by Fern Britton
‘You mean he’s naïve.’
‘Shut up, sober up and, when I’ve made supper, eat up.’
14
It was cold as Helen walked to church the next day, and almost colder in the church itself. Apparently the oil tank had been drained by thieves. The church warden was to padlock the tank from now on and keep the key on him at all times. Helen was wedged between Queenie on one side, who was wearing an angora tea-cosy hat and a moth-eaten rabbit-fur coat, and Tony on the other, who was wearing at least three boiler suits under his fleece. Within twenty minutes she was so warm, she was glad of the cooling walk to the altar for communion. She smiled up at Simon as he offered her the wafer, but he didn’t reciprocate. When he came back with the wine, she tried again, but received only a thin smile in return.
After the service, Helen took her place in the line of people who wanted to thank him and shake his hand, but when it came to her turn he was polite but cool. Helen was mortified; she and Penny had clearly hurt his feelings and now she was going to have to find a way to make up for it.
*
Simon watched her as she walked away. He was tired after a sleepless night cursing himself for his stupidity. Why had he trusted her when he didn’t know her? The phrase ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread’ swept into his mind. He felt a hand tapping his arm.
‘Is the oil insured? Only we could have a whip round, if you like?’
He turned to look into the kindly face of Queenie. ‘Thank you so much. Yes, we are insured, but how nice of you to think of us. God will provide.’
‘That’s what my Ted used to say an’ all. Got us through rationing did the Lord. I’m making some Bramley apple pies in the week – want a couple for your freezer?’
‘Thank you, Queenie. I’d love that. God bless.’
When the last of the congregation had finally gone, Simon went back into the empty church. He locked the ancient door behind him and sat in one of the back pews. He clasped his hands, closed his eyes and prayed.
‘Dear God, Can you hear me? I wouldn’t normally ask for myself, as you know, but I’m so lonely. Please, if it’s your will, help me find a loving woman to be my wife. I feel so much for Helen. But is she the one? Is it possible that she could ever feel something for me? Or am I destined to be a naïve fool? Help me find the way, so that I won’t be hurt again. Thanks for listening. Amen.’
He stood, bowed to the figure of Christ at the altar and wiped his eyes with his clerical sleeve.
*
The empty churchyard was cold in the shadows. Penny stopped and read some of the gravestones. A pleasure she wasn’t entirely sure about, but compulsive nonetheless. She found one for Eliza Jennings, born 16 January 1827, died 24 June 1834. Penny’s own birthday was 16 January.
The rooks in the trees suddenly flew cawing up into the sky, startling her. She looked round and saw the cause of the commotion – it was Simon, leaving by the vestry door, and walking away from her towards the vicarage. She wondered whether she should run after him and apologise, but the moment passed, and he turned the corner out of sight.
The village had surprised Penny with its beauty and traditional charm. Helen’s cottage sat on the south-west side of the village green with two cottages to the left of her, one of them Polly’s, and four cottages on the right. Two of them were holiday lets and empty at the moment. Dead opposite was the impressively fronted Pendruggan Farmhouse with its limed walls and decorative portico over the front door, which looked to have been added at least a hundred years after the original building was finished. On the left-hand side of the green was a phone box and six council houses, with three post-war prefabs up on the hill above, which were all still occupied. And on the right-hand side of the green was the vicarage and church and Queenie’s shop. The entire hamlet was warmly cradled in its little valley. The hills surrounding it were all open farmland with the odd cottage and chapel and barn. She took the footpath up past the church and climbed a stile into a field from the top of which she could see the sea. When she turned round she could see Pendruggan laid out before her like a child’s toy village. She took her Moleskin notepad out of her bag and started to draw it for her location manager. Then she texted him:
I’ve found St Brewey. PL x.
15
Penny was full of excitement and was in such a hurry to get started that she rang her PA to say she would be coming back to London early. She left the following morning with a memory stick full of photographs of locations she’d fallen in love with. She didn’t get a chance to apologise to Simon, but she promised Helen that she would return at Christmas and make it up to him then. She had already booked the best available room at the Starfish from 23 December until 2 January, and had been in discussion with the owner about preferential rates for her star-studded cast when they came down to film in the New Year. Now, all she had to do was complete casting and get all the technical logistics into place.
Helen waved her off and felt a sense of relief that she was again able to continue her new life without interruption. The first thing was to go round to see Simon and apologise.
Fortunately, Simon was a very forgiving man, especially when overwhelmed with gratitude at having her all to himself again, and they made another date to go surfing during the week.
As she finished her cup of coffee and got up to go, Simon said, ‘Helen, this might be an awful bore, but I have been asked to a diocesan dinner with the bishop in the new year and I wondered if you would accompany me as my guest? It’ll be full of dull clergymen and their wives, but I’d be awfully grateful to have you as my companion for the evening.’
Helen, eager to do anything that would cement their friendship again, immediately said, ‘Of course! We’ll be needing to sober up after Christmas and New Year’s Eve! The Bish, eh? Very exciting. What should I wear?’
Simon thought of the clergy wives and their dusty taffeta with ancient pearls. ‘Just be yourself. I know they’ll be enchanted.’
‘That’s the worst kind of help you could give me, but hey-ho! They won’t meet me again, will they? So it doesn’t really matter as long as I don’t embarrass you!’
She reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. This time he reciprocated, feeling the smoothness of her feminine skin on his lips.
‘I really appreciate our friendship, Helen. You know that, don’t you?’
She stepped back and looked into his kind face. ‘I really appreciate your friendship too. It’s lovely to have an uncomplicated friendship with a man. Goodbye, Simon.’ Another kiss and she was on her way back to her cottage.
*
They managed to get a couple more surf lessons in before Helen declared the sea was too cold, and that her next lesson wouldn’t be until Easter. November was breathing down their necks anyway, and Helen wanted to get started on Christmas preparations.
She phoned the children first.
‘Yep, Sean Merrifield …’
Helen pictured her son sitting at his desk, tipped back in his chair.
‘Darling, it’s me, Mum. Have I called at a bad time?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ve got a couple of minutes. Hang on a sec.’ He put his hand over the mouthpiece and she could hear his muffled voice telling someone he’d meet them in the pub for lunch in a minute, then he was back on the line. ‘So, Ma, how’s tricks?’
‘All good, thank you. I’m ringing to see if you have any plans for Christmas?’
‘Oh, Ma, I don’t know yet, I’m so full-on here. Work’s gone crazy and—’
She interrupted him. ‘Because, darling, I don’t have room in my little house for you and I am just trying to get an idea of numbers in order to book rooms at the pub up the road. And,’ – she didn’t give him time to get any more evasion in – ‘I do want you to see my new home and meet my new friends. I want to show you off, that’s all.’ Was she giving him a guilt-trip? She didn’t mean to, but what the hell, she didn’t make a habit of it!
‘Well, erm, Terri has been badgering me to take her
away for the weekend.’
‘Terri? What happened to Lucy?’
‘Complicated, Ma. But you’ll like Terri. She’s sweet. A model. Does a lot of PR shoots: drinks companies and motor shows, that kind of thing. Have a look in this week’s diary section in OK! – she’s the blonde in the spray-on red dress.’
‘I will!’ Helen thought of Queenie and how pleased she’d be to feel she knew someone in her beloved gossip mags. ‘Has Daddy met her yet?’
‘No! And he won’t, if I can help it. You know how embarrassing he can be when he gets going – trying to chat people up.’
‘It’s just your dad. And she’s not likely to run off with him when she’s got you, is she?’ Silence greeted her at the other end. ‘Is she, Sean?’
‘Ask him and Lucy.’
‘Oh no.’ Helen was gobsmacked. ‘Dad didn’t make a move on Lucy, did he?’
‘Like I said, ask them. I couldn’t give a monkey’s.’ She heard him give a theatrical yawn. ‘So, is the old man coming for Christmas?’
‘I don’t know. But I tell you what, why don’t you and Terri come down for Bonfire Night next weekend? Trevay do a great display, I’m told. Then we could have supper at the Dolphin. I’ll book you both a room. My treat.’
