Fern Britton - The Postcard - Escape to Cornwall with the perfect summer holiday read

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Kit kept up his warm smile. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He called to the dogs. ‘Terry, Celia – come here.’ The animals ambled towards him and allowed him to rub their ears.

‘Welcome to Pendruggan, Kit. I’m Simon.’ Simon held out his hand. ‘Lovely dogs.’

Kit shook Simon’s proffered hand. ‘Celia thinks she owns the world. She definitely rules me. Terry is very easy-going but don’t try to befriend him. If he likes you, you’ll know.’

‘Please don’t let them come in to my garden again,’ said Penny.

‘Woof-woofs,’ said Jenna, straining sideways to get out of Penny’s arms and down to the dogs.

‘No, darling, don’t touch them. They may bite,’ she ordered.

Kit smiled at her. ‘Well, they haven’t bitten anyone yet, but let’s not tempt it on our first meeting, shall we?’

Penny switched her attention to the removal men who were clearly waiting for their cup of tea. ‘How long will you be blocking our drive?’

‘I’ve said they can take as long as they like.’ Simon smiled. ‘It’s easier for everybody if they tuck in here, off the road. Marguerite doesn’t have easy access. And we don’t need to go out again today, do we?’

‘I may want to go out,’ Penny said through clenched teeth.

‘What for?’ smiled Simon.

While Penny was thinking of an answer Queenie, dressed in a moth-eaten fur coat and with a scarf wrapped round her head, approached them from the shop. She was going as fast as her arthritic hips would let her, keen not to miss out on a bit of village news.

‘I saw the lorry and I thought, “Ooh there’s me new neighbours.” I like to welcome anyone new to the village, don’t I, vicar?’

‘You certainly do. Gentlemen, this is Queenie who runs the village shop and is the fountain of all local knowledge.’

Queenie smiled and pretended to be abashed. ‘Oh, he’s a charmer is our vicar. Anyways, I bet you boys are ’ungry, so I’ve brought you some of me famous pasties. They’re yesterday’s, but I’ve heated them up so they’ll be fine.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said the chief removal man gratefully. ‘They’ll go down lovely with a cup of tea.’ He looked hopefully at Penny who refused to catch his eye.

Inside the vicarage, the phone began to ring. Penny passed Jenna to Simon. ‘I’ll get it. And don’t put Jenna anywhere near those dogs or their poo.’

Queenie watched her go. ‘She’s always busy, that one. I don’t think you’ll get a cup of tea out of her today. Eat them pasties before they go cold and I’ll go and make the tea. Come up to the shop in a minute, ’cause I can’t carry an ’eavy tray down ’ere.’

She patted the pockets of her original 1950s fur coat. ‘I nearly forgot. This ’ere is the post what’s come for the new tenants of Marguerite Cottage.’ She handed over several letters. ‘Most of them is the electric company and water and so on but one of them looks like a card. Probably welcoming them boys into their new ’ome.’ She screwed up her eyes and squinted through her rather greasy spectacles. ‘Doctor Adam Beauchamp and—’ Simon stopped her from continuing. ‘Queenie, this is Kit, our new neighbour. I think that post is for him.’

Queenie was unembarrassed. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. Our postman, Freddie, ’e’s ever so good, he asked me to look after these for you.’ She handed the envelopes to their rightful owner.

‘Thank you.’ He took them from her. ‘Those pasties smell awfully good.’

‘Oh they are,’ grinned Queenie. ‘Come with me up the shop and I’ll get one for you if you help me with the tea tray.’

‘It would be my pleasure. Do you mind if the dogs come too?’

‘Not at all. I ’eard you two had dogs. That’s lovely. Like children to you, I ’spect. By the way I’m not just the village shop, I’m the postmistress too, you know.’

Simon watched them go and felt it safe to let Jenna down from his arms.

Penny shouted at him from the front door, ‘Simon! Please come. Quickly. Something terrible has happened.’ She was pale with shock.

Simon picked up Jenna and ran to his wife.

‘What on earth is it?’ Simon steered Penny with one hand, all the while gripping Jenna who was wriggling under his opposite arm, into the drawing room. ‘Sit down and tell me.’

Penny sat shakily, her hands in her lap, her fingers weaving restlessly. She stared, unfocussed, at their wedding picture on the wall.

Simon waited.

‘Mumma?’ Jenna put her arms out and whined for reassurance. ‘Mumma?’

Penny spoke. ‘It’s my mother. An old friend just rang. Thought I should know. She’s dead.’

Simon frowned and put his hand on Penny’s. ‘Your mother is dead?’

Penny nodded, her face almost grey with shock.

‘Is she sure, your friend? How does she know?’

‘It was announced in the local paper.’

‘When?’

‘Last week, but she’s only just seen it.’

‘But why didn’t Suzie tell you?’

Penny shrugged helplessly. ‘We haven’t spoken since that terrible lunch. Maybe she thought I didn’t want to know? Maybe she thought I wouldn’t speak to her if she had called? Or maybe,’ she brushed a tear from her eye, ‘she’s punishing me just a little bit more.’

‘But, darling.’ Simon stood before her his hands in his corduroy trousers, out of his depth. Penny had never told him what had happened over that lunch. He hadn’t known her then and she had steadfastly refused to discuss either her mother or her sister since, other than that they were cut from her life. He said, ‘Maybe she just doesn’t know how to approach you? Could you ring her?’

Penny shook her head. ‘No. You are my family now, Simon. And I’m so grateful to you for loving me.’

‘Oh that’s the easy bit. You are very lovable.’ He put Jenna down. ‘You’re in shock. Your mother has died and you need time to process it all. There’s plenty of time to think about the future. How about a drink? Tea – coffee? Or would you prefer something stronger?’

Penny gave him a wry smile. ‘This morning I was drinking too much, wasn’t I?’

‘Yes, well. I think this calls for a drink.’

Instead of the kitchen he walked towards the drinks cupboard. ‘Brandy? I’ve some lovage cordial too – shall I put some in?’

Penny said nothing. Jenna climbed onto her lap and, putting a thumb in her mouth, stroked Penny’s hair.

‘Get this down you.’ Simon placed the glass in front of her.

*

Penny was just seven when her father had his first heart attack. That day she had woken early, about six, she supposed. The sun was already up because it was summer. She had heard the back door open and click shut. Her father must be checking on his greenhouse. She crept out of bed and just missed the creaking floorboard outside her mother’s bedroom. She stopped and listened for anyone stirring. All quiet.

In the garden the birds were busy chatting to each other and a fat thrush was pulling at an early worm. She threaded her way across the dew-soaked lawn, past the scented orange blossom bush and under the golden hop archway into the vegetable garden. There was her father, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, his eyes screwed up against the smoke as he tied up a stray branch of cucumber.

He jumped when he saw her and closed his eyes, holding his chest. ‘Oh my goodness, Penny. You gave me a fright.’ Then he laughed and she giggled as he held his arms out to wedge her on his hip, the cigarette still dangling from his lips.

‘Naughty, naughty,’ Penny admonished him.

‘Don’t tell Mum,’ he said conspiratorially, stubbing it out in a flowerpot.

She smiled. She liked sharing his secrets. ‘I won’t,’ she said.