Coming Home

by Fern Britton

  She couldn’t tell when it started but she became aware of something, somebody, at her side. A presence.

  She didn’t dare open her eyes for fear of what she might see. She knew who it was. She heard her. Not through her ears, but through her body. It was her mother. ‘I am with you,’ she was saying. ‘All is well.’ The words were repeated like a chant, a mantra, many times, until Sennen saw, in her mind’s eye, her mother place a hand on her forehead. The touch filled her with peace just as the vision of Adela began to fade.

  When the dream or mirage or apparition had left, Sennen lay still, allowing her conscious mind to absorb the knowledge she had been given. She opened her eyes and sat up. ‘Thank you, Mum. Thank you for the answer.’

  Simon Canter, vicar of Pendruggan, sat at the desk in his study and beamed at the happy couple in front of him.

  ‘Congratulations. This is happy news,’ he said. ‘When were you thinking of having the wedding?’

  Kit jumped in. ‘As soon as possible because we don’t know how long Ella’s mum will be here for and we want her to be there, obviously.’

  Simon looked at the large diary in front of him and turned the pages. ‘There’s a space two Saturdays from now but that would be too soon. We couldn’t get the banns read in time, or …’ He riffled through some more pages. ‘There’s an empty Saturday in six weeks.’ He looked up and saw the disappointment in their faces. ‘I mean, there are ways of doing this very quickly if you get a common licence. I can help you with that. It costs a bit but there will be no need for any banns to be read, so off we go.’

  Ella sat forward to the edge of her seat. ‘How soon could that be fixed?’

  ‘As long as there are no hitches, I should think you’ll be married in two weeks. Midday is a good time.’ He blinked kindly behind his glasses.

  Ella grinned at Kit. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Why not?’

  They left the vicarage, bouncing with happiness. ‘I’ve got to tell Mum,’ said Ella, beaming.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, before she does something stupid like book a flight back to India.’

  ‘What about Henry?’

  ‘I’ll call him after I’ve spoken to Mum. He’s going to have to give me away, after all.’ Thinking of something she stopped. ‘You’d better phone Adam – he will be your best man, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

  ‘And Jenna will be my flower girl.’ Ella was zinging with happiness. ‘She’ll be perfect, carrying a little basket of petals to spread before me.’

  Kit shook his head in bemusement. ‘Really? Do we need all this?’

  ‘I am only getting married once, Mr Beauchamp, so it had better be bloody perfect.’

  Kit grabbed her and kissed her. ‘Remind me, did I buy you an engagement ring?’

  She squealed. ‘NO! Well, not yet anyway.’

  ‘We’ll go shopping tomorrow.’

  She hugged him, ‘Thank you. This is all so exciting. When shall we send the invitations out?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe Queenie has some in the shop.’

  ‘They’ll be from 1956 if she has.’

  Laughing, they headed up to the Village Stores.

  Queenie was sitting on one of her old but comfortable armchairs by the counter of the shop, her feet up on a plastic bottle crate, made more comfortable with a cushion on the top. As the bell tinkled on the door she struggled to her feet.

  ‘’Ello, me ducks. What brings you ’ere so cheerful?’

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ breathed Ella.

  Queenie’s canny old eyes lit up behind her pebble-thick specs that were the size of re-entry shields. ‘I’m known for me discretion, me.’

  Ella put her arm through Kit’s. ‘Kit and I are getting married!’

  ‘Never! Well, bless me. Ain’t that lovely. When’s this, then?’

  ‘Two weeks tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, my good Gawd. Come and give me a kiss.’

  She bestowed her whiskered kisses on both of them, then asked them what they had come in for.

  ‘Wedding invitations.’

  ‘Oh now, I’ve got some somewhere – ’ang about and I’ll find them.’

  Kit and Ella passed knowing smiles to each other as Queenie rummaged in the huge bottom drawer of an old haberdashery dresser. ’Ere, Kit. Give me a hand.’

  Kit obediently went behind the counter and helped her lift a faded cardboard box onto the counter.

  ‘Have a look in there, while I put me legs up again.’ She went back to her chair and put her feet on the crate. ‘They may be a bit out of date but that’s cos they’re vintage.’

  Ella lifted the lid and put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. ‘Queenie, these have got photos of Prince Charles and Lady Diana on them.’

  ‘Dig a bit deeper, dear.’

  ‘Oh, these are nice.’ Ella held out a handful of cards that had prettily painted forget-me-nots, primroses and larkspur on them. In silver writing they had either The Happiest of Days is Here, Marriage Joy or, rather more jocularly, Aisle be Seeing You written upon them.

  ‘Let me look, dear.’ Queenie held out her hand and looked closely at them. ‘Oh yes, these are definitely vintage. Seventies, I should say. Do they have envelopes?’

  Ella felt about in the box. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll find you some, but they might not fit. How many people you inviting? It’s a pity your mum isn’t here.’

  ‘But she is!’ Ella smiled excitedly. ‘She came back!’

  Queenie was dumbstruck. ‘And no one told me?’ she gasped.

  ‘It’s not a secret, but we’ve had a lot to talk about and we had to get to know each other without distractions.’

  ‘I had the newspaper, here on me counter, with that poor girl’s face looking out. I can still it clearly. We thought she’d gone for good. Her poor parents were heartbroken.’

  ‘Yes, it wasn’t an easy time.’ Ella wanted to change the subject, ‘Anyway, I shall be needing about twenty invitations.’ She counted in her head. ‘No more than twenty.’

  ‘Does that include me?’ asked Queenie, pointedly brushing cigarette ash off her bosom.

  ‘Of course it does.’

  ‘Oh, good. I could do the catering if you like? Twenty of me famous pasties is easy for me to do.’

  Kit said a little too quickly, ‘We haven’t talked about the reception yet.’

  Queenie cackled naughtily. ‘Got you there, boy. You have what you want, only I don’t like prawns so don’t have any of them, or vol au vents. Pastry gets stuck in my dentures.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Kit.

  Queenie looked over at Ella. ‘’Ave you found enough cards, duck?’

  ‘Yes, just about. I like that they are a bit mixed up and not the same.’

  Kit paid for them and the extra envelopes and before he left with Ella he reminded Queenie, ‘Please don’t say anything to anyone just yet. About the wedding or Ella’s mum. We don’t want any more attention than necessary.’

  Queenie held her hand up. ‘Don’t you worry about that. Me lips are sealed. Careless talk costs lives and all that.’

  She waved them off from her armchair and watched as they walked back towards Marguerite Cottage. In her cardigan pocket, next to her smoking tackle, was her mobile phone. She pulled it out and punched a number into it.

  ‘’Ello? Beryl, is that you? I’ve got some news for you. But you mustn’t tell anyone …’

  PART THREE

  33

  Pendruggan, 2018

  ‘Mum, I’ve got some news,’ Ella said down the phone. Sennen, in bed, sat up, the thrill of hearing her daughter call her Mum always filling her with joy. ‘Is it good?’

  ‘Definitely. Very exciting. What are you doing two weeks today?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Kit and I have set the date for our wedding.’ The end of the sentence went up at least an octave and with added volume.

  Sen
nen held her receiver from her ear until the shrieking finished, then said, ‘Darling, that is so wonderful! Where?’

  ‘You remember the church next to our cottage? Holy Trinity? There.’

  ‘And this is in two weeks?’

  ‘Yes. At midday. I’m going to ask Henry to walk me down the aisle and Kit’s cousin, Adam, he’s a doctor, is going to be the best man.’

  Sennen bit her lip. ‘How does Henry feel about me being there?’

  ‘Mum, you will be there, Henry will be there – and it will be the happiest day of my life. Okay?’

  Sennen loved Ella’s optimism. ‘I might need some help with an outfit. What do mothers of the bride wear? Do you want me to wear a hat?’

  ‘Yes, hats, confetti, silly little kitten heels – and everything, please.’

  ‘I can’t promise kitten heels.’

  ‘Mum, you will look gorgeous no matter what. I’m going to ring Henry now and let him know he’s walking me down the aisle. Bye.’

