The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay

by Sheila Norton

  ‘Poor thing. Perhaps it’s just because she can’t manage to cook for herself, if it’s too painful to stand in the kitchen.’ I hesitated. ‘Would it help if I popped round to see her? Maybe I could make something to take her. She wouldn’t be able to refuse, then.’

  He gave me a grateful look. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t mind, Jess? At least then we’d know whether she’s really too ill to eat or whether it’s just too difficult for her. I did offer to take her some ready meals, but I won’t repeat what she said to that.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘She’s not too poorly to tell me where to put my ready meals! Something you’ve home-cooked would be different, though. If it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t. I’ll do it tomorrow, on my day off.’

  I liked Vera. She was a forthright, opinionated lady with a wicked sense of humour, and I could understand why Jim was a bit sweet on her: she’d always brightened up the day when she used to come into the shop. It was sad, and worrying, to think of her lying around at home, not eating and becoming weak and miserable. I was only too glad to be able to do something that might help her, and I wouldn’t have offered if I hadn’t been happy to do it. But as it happened, cooking – which used to be one of the greatest pleasures of my life – held no joy for me at all any more. Whenever Ruth didn’t have Nick, or anyone else, visiting, we normally ate together, and nine times out of ten it was me who made the dinner. But the meals I prepared were basic and functional rather than creative. I stuck to the same old boring repertoire, used frozen vegetables, microwaved things whenever possible, and never opened a recipe book. Nobody would have guessed, from watching me in the kitchen these days, that I was actually a trained chef. Nobody would have guessed, because I was doing everything possible to forget about it myself.

  But that Wednesday, after shopping for meat and vegetables, I made a nourishing chicken casserole with lots of healthy veg, a thick onion gravy and herby dumplings. While it was in the oven, I made a small dish of bread-and-butter pudding for dessert, with Demerara sugar and nutmeg sprinkled on top. Comfort food. As soon as everything had finished cooking I wrapped the dishes in tea towels, packed them carefully in a big heatproof bag and set off to take it all to Vera. Prudence, of course, had been watching me the whole time, getting up to sniff the air and give me an occasional accusing whine as the delicious scents wafted over her bed.

  Mm. Smells good! Aren’t you going to give me any?

  ‘Sorry, Pru,’ I said. ‘I’ve saved you some of the cooked chicken without the onions and stuff. You can have it for your dinner later.’

  She got back into her bed with a disappointed look, making me feel twice as guilty for leaving her at home on her own on my day off.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘But I can’t take you to Vera’s with me. She’s not very well, and she might not appreciate you running around her house. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  I’d be good! What’s the matter, don’t you trust me? she complained.

  I laughed. ‘Go on, have a sleep and I’ll take you out later.’

  I walked down to the seafront and along the promenade to Vera’s house, feeling pleased with my morning’s work. It was a typical Devon summer day – overcast with the threat of rain in the air – and I smiled at the sight of all the holiday families on the beach, gamely building sandcastles or paddling in the sea, wearing anoraks and with the legs of their trousers rolled up. We hadn’t even reached the school holidays yet, but nevertheless the town was busy enough with families of younger children, their parents no doubt taking advantage of the cheaper accommodation costs. Toddlers squealed as they jumped over the waves, unbothered by the chill of the water, and the queue for ice creams at the beach café was just as long as it was on hot bank holidays. I loved the British determination to have fun despite the weather. Even if it rained, I was pretty sure most of these families would just put up the hoods on their anoraks and stay there on the beach, telling each other it was probably just a clearing-up shower.

  Vera lived near the harbour, in a neat little stone-built house in the middle of a row of fishermen’s cottages, appropriately called Fish Row. I rang the doorbell and waited, looking at the hollyhocks, lupins and sunflowers in her little front garden. They were fighting for survival among the weeds. It wouldn’t hurt me to tidy up her yard for Vera while I was here. I turned back and rang the bell again, thinking she might not have heard.

  ‘All right, all right, no need to wear the bloody bell out!’ came a sudden shout. The door was flung open and Vera appeared in the doorway, wearing a pink dressing gown and leaning heavily on a stick. She looked up at me in surprise. ‘Oh. Hello, Jess.’

  ‘Hello, Vera. Sorry, I thought you might not have heard the doorbell.’

  ‘No, it just takes me so damn long to get to the door with this confounded ankle. Come in, come in, don’t stand on ceremony, girl. What have you got there?’ She pointed to the bag I’d rested on the doorstep. ‘Done your shopping, have you?’

  ‘No. It’s for you.’ I followed her into the hallway, suddenly feeling shy and unsure about bringing her the food. Would she be offended? Should I perhaps have called her first and suggested it? Well, it was a bit late now to worry about it. ‘I felt like doing some cooking,’ I invented on the spot. ‘And there was too much for Ruth and me. So I thought you might like to share it.’

  ‘You thought I was too bloody feeble to cook for myself, more likely,’ she retorted. ‘And I can guess who put that idea into your head!’

  ‘Jim and I are both worried about you, Vera. He says you haven’t got any appetite.’

  ‘Of course I haven’t got any bloody appetite. Sitting around all day doing nothing, watching rubbish on the damn telly, how can I have any appetite? Well, put the damn bag in the kitchen, then – thank you anyway. I’m being an ungrateful old woman, aren’t I? You’re very kind to cook for me. What is it?’

  I smiled. ‘Chicken casserole with dumplings. And bread and butter pudding.’

  ‘Huh.’ She sniffed as if in disgust, but didn’t look away quickly enough to hide the spark of interest in her eyes. ‘I suppose you’d better dish me a bit up, then, as you’ve gone to all the trouble of bringing it round here. Not that I’ll eat more than a spoonful, I don’t suppose, but it might stop Jim keeping on at me all the damn time.’

  I served her up a portion of the casserole, put it on a tray and carried it back into the living room. To my surprise she was sitting at the table, waiting.

  ‘What’s the damn tray for?’ she demanded. ‘I don’t need a tray on my lap, I’m not a bloody what-d’you-call-it – invalid.’

  ‘No, of course not. Sorry.’ I put the plate down in front of her, and she looked up at me and sighed.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. Sorry for snapping and for being a miserable old bat. This looks lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy it.’

  I left her to it, aware that she wouldn’t want me hovering over her, watching her eat, and went back out to the front garden to pull out some weeds by hand. Luckily the soil was damp and loose, and the weeds came up fairly easily. I didn’t know where Vera kept her garden tools and didn’t want to ask, as she’d be sure to tell me not to do it. I could see why Jim was so worried: Vera wasn’t her usual cheerful self at all, and I could see that her lack of mobility was really getting her down. She’d always dressed smartly and took a pride in having her hair done every week and putting on a bit of lipstick, even just to walk to the shops, but here she was still in her dressing gown at lunchtime, looking fed up and miserable.

  I went back into the kitchen, washed my hands and peeked around the living-room door. Vera had polished off the whole plateful of chicken casserole. Feeling pleased, I called out to her:

  ‘Would you like some more?’

  ‘No thank you. That was nice, but I had to force it down.’

  I smiled to myself. ‘A bit of the pudding, then?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘Wel
l, just a tiny smidgeon, then. To keep you happy. Don’t be miffed if I can’t manage it, though, will you.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Again, she cleared her plate. I had a sneaky suspicion she’d actually been starving hungry. I made us both a big mug of coffee and we sat together to drink it.

  ‘Thanks, Jess,’ she said. ‘It was good of you to come and see me.’ She sighed heavily and her eyes filled up with tears. ‘I know I’m not much company at the moment. I’m so fed up …’

  ‘Of course you are!’ I said gently. I put my arm round her. She felt worryingly thin. ‘But you’ll soon be feeling better. I know it’s frustrating, but it’s just a temporary setback.’

  ‘Is it, though?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I feel so frail and useless. Can’t even be bothered to get myself dressed or do my hair. What’s the point, when I can’t go out anywhere?’

