposite. ‘What about?’

  Queenie dug her hands into her cardigan pockets and brought out her tobacco roll and cigarette papers. ‘I don’t know; you’ve chased them out of me head now.’

  Mamie made herself comfortable. ‘So, what news from the Rialto?’

  ‘What you talking about? The Rialto? If you want to go to the pictures you have to go to that posh place up on the road to Plymouth. Hundreds of screens they’ve got up there. You could spend all day going from one film to another, apparently.’

  ‘I’m not talking about a cinema. It’s Shakespeare, darling. The Merchant of Venice. Dear Larry and Ralph would constantly quote whole chunks of it to me when we’d supper at the Café de Paris.’

  ‘Oh, shut yer cake ’ole.’ Queenie licked her cigarette paper. ‘My knees are bad. When are we going to have that naughty cigarette?’

  ‘When it’s safe to do so. Now tell me, what’s the gossip in town?’

  Queenie finished rolling her cigarette, popped it into her pocket and, with a glint in her eye, signalled for Mamie to lean forward. ‘Gasping Bob’s wife, Robbie.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Mamie, all ears.

  ‘She’s being tested for breast cancer.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t know! It was your niece what took her to the doc’s.’

  ‘Why did Angela tell you and not me?’ said Mamie, affronted.

  ‘It weren’t the vicar that told me. One of my friends has a daughter-in-law called Tracey, what cleans at the health centre. She saw them, and happened to overhear an appointment being made for the specialist down Treliske. And now the poor cow is waiting for results of the autopsy.’

  ‘I think you mean biopsy. And which poor cow? Tracey or Robbie?’

  ‘Robbie, of course. Although if Tracey hears anything sooner she’ll let me know. Apparently Robbie’s that worried she hasn’t even told Evelyn, her best friend, because she didn’t want to worry her.’

  ‘That’s a big secret to keep from your best friend.’

  ‘Yes, but now Evelyn has found out and is all upset that she wasn’t told.’

  ‘How did she find out?’

  ‘Robbie told her husband, Gasping Bob, and his best mate is Evelyn’s husband, what’s having the affair, and Robbie is Evelyn’s sister-in-law so, anyway, it was Bob what told Evelyn and now Evelyn is all upset about her best mate Robbie not telling her about the breast cancer.’

  ‘How very complicated. And upsetting.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Queenie gave a serious nod. ‘Very.’

  ‘And when are the results of the tests expected?’

  ‘That’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question, ain’t it?’

  ‘So we don’t know?’

  ‘Nobody knows.’

  ‘I see.’

  Queenie gave Mamie a deep and silent stare.

  ‘What?’ asked Mamie, feeling discomforted.

  ‘The vicar will know and she’s the only way we’re going to get to the truth of the matter.’

  Mamie found Angela in Faith’s bedroom changing the sheets. ‘Darling, let me help you with that.’

  ‘I’m nearly done,’ said Angela.

  ‘No problem. I like to help. You look tired, darling. How are you? Anything on your mind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve been thinking. I haven’t always appreciated how many things you have to keep to yourself. Confidential matters. Personal matters. It must be so difficult.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Angela passed a pillowcase over to her aunt. ‘It’s part of the job.’

  ‘So you do have secrets? That you’ve kept.’

  ‘I don’t see them as secrets. I feel more that I am a secure bank where people can put their worries and know they are safe with me.’

  ‘That must be very stressful?’

  ‘Not really. No more than I would worry for anybody.’

  Mamie smoothed her pillow in its fresh case and placed it neatly at the head of Faith’s bed. ‘If you ever feel you need to offload any concerns, I am always here,’ she said.

  ‘I know and I’m grateful. But some things are not for sharing.’

  ‘Quite understood.’ Mamie walked to Faith’s window and looked out over the back garden and the fields beyond to the misty horizon. ‘I have heard some very distressing news, actually.’

  Angela picked up an empty tea mug from Faith’s bedside table and a handful of used make-up wipes. ‘Do you want to tell me?’

  Mamie turned and, taking a gamble and a long, shaky breath, said, ‘It’s about Robbie, I’m afraid.’

  Angela had been incensed that Mamie and Queenie had been gossiping.

  Mamie was defensive. ‘It’s inevitable in a village like this. And it’s important that people know so that they can be kind. Anyway, it was Gasping Bob, her own husband, who started it.’

  ‘That is no excuse for passing it round. Gossip spreads like manure and stinks as much as well.’

  ‘Mountains out of molehills,’ Mamie said sniffily to Angela’s retreating back. Mr Worthington, who had been sleeping in a pool of sunshine on the
landing, stretched, sneezed and ambled towards her. ‘Your human mother can be so far up her own bum that I can only see the soles of her feet,’ Mamie told him.

  The next women’s group meeting happened to be that night, and Angela was anxious that Robbie wouldn’t be faced with unwelcome questions.

  In fact, the evening turned out to be the best one yet and a turning point in the relationship of Pendruggan’s women.

  The first to arrive was Sarah with baby Santi and Ben. Faith ran down the stairs and flung herself around Ben before they both went to the kitchen in search of snacks.

  Audrey strode in behind them with a copy of Wuthering Heights under her arm. ‘I strongly suggest that we start the book club off with Brontë,’ she told Angela in no uncertain terms.

  ‘We shall put it to the vote with a couple of others that have also been suggested. Thank you, Audrey.’

  ‘I can tell you now, I shall not be reading anything contemporary, even if it has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize and especially not if it has won any award.’

  ‘I shall bear that in mind, Audrey. Do please go in. Sarah and Santi are in the living room.’

  Audrey stomped off muttering about not wanting to be near any breastfeeding.

  Dorrie from the Dolphin pub arrived next with Ella, a beautiful young woman with brilliant red titian curls. ‘Angela, I don’t think you’ve met Ella? She lives the other side of the church in Marguerite Cottage. She and her gorgeous new husband are artists!’ Dorrie added proudly.

  ‘Come in, come in. How wonderful. Lovely to have you with us.’ Angela pointed them to the lounge.

  Queenie arrived, looking sheepish. ‘I promise to keep my big mouth shut in future, only I didn’t know poor Robbie wanted to keep it all secret.’

  Angela gently rebuked her. ‘It’s not a matter of secrecy. It’s privacy, Queenie. No one wants their lives discussed by people who don’t know the full story, do they? I’ve said the same to my aunt.’

  ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It’s not me you need to apologise to, is it?’

  ‘I’ll talk to Robbie later.’

  ‘Pick the right moment.’

  ‘I was a Brownie in the war. I got top marks in my kindness badge.’

  ‘Well, go into the sitting room and warn everyone not to say a word, not a word, to Robbie about any of it. Do you understand? I don’t want Robbie – or Evelyn, come to that – upset.’

  ‘Got it. Sorry.’ Queenie tottered off and Angela could hear her telling the group to ‘Keep yer traps shut.’

  Finally, Robbie and Evelyn arrived.

  ‘Hi.’ Angela ushered them in. ‘So glad you came.’

  ‘She didn’t want to but I made her,’ Evelyn said.

  Robbie nodded. ‘I know people have been gossiping.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Angela said sincerely. ‘My aunt and Queenie were part of it. Believe me, I have had words with them.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right.’ Robbie looked tired.

  Evelyn took over. ‘We are here to explain what Robbie’s going through. She’s got nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘No she hasn’t,’ agreed Angela. ‘Come on in.’

  As they entered the sitting room, the chatter fell away.

  Mamie got to her feet and broke the ice. ‘Darlings, you are just in time for a glass of Queenie’s finest wine in a box. Now find yourselves a seat and let’s have a jolly good time.’

  As everyone settled, Angela opened the proceedings. ‘Welcome, everyone. Tonight I shall be revealing plans for the Big Pond Dig and also—’

  Evelyn interrupted. ‘I’m sorry to stop you, Vicar, but Robbie has asked me to tell you how she is and what’s going on with her. Is that OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Angela.

  ‘Right. Well. There’s been some gossip about Robbie and sadly it’s true. Robbie,’ she looked round at her pale friend seated behind her and continued, ‘is having tests on a lump in her breast. We go to the hospital tomorrow, with Bob, and will not have any results for another couple of weeks. Robbie is the bravest woman I know and the kindest too. She didn’t want to tell anyone, not even me. But she’s glad now that you all know. When she knows what the results are, she’ll tell you. So, please, don’t go asking questions of her before she’s ready. Thank you.’ Evelyn sat down next to Robbie and took her hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ whispered Robbie.

  Angela glanced over at Queenie and Mamie and gave them a look that said, See? And no more gossip, thank you. Then she put her glass down and began to stand up to begin the meeting proper.

  But she was halted again. This time by Dorrie.

  Running a hand through her short, spiky blond hair, Dorrie pushed herself out of a chair and rubbed her hands nervously down her sawn-off denim shorts.