‘Thanks, Ma. I’ll check with Terri, but it sounds great. Will Chloe be down too?’
‘I’ll ask her. In fact, I’ll phone her right now. How exciting! Go and have your pub lunch and we’ll sort the details out later. Love you. Bye.’
‘Love you too, Ma. Bye.’
*
Bloody Gray! How dare he steal his own son’s girlfriend. She picked up the phone again.
‘Yuh?’ Gray’s lazy voice.
‘You bastard!’
‘Hell-o, Helen – how lovely to hear from you. What am I supposed to have done now?’
‘Stolen your son’s girlfriend, that’s what.’
‘It was a misunderstanding, that’s all, darling.’
‘Explain.’
‘Well, I met them both for Sunday lunch in the Kings Road and she just kept flirting with me. Sean got all shirty and left us to it.’
‘And?’
‘And, we … saw each other a few times, and now it’s over. What’s the big deal?’
‘The deal is, you don’t take your son’s girlfriends. No sane, humane father would. How could you?’
‘She knew what she was doing. I said to her, “Laura—”’
‘LUCY.’
‘“Lucy, are you sure you know what you’re doing to poor old Sean?” But she was all over me, darling. What can a man do?’
‘Behave like a man who is not led by his prick!’
‘What a compliment! You didn’t seem to mind when my prick led me to you. Did you?’
‘Fuck off.’ Helen slammed the phone down in a rage. How dare the pig-headed arse behave like that? He’d always been the same. Well, she wasn’t going to bloody well invite him down here anytime soon. She would draw the line and have no further contact. She’d tried to remain on good terms for the children’s sake, but this was beyond the pale. She picked the phone up again.
‘Bristol Home Charity shop, good morning.’
‘Chloe, darling, it’s Mum. Have you got ten minutes?’
*
By the time Helen put the phone down, she felt a lot better. Chloe had listened and supported her while trying not to be judgemental about her father. But she had agreed that her parents needed to have a cooling-off period and that it would be best not to invite Gray down for Christmas. When Helen asked her about coming down for Bonfire Night, Chloe leapt at the chance. She said she was missing Helen and Sean, and would like to have a look at the glamorous Terri too. Helen couldn’t wait to see her children.
*
It was Friday, 4 November and Helen was fretting. Sean had volunteered to collect Chloe from Bristol on the way down so all three of them would arrive together, but now it was 8 p.m. and there was still no sign of them. She was convinced something had gone wrong. Mobile phones and satnavs didn’t work well down here, so if Sean had got lost somewhere he’d have no way of letting her know.
She was in the sitting-room window seat, so she could keep an eye on the road. She’d worked hard today; the house was looking its best, a fire glowed in the grate and the kids’ favourite curried beef with horseradish stew was in the bottom of the Aga. She hoped that Terri wasn’t a vegetarian. Earlier, she had taken two big bell jars with a couple of sturdy church candles in them, and placed them either side of the gate on top of the wonky drystone wall. Helen turned and looked out of the window again. The candles were still lit and flickering attractively. She flicked the television on to pass the time. Sky News wasn’t reporting any major pile-ups on the M4 yet …
*
Chloe had never been more uncomfortable in a back seat. Sean was driving Terri’s Jeep wrangler, which had a kind of tarpaulin roof stretched over the top and the constant flapping made it impossible to hear anything that was said by those in the front seats. She was cold too. It was as if the November night was seeping from the Tarmac, through the tyres and directly into her feet, hands and kidneys. Maybe she’d get the train back to Bristol on Sunday. She looked at the back of Sean’s tufty head. She loved her brother and knew that he had been as shocked by Helen and Gray’s decision to part as she had. Her father was a rogue, and he’d hurt her mother badly over the years, but Chloe still hadn’t believed that the two of them would go through with the divorce. Even now, she was convinced that they would get back together.
She watched as Terri put her hand tenderly on Sean’s leg. She was saying something to him which made him take her hand in his and lift it to his lips. Terri was very pretty and her friendliness towards Chloe when they picked her up that afternoon had felt genuine. Chloe was happy for them both. In the meantime, her own love-life was a desert.
Perhaps she was looking for something impossible, someone who was like her father but with all the unfaithful bits taken out. Were men programmed to be unfaithful? At Cambridge there’d been a couple of boys she fancied, but nothing had come of it. Chloe had never wanted to dress in anything low-cut and high-heeled, and as she didn’t like the taste of alcohol, getting wrecked and having a tipsy fumble wasn’t an option.
She saw herself in the driver’s rear-view mirror. Make-up-free, long, shiny auburn hair, inherited from her mother, and an anorak she’d got for a few quid in her own charity shop. She was slender but would never be a Terri.
Terri had perfectly rounded breasts and a super-flat stomach with legs up to her armpits. The legs were currently encased in skin-tight black jeans and spiky-heeled ankle boots. Her coat was lightweight but deeply padded and lined with fur. Terri’s hair was model-perfect too. Platinum blonde; natural, according to Sean, for which Chloe had punched him. Too much information.
They came off the M5 and onto winding country roads. The directions Helen had emailed them were in Terri’s lap and she read them out to Sean using the light from her mobile phone to see. In the dark it was very difficult to spot any of the little turns into narrow lanes, and the lack of signposts was infuriating, but at last they spotted the Dolphin pub, which Helen had told them was close to Pendruggan.
Eventually, Chloe shouted, ‘Look! There! With the candles on the wall. I can see Mum through the window.’
Sean gave the horn a couple of short beeps and they watched Helen jump up and wave out to the two headlights gleaming in the dark.
As they walked up the path, she threw open the door and the light inside spilled on to the path.
After lots of hugs and kisses and bundling in of bags and bunches of flowers, they were all given the chance to look round the cottage before sitting down by the fire for a drink.
Supper was a success. Terri tucked into the beef stew with gusto – ‘Helen, this is marvellous. I could never be a veggie!’ – and conversation flowed easily as they exchanged all their news. By half-past ten Sean and Terri had headed off to their room at the Dol
phin.
After turning the downstairs lights out, Helen put her arms round Chloe and gave her a big hug.
‘I have missed my girl so much.’
‘Oh, Mum, it’s lovely to be here with you. Terri’s nice, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, I like her. Sean can’t keep his eyes or his hands off her.’
‘Let’s hope Dad can.’
16
Dorrie had offered to make the Merrifield family a late breakfast in the pub and she had pulled out all the stops. The table was groaning under dishes of local crispy bacon, eggs, spicy sausages and fresh granary toast. They washed it all down with piping mugs of tea.
‘It’s a lovely sunny day and the forecast for the firework display tonight is clear and dry.’ Don was helping Dorrie to clear the table. ‘You going down with the girls to watch it, Sean? Or would you like to join me and the lads for a drink?’
‘What time?’ asked Sean.
Terri flashed a look at Sean, which Dorrie caught.
‘Don, there’s plenty of time for that later. Sean wants to see the fireworks.’
Terri cast a grateful glance at Dorrie, who turned away laden with dirty plates and cups. Don gave Sean a covert wink and mouthed ‘Later’ at him before following his wife into the kitchen.
*
They decided to take two cars down to Trevay, where they spent the next few hours mooching around the warren of narrow streets and shops. Terri liked the little galleries displaying local artists’ work and bought a hand-thrown sea-green glazed jug that she had fallen in love with.
‘That’s really beautiful, Terri. It’ll look gorgeous with daffs in,’ said Helen.
‘Well, believe it or not, it’s for putting my paintbrushes in. I have an art degree and I’m putting together some work now with a view to having an exhibition next summer.’
‘What about your modelling?’
‘It’s a money-spinner, that’s all. I’ve been very lucky so far; it’s paid the rent and bought my car. It’s easy money, and I’m grateful for it, but I have no delusions that it will lead to bigger things. Besides, it’s too bloody cold to sit on the bonnet of a car in a bikini indefinitely!’ Terri grinned broadly, showing her perfect teeth.