  Ella ticked Sennen’s name off the top of her ‘who to phone list’ and dialled the next name down.

  ‘Henry, it’s me.’

  ‘Hello, you.’

  ‘What are you doing two weeks today?’ And she poured out the good news before he’d taken a breath.

  ‘And Mum is coming too.’

  Henry said nothing.

  ‘Henry? Are you still there?’

  ‘Why do you want her there?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘I can’t help how I feel, Ells.’

  ‘She’s your mum.’

  ‘Well, we all have a cross to bear.’

  ‘Henry, I’m not going to beg. Will you give me away and behave like a brother should? Or are you really prepared to break your sister’s heart?’

  ‘Resorting to emotional blackmail won’t help.’

  ‘How about wheedling?’ She coughed and pitched her voice girly high. ‘Pleeeeeese, Henry. You’re my brother and I love you. And you love me, don’t you?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  ‘So you’ll do it? It should be Poppa, I know, but it would make him so proud of you if you took his place. Please don’t let me down.’

  Henry softened. ‘I would never let you down, Ells.’ He took a moment to absorb how much it meant to her. ‘Of course I’ll do it. I’d be honoured to.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are the best.’ She blew a kiss down the phone. ‘When are you coming home by the way? Are you still holed up with some poor misled female?’

  Henry looked over at Deborah who was looking gorgeous, wrapped in her sheets and licking Marmite off her fingers. ‘At a mate’s. Actually, Ella, I think we should invite Deborah Palmer – you know, the solicitor? She can keep Mum in order.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Sennen, writing Deborah’s name on the list. ‘I’m posting invitations today so that people get them on Monday. Have a good weekend and see you soon? I’m cooking leg of lamb for Sunday lunch if you are about.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’ll be back in time for that, but I will come over later. Need to find my suit and get it to the cleaners.’

  Sennen, still sitting in her bed at White Water, was chasing all sorts of thoughts around in her head. The wedding was going to be tricky but she would do everything in her power to make her children happy and to make good memories of it. The one person she wanted to be there, standing next to her, though, was Kafir. She couldn’t bear to allow her mind to go near the thought that her marriage may be ended. No, she must hope that he would love her enough to get over this painful bridge and put it behind them. She had texted him twice over the last couple of days, telling him her news as she got it, but he hadn’t replied. She picked her phone up. Should she text again or take the plunge and ring him?

  Several times she put the phone down, only to pick it up again, but finally she picked it up and, with determined, shaking fingers, dialled his number.

  It went to voicemail.

  ‘Kafir, it’s me. I know this sounds mad, but the other day, I had a vision of my mother. A sort of visitation I suppose. Anyway, she was saying she was with me and all is well. Kept saying it over and over. And since then a lot has happened. Ella is getting married, two weeks today in Pendruggan church at Midday. Henry is giving her away, and I need you by my side. Please come. Bring Aali and Sabu … We’ll be doing it together. You and I. I want Henry and Ella to meet you and know how good you are. Why I love you. It’s so hard here without you. I know it’s all my own fault, but I feel as if Mum is with us and all will be well, as she told me. Mad. Mad, but please come. It’s the only way we can find out what the future holds for all of us. I will fight hard for you. The pain of losing you is actually physical. It’s real. It hurts. I miss you. Please, please come. I love you, Kafir. And I am so very sorry for my lies. I am not lying now. I need you. Please, please … call me.’

  Kit was on the phone to Adam, talking about best man duties, while Ella finished writing the invitations. Addressing the last envelope and gathering them all together into a neat pile, she signalled to Kit that she was nipping up to Queenie’s to get them posted and, pulling on her waterproof, headed off through the rain that had been falling all day to the village store.

  Queenie was ensconced again in her chair in front of an electric fire. ‘That rain’s brought some cold,’ she said.

  Ella closed the shop door against the downpour. ‘I hope the weather will be all right for the wedding. My dress isn’t exactly thermal or waterproof.’

  ‘Never rains on the bride,’ wheezed Queenie, hoisting herself up. ‘You’ll be okay. What do you want? Stamps?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Queenie got out her antique stamp book with its well-thumbed tabs. ‘First or second?’

  ‘Twenty first-class.’

  ‘Righty ho.’ Queenie pushed her enormous glasses up her nose and began searching. ‘So, where’s the hen do?’ she asked.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of having one,’ said Ella.

  ‘You have to have an ’en do. Tradition. Your last chance of a proper knees-up as a single girl.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ella looked doubtful. ‘I shouldn’t think Kit will have a stag party.’

  ‘Well, he should.’

  ‘Should he?’

  ‘Oh dear, yes. Bad luck for you both not to be given a proper send off.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Kit. How much do I owe you for the stamps?’

  Queenie was not to be fobbed off. ‘A nice Chinese meal is what you want. The Chinese are experts at bringing good luck.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘You don’t want to risk bad luck do you. That’ll be £13, please.’

  Sennen handed over the money. ‘I suppose a meal is better than getting drunk in a nightclub with an L plate tied round my head.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be able to come if it was a nightclub do.’ Queenie shook her head. ‘It’s me legs.’

  ‘Would you want to come for a Chinese supper?’

  ‘Oh, that is kind of you. Yes please. When are you having it?’

  Ella laughed at how easily the wily old lady had manipulated her. ‘What day suits you?’

  ‘The wedding is on a Saturday so you don’t want to go out on the Friday night – how about the Thursday before?’

  ‘Okay, Thursday week it is. Do you have a favourite restaurant?’

  ‘The Fighting Duck, the back of Fore Street in Trevay. They do a lovely sweet-and-sour pork there.’

  ‘I’ll book it. And I’ll organise a taxi to pick us both up. Say seven o’clock?’

  Queenie made her way back to her chair. ‘That’d be fine dear. I don’t want to be home too late, neither.’

  ‘A stag night?’ Kit scratched his chin, ‘I hadn’t thought about it. Who would I invite?’

  ‘Adam, Simon, Piran and Henry to start with. It’s part of Adam’s duties as best man to organise it, isn’t it?’

  ‘Good point. So, who’s going to your hen party? Apart from Queenie
?’

  ‘Mum, Penny, Helen. I think Mum would like her friend Rosemary too.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘It’s all so unreal, isn’t it. Can you believe this is happening?’

  ‘It definitely is happening.’ He rattled his car keys. ‘Shall I tell you how I know?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I am going to drive the woman I love to the jeweller’s and buy her the best engagement ring I can afford.’

  Ella caught her breath. ‘OMG! I’d almost forgotten!’

  ‘And wedding rings.’

  ‘Oh yes! Oh gosh.’ She put her arms around him and smooched. ‘I am so lucky to have you. I can’t wait to be Mrs Beauchamp. Could things get any better?’

  34

  The Hen Party

  The Chinese restaurant was pleasantly busy, enough for the waiting staff to give Ella’s party plenty of attention. The food was excellent and kept on coming, as did the drinks. Queenie was on her fourth Tia Maria and lemonade when she decided to make a speech. Penny and Helen, on either side of her, helped her up and readjusted the veiled hat she had insisted on wearing.

  ‘I just want to wish young Ella ’ere, all the best for her big day and also a big welcome home to her mum, Sennen.’ Queenie turned to Sennen, who was plucking at her napkin, ‘Sennen scarpered many years ago leaving two little ’uns with her parents. We all thought she was dead, but here she is, right as rain. Sadly, her parents died before she got home to see them.’

  Ella’s toes were curling and could see that Sennen was screwing her napkin into a tight ball.

  Penny saw all this and shot to her feet to save Queenie from embarrassing herself further. ‘That’s enough, you can sit down now, Queenie.’

  ‘I need to make the toast.’ Queenie was adamant.

  ‘Okay then, just a short one, wishing Ella well.’

  ‘I know what I’m doing. I’m not doolally.’ Queenie pushed her hat to the back of her head whilst pulling her arm from Penny’s crossly. She returned her attention to the table, ‘So please raise your glasses to those no longer with us, to absent friends.’

  Penny shouted over her quickly, ‘To Ella.’

  ‘To Ella,’ repeated everyone.