  ‘I’d like to apologise to you, Robbie, and also to say how all of us are behind you, supporting you all the way. My Don had a cancer scare last year. Lump in his bollock. Terrified him. He kept it all to himself. Never told us for weeks after he’d found it. Carried on behind the bar, lifting barrels of ale and whatnot. Anyway, I was working in the bar by myself one lunchtime. Full on, it was. Heaving. So I went to look for him for some help. And I found him upstairs, crying. My Don! Bloody ex-boxer! Anyway, I asked him what the matter was and he told me. He’d been looking at one of my magazines. Reading about a woman whose husband had been in the same situation but didn’t tell anyone until it was too late. Scared the bloody life out of him. I marched him down to the doc’s and in a couple of weeks the lump was taken out. It was just a cyst. I was so angry with him. How could he not tell me? His bloody wife! Anyhow, I’m sorry that you were not given the privacy you wanted but by God how I wish you had been allowed to.’

  Everyone was looking at her in shock. ‘Blimey,’ said Sarah. ‘You poor girl. What a fright.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Don’t know why that suddenly all come out, but, Robbie?’ Robbie looked up. ‘Just to say,’ Dorrie continued, ‘we’re all with you whatever happens and praying that everything’ll be all right.’ She sat down, pushing her nervous hands furiously through her hair again.

  ‘Well,’ Angela looked around, ‘if there is a theme for tonight’s meeting maybe it is to know that we have friends who will support us in times of need.’

  Mamie tipped the remains of her wine down her throat and asked, ‘I think we could all do with another one of these, don’t you?’

  As she filled glasses, hands reached for the small bowls of mixed nuts and crisps.

  Angela stood again. ‘Right. The Big Pond Dig is—’

  But Evelyn interrupted her. ‘I’ve just got to get this off my chest and this feels like the only place I really can.’ She closed her eyes for a moment and then said loudly, ‘My husband has been a bastard all our married life.’

  All eyes turned to her. ‘Right now he’s with his latest lady friend and I don’t know what to do.’

  The room was still.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it now? With all of us?’ Angela asked gently. ‘Or would you prefer to talk to one of us privately, at another time?’

  ‘At our first meeting, you said that anything that happened here would be confidential. Just between us,’ said Evelyn, looking with trusting eyes at Angela. ‘I’d like to talk now.’

  ‘OK.’ Angela spoke to everyone. ‘Can we all reassure Evelyn that nothing spoken about in here will be shared with any other person?’

  There were nods and murmured agreements all round.

  Angela turned back to Evelyn. ‘Take your time.’

  ‘I know who the woman is. I hate her. She knows what she’s doing. But then so does he. She’s not the first. Won’t be the last.’

  Everyone in the room was looking at each other, not quite knowing what to do. Then, quietly but kindly, a voice piped, ‘Is she local?’ It was Ella.

  ‘Not in the village. No. Thank goodness. She runs the post office up the top of Trevay.’

  ‘By the school?’ chip
ped in Queenie, who, as a postmistress herself, knew all the post offices in a twenty-mile radius. ‘That woman with the big thighs and short skirts?’

  Evelyn nodded. ‘Yes, her.’

  ‘Oh my good Gawd. What does any man see in her?’

  Angela stepped in. ‘Queenie, we don’t know her circumstances.’

  ‘Yes we bleeding do.’ Queenie was emphatic. ‘Bloody woman has had more husbands than hot dinners. Three of her own and plenty of other women’s.’

  Mamie shushed Queenie and asked, ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘He said he was joining the gym. He said evening membership was cheap. He’d been there three weeks when I found his gym clothes and they still had the labels on them. Never worn.’

  ‘But how can you be sure it is this woman?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Well, I knew it must be a woman because he was shaving every day and began using deodorant. I mean, he’s a farmer. A quick shower was the most he’d do normally. But it’s what he does when he’s seeing someone else.’ She dropped her hands into her lap and said without bitterness, ‘He hasn’t done that for me for years.’

  She paused then continued. ‘Then there are the secret phone calls in the garden. The total disinterest in me.’ Her shoulders sagged. ‘I followed him. One night. I followed his Land Rover all the way to her place. She lives above the shop.’

  Queenie huffed, ‘Knocking shop, more like.’

  Angela shushed her.

  ‘It was like in the films,’ Evelyn went on. ‘Saw her at her kitchen window. Opening the fridge and taking out a beer.’ She allowed a stray tear to spill, seemingly without noticing. ‘I waited up for him. He came back after midnight. I told him the gym closes at ten thirty. He said he’d had a puncture and had to get a mate out to help. I told him I knew he was lying. He said I was mad. Needed help. I was paranoid. Psychotic. All the usual stuff. He’s not a good liar. I’ve looked up how to spot a liar. It’s all there. Covering his mouth with his hand. Denying everything and blaming me.’ She stopped for a moment as anger built up in her, and then she let it fly. ‘BUT I AM NOT A BLOODY IDIOT!’

  ‘When was all this?’ asked Angela.

  Evelyn’s hands were shaking as she wiped her tears away. ‘Three or four months ago.’