  ‘Well, it might make you feel better if you do get dressed. Would you like me to help you?’

  ‘No!’ she snapped, wiping her eyes, her mood changing again. ‘What do you think I am – a damn what-d’you-call-it – geriatric patient? A silly old fool who can’t look after herself? If I feel like getting dressed, I’ll bloody well do it myself, thank you! And don’t you go off thinking I can’t cook for myself, either – not that I don’t appreciate your lovely casserole and the pudding. I just can’t be bothered, all right? I keep telling Jim: I don’t bloody well feel like cooking, and I don’t bloody well feel like eating. Now, if you’ve quite finished bossing me around, I’m tired and I’m going to have a sleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Vera. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just trying to help.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather you left me alone. And you can tell Jim the same. Go on, clear off. I want to sleep.’

  With which, I was dismissed.

  CHAPTER 4

  The sun was shining as I walked home, but this time I didn’t even notice the crowds on West Beach. I was far too upset about Vera. I’d never seen her so miserable. She was obviously depressed, but was it just because of being stuck at home, was it because of the pain, or was it perhaps a side-effect of the painkillers? Should I call the doctor? She was sure to be offended, even outraged, by me interfering but I had to do something. Well, I’d better discuss it with Jim at work the next morning. He knew Vera better than I did; perhaps he’d go straight round to see her again himself and talk to her about it.

  Prudence, at least, was pleased to see me when I arrived home.

  ‘All right, calm down!’ I laughed as she jumped up at my legs, panting with excitement. ‘Yes, let’s go for your walk now. I’m sorry it’s a bit late but I told you, I had to visit somebody.’

  Never mind visiting people, what about me, left here all alone and lonely?

  ‘Don’t give me all that! I bet you sent all your doggy friends a text to say you were on your own and needed some company. You were probably having a great time, chatting and boozing, weren’t you! I just hope none of them spilt any wine on the floor, or Ruth will go mad.’

  I fastened on her lead and we set off for Stony Cove, still carrying on our conversation as we walked. I was so busy chatting to her, in fact, that I didn’t notice someone walking behind me until Pru herself turned around and barked excitedly.

  ‘What is it? Oh! Hello!’ I exclaimed, laughing, as Buddy, straining on his lead to reach Prudence, pulled Nick so close behind me that we nearly fell over each other. By the time we’d stumbled to stay upright I was, as usual, blushing furiously and trying to think of something to say to him. But he was already ahead of me.

  ‘Having a nice little chat there with Prudence, weren’t you?’

  I glanced at him, wondering if he thought me a bit odd. But if he did, he was hiding it well.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘Silly, I know, but I tend to do that – when we’re on our own together.’

  ‘Not silly at all,’ he said. ‘I talk to Buddy too. I imagine all dog owners do.’ He gave a little chuckle as we walked on together. ‘You only need to worry when she starts talking back to you.’

  I felt my face flare hot again. She does, I wanted to say. OK, I knew Pru’s responses were really just the product of my own imagination – I wasn’t that crazy yet – but sometimes the conversations did actually feel real. I glanced at Nick. If I told him that, and if I went on to tell him about the secret life and group of imaginary friends I’d created for her, the games I pretended they played together and conversations they had while I was out – he’d probably be on the phone to the mental health service as soon as we’d said goodbye. Instead, I gave a half-hearted little laugh and changed the subject.

  ‘What are you doing off work, anyway?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing!’ he replied cheerfully.

  ‘It’s my day off,’ I answered, realising too late that I’d led him to believe I had no free time. But he didn’t seem to pick up on it.

  ‘Lucky you,’ he said. ‘I’m just on a long lunch break. It’s my day at the care home. I’m giving Buddy a quick walk before I go back to work.’

  ‘How did it go today?’ I asked shyly. We were at Stony Cove now. There were just a few holidaymakers there – children paddling in the rock pools, some people in the sea wearing snorkels, an elderly couple sitting on fold-up chairs with a pack of sandwiches – but nothing like the crowds on West Beach. We’d already let the dogs off their leads and they were heading for the water, tails wagging enthusiastically, Prudence skipping girlishly in circles around Buddy’s big legs.

  ‘It was good,’ he said. ‘Buddy seems to enjoy it as much as the residents do. It’s strange how he seems instinctively to know that he needs to be quiet and gentle when we’re in there.’

  ‘Unlike the way he is when he’s down here with Pru!’ I said, pointing to Buddy now as he leapt into the surf, splashing madly in all directions and barking at Prudence to follow him.

  ‘I know. He’s generally like this, of course: boisterous and overexcited. So I reckon it’s clever of him to know he needs to behave differently with the old dears, especially the ones who are a bit away with the fairies.’

  I winced. Although I was impressed with his kindness in volunteering for the charity, I didn’t much like the way he referred to the elderly people as old dears and away with the fairies. I supposed they were just casual phrases, but even his tone had sounded a bit patronising. Still, who was I to criticise? It wasn’t as if I was giving up my free time to visit them.

  ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’d better let you get on. I expect you have to get back to work.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I should. See you, Jess.’ Nick called Buddy back out of the sea and waved goodbye as he took him to run off along the beach to dry off. Prudence came trotting over to me, looking puzzled.

  Why has Buddy gone already? We were having fun!

  ‘His dad’s got to go to work, Pru.’ I felt strangely bereft myself. I sighed. I enjoyed chatting to Nick so much. He was charming and funny, and I felt as if we were developing a rapport – like I was almost beginning to forget my shyness sometimes when I was with him. It would be nice if we could be friends, especially as he was Ruth’s boyfriend and I’d be seeing quite a lot of him. ‘Come on, let’s go to the beach café,’ I went on. I’d just realised, watching the couple on the beach eating their sandwiches, that I hadn’t had any lunch and I was now starving.

  The little café at Stony Cove was run by two guys in their forties. Kevin served the customers while Dan made the sandwiches and hot drinks. They had a little Chihuahua called Missy, who wore a pink bow in her hair and trotted around the café as if she owned the place. She was very well behaved but definitely a little princess. Prudence always tried to interact with her but usually gave up after a while; Missy considered herself too important and special to play with other dogs. Kevin and Dan’s repartee was famous in the town, and most of the locals who frequented the café came here to enjoy the banter as much as the food, whi
ch was, frankly, sometimes a bit uninspiring. I didn’t often eat out, of course – on my wages, it was a treat I couldn’t usually afford. But today I could have eaten a horse – perhaps not literally, but the toasted ham sandwich served up by Kevin did make me wonder.

  ‘Now then!’ he said in mock protest. ‘Don’t stare at Dan’s culinary delights as if they’re unworthy of you, dear. You know how hurt he gets if anyone leaves any crumbs.’

  I smiled. Kevin and Dan were good fun, and I enjoyed their teasing but could never bring myself to make any quips back.

  ‘Bowl of water for Prudence?’ Kevin went on. ‘She looks like she’s gasping, poor little soul. Has she been drinking sea water again?’

  ‘Probably swallowed some, yes. Playing with her friend Buddy.’

  ‘Oh, Buddy, is it?’ he said, striking a pose. ‘New boyfriend, Prudence?’

  Pru looked up at him, her eyes bright, her tail wagging, and we both laughed.

  ‘She’ll make Missy jealous!’ he joked, and then added in mock self-pity: ‘And me. I hope she has more luck with her love life than I do.’

  ‘That’s not true! You and Dan have been together for years!’

  ‘Mm. So you’d think he’d be as keen as I am to get married, wouldn’t you?’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘If he doesn’t agree soon I might just look elsewhere.’

  I glanced at him, wondering if, for once, he was being serious. I couldn’t imagine the pair of them splitting up: they were a fixture in Pennycombe Bay. Not only had they run the beach café here at Stony Cove for as long as I could remember, but they were always involved in whatever was going on. Currently, for instance, they were both part of the committee that organised the Pennycombe Bay Carnival, which would be taking place at the beginning of September.