Читать книгу The Newcomer - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 12

‘Good morning, darling.’ Mamie put her face around the door of Angela’s office where Angela was on her knees stacking books onto Simon’s emptied shelves. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Always.’ Angela heaved herself up and kissed her aunt. ‘How are you after yesterday? No bruises or chills?’

Mamie laughed her throaty laugh. ‘It’d take more than a dunk to kill me off. And in retrospect, my rescuer was rather handsome.’

Angela shook her head. ‘He’s taken.’

‘My dear, I have never stooped to stealing a man.’

‘Well, don’t start now, please.’

‘Even when John was having a “break” – I think that’s the modern term – from Yoko, I told him firmly, no.’

‘You mean …?’

‘Yes. And he was sweet. But so was she.’

Again Angela shook her head in amazement. ‘Why have I never heard about that before?’

‘One forgets all that one has done in one’s past,’ Mamie replied airily. ‘I am going to explore the village shop. Get some stamps … and some local gossip.’

Queenie was sitting in her comfy old armchair in the Pendruggan village store chatting to Tony, the village gardener.

‘So I wants some window boxes this year. Make the shop entrance even more enticing.’

Tony scratched his nose. ‘Do you want me to write things down?’

‘Help yourself to one of them notebooks on the shelf behind you and there’s me pen on the counter. I was thinking apricot geraniums.’

Tony sat back down and opened the school exercise book he’d found. ‘I’ll write that down.’

‘And maybe some light blue pansies.’

‘Right you are.’

‘And African marigolds. My husband loved marigolds. Now he did have green fingers. Just like you.’

‘Mrs Merrifield says that too. I don’t know what she mean. Mine fingers are brown,’ said Tony, looking at his weather-beaten hands.

‘Yes, but that’s what makes them green.’

The bell above the shop door rang and Mamie entered, distracting Tony from this puzzle.

Queenie was on her feet in a flash. There was nothing she liked more than a stranger.

Mamie towered over Queenie’s arthritic frame. ‘Good morning.’ She flashed her most charming smile.

‘Good morning,’ replied Queenie, looking the glamorous woman up and down critically, absorbing every detail to recount to her customers. She folded her arms and hitched up her bosoms. ‘Can I help you?’

Tony was sitting with his mouth open, entranced. ‘Is that your Jensen Interceptor sports car outside the vicarage?’

Mamie smiled. ‘Yes. Do you like cars?’

‘No. But I like yours.’

‘Thank you.’

‘A 1976 seven-point-two litre,’ he recited.

‘Yes. My goodness,’ smiled Mamie. ‘You sound very knowledgeable. Would you like a ride in it?’

Tony bobbed his head down quickly, blushing furiously. ‘No. I don’t like going in cars. They make me all bobbled up.’

Mamie put her head to one side and assessed this man-child in front of her. ‘I see. But perhaps you’d like to look at it one day?’

Tony, keeping his head down, nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Any time you like.’ She stuck her hand out. ‘Hello. I’m Mamie. I am the new vicar’s aunt.’

Tony kept his hands by his sides and, without looking at her, said, ‘I’m Simple Tony. I do gardening. But I like washing cars.’

‘What a marvellous thing.’ Mamie took her hand back. ‘She needs a good wash and polish. When are you free?’

‘I’ll go home and get a bucket and a sponge now.’ He looked at Queenie. ‘Am I allowed to?’

‘Of course you are.’ Queenie was pleased to get Mamie all to herself. ‘Off you go.’

The two women watched him leave, his dark shiny hair as sleek as a mole’s.

‘He’ll do a good job. Don’t worry,’ Queenie reassured Mamie.

‘I’m sure he will.’ Mamie looked around at the shelves in the shop and took in the time warp of goods on offer. Blakey’s heel studs. Bra strap extenders. An impressive news stand laden with gossip magazines. Faded stationery items. Tinned mandarins, frankfurters and processed peas. A vast display of cigarettes, vapes and pipe tobacco. Cheap plastic dolls and boxes, small and large, of jigsaw puzzles. Mamie twirled on the spot to take it all in. ‘This isn’t a village store,’ she breathed in admiration. ‘This is an emporium.’

‘Oh, yes, me duck, it is that. I can send a parcel to Peru from me post office counter and feed you a homemade pasty, all in the same five minutes.’ Queenie moved a tatty lamp with a pink-fringed shade out of the way and took herself behind her ancient wooden counter. ‘So, how can I help you?’

Mamie pointed a fiery red fingernail at a jar of red sweets. ‘May I have a quarter of the aniseed twists, please?’

Silently Queenie weighed her up. She recognised something in the woman in front of her, one gossip to another. ‘What have you really come for?’

Mamie held her hands up in surrender. ‘I’m new and want to know the ins and outs of the village.’

‘Take a seat.’ Queenie pointed at Simple Tony’s empty chair. ‘I’ll put a pot of tea on.’

‘Coffee, love?’ Robert nudged the office door open with his elbow. Angela had filled all the bookshelves but the very top one, and was now balanced on a chair with several hardbacks in her hands. ‘Let me do that,’ he said.

She reached up on tiptoes but still couldn’t quite reach. ‘Couldn’t find the stepladders.’

Robert put the mugs down on the desk. ‘Come down. I’ll do it.’ He put his hands on her waist and effortlessly lifted her to the floor. ‘Drink your coffee.’

‘Thank you.’

She sat and watched as he pushed the books into their new home. ‘Any more?’

She shook her head. ‘Done.’ She sipped her coffee and put a foot on his lap as he pulled the chair he’d been standing on closer and sat down.

He rubbed it gently. ‘Where’s Faith?’

‘In her room grumbling about the Wi-Fi. Has the Sky TV man fixed the telly?’

‘Oh, yes. My fifty-four-inch pride and joy is now receiving all the favourites and Love Island.’

‘Couldn’t we lose that one?’

‘And lose Faith too?’

‘Life would be quieter …’

He nodded. ‘And cheaper.’

They quietly acknowledged this truth.

Robert broke the silence. ‘Nice view of the village green from here.’

‘Mr Worthington likes it.’

‘Where is he?’

‘On Faith’s bed.’

‘I thought we said no …’

‘We did but he persuaded me she needed him.’

‘You’re too soft.’ He stopped rubbing her foot. ‘Other one.’ She swapped. ‘That’s why I love you,’ he said. ‘I love all of you. Even your cheesy feet.’

She smiled. ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming all this way. Uprooting yourself, and Faith, to support me.’

‘I am a saint.’

‘You are!’

‘Is there a Saint Robert?’

‘Yes. I’m looking at him.’ She drained her coffee and took her foot back. ‘How many more boxes have we got left to empty?’

‘The last few are in the sitting room. Only my books. I thought I’d put them on the shelves by the fireplace?’

‘I’ll help you and then we could take Mr W for a walk?’

There was a sharp knock on the front door. ‘And so it begins.’ Robert stretched his arms above his head. ‘A parishioner. I’ll bet a fiver.’ There was a second impatient knock. ‘Definitely a parishioner. I’m off to hide in the sitting room.’

On her own, Angela opened the front door.

Audrey Tipton pushed her way over the threshold. ‘Ah, Angela. I must talk to you.’

Angela was zipping through her mental Rolodex, trying desperately to remember the woman’s name. She finally got to it. ‘It’s Audrey, isn’t it? Do come into my study.’

Back in the village store, Queenie was rolling a cigarette. ‘And that’s his story.’

‘So he doesn’t mind being called Simple Tony? Only it’s very un-PC.’

‘It’s what his mum and dad called him and he’s happy. But don’t think he’s stupid. Far from it. Innocent. Trusting. Kind. But not stupid. He has his odd little ways but, by God, half the gardens in this village, let alone the churchyard, would be in a terrible state if it weren’t for him.’

‘And he looks after himself?’

‘Oh, yes. He has a little shepherd’s hut in Polly’s garden. She’s at Candle Cottage. Ambulance paramedic and white witch. Lovely woman. She keeps an eye on him. And next door to her is Helen. Londoner, like me. Came down a few years ago after her husband had done one too many naughties.’ She cocked an eye at Mamie. ‘You get my drift?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, she’s going out with Piran. Lovely bloke. Kind as they come.’

‘I’ve met them.’ Mamie pulled a face. ‘He pulled me out of the sea yesterday. I fell in.’

‘Did you?’ Queenie was all ears. ‘How’d you manage that?’

‘A dog. A stick. A big wave.’

‘Oh my Gawd. I bet Piran weren’t too happy about that.’

‘No, he wasn’t. He was rather rude and told me off.’

Queenie began to laugh. A warm wheezy chuckle that ended in a coughing fit. She wiped her eyes and the corners of her mouth with a small handkerchief, then tucked it back under the cuff of her cardigan.

‘He don’t like strangers.’

‘Clearly. Handsome bugger, though.’

‘Keep your hands off.’ Queenie frowned. ‘He’s Helen’s.’

Mamie laughed. ‘Darling, that’s not my thing. I made a promise to myself when I was young. So many men with “attachments” are only too keen to cheat, but it’s the women they pursue who get the blame.’

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Queenie crossed her arms and gave Mamie a hard stare. ‘So, tell me your story.’

‘So you see, there is an awful lot of work left to me,’ Audrey boomed, ‘because the village rely on my organisational skills and artistic flair, constantly.’

Angela was trying hard not to quail. ‘From this list,’ she held the five A4 pages in their clear document case that Audrey had thrust upon her, ‘I see there are many things.’

‘Indeed.’ Audrey buttoned up her tweed jacket and brushed the pleats of the matching skirt. ‘Now, if I may just take a look around …’

‘Around?’

‘Yes,’ Audrey said in astonishment that this mousy woman should challenge her. ‘I am keeping an eye on things while Rev Canter is away.’

‘There is no need,’ Angela said firmly, moving to open the study door and get this woman out of her home.

Audrey was not used to being disobeyed. ‘Mrs Whitehorn, this is not a slight on your abilities …’

‘Please call me Angela or Reverend Whitehorn.’

Audrey’s lips tightened. So did Angela’s.

Robert’s voice called from the sitting room, ‘Ange. Come and have a look. Is this OK?’

Audrey took her chance and pushed past Angela, heading for the sitting room.

‘Mr Whitehorn. Good morning,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘I just dropped in to talk one or two things through with your wife.’ She advanced towards the tall, dark and handsome Robert. ‘I’m Audrey. We met at the vicar’s leaving party.’

Robert responded firmly, ‘Or, as I like to call it, the new vicar’s welcome party.’

Audrey surveyed the room. Much as she hated to admit it, Penny Canter had good taste and had left the room perfectly furnished while removing only the more personal possessions. She walked to the bookshelves and inspected the titles.

‘I have a penchant for crime stories,’ Robert felt obliged to explain. ‘Love a good murder mystery.’

Audrey scanned the spines of the books, then spun on her heel to face him. ‘I’ve had the most marvellous idea. You shall give the WI a talk on crime writers and great detectives of literature. I’ll check the diary and find a suitable date.’

‘But I have never given a talk to the WI, or anybody else for that matter. Let alone on crime. I could perhaps talk about my work as a political writer?’

‘Well, that’s two talks you will give. What a productive morning. Now I must get on, good day to you both.’

Queenie was engrossed in Mamie’s life story. ‘You never did.’

‘I certainly did.’ Mamie leant closer. ‘He was absolutely charming, but a rogue.’

‘I loved his voice. I had lots of his records. Gave them to a boot sale.’

‘He sang “Fly Me to the Moon” once, over dinner. He was on the tonk, of course. Never truly sober.’

Queenie gave a whoop of joy. ‘You’ve lived, entcha! Did you ever meet Elvis?’

‘We locked eyes over a crowded room once. He was a man with grace and animal magnetism.’ Mamie halted at the memory, then sighed. ‘But he was with Priscilla so …’

‘Cor, I’d’ve been at him like a rat up a pipe.’

‘Queenie! You shock me.’

‘I haven’t had such a good chat for ages.’ Queenie settled into her chair, groaning slightly as she stretched her old legs in front of her. ‘Getting old is no bleeding fun, is it?’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Mamie laughed. ‘By the way,’ she pointed at Queenie’s tobacco pouch and Rizla papers, ‘have you ever smoked a little pot?’

‘You what?’ Queenie was bemused.

‘Had a little toke? A swifty? A bifta?’

‘Are you talking about – marryjuana?’ Queenie frowned.

‘Well, yes,’ smiled Mamie.

‘No,’ Queenie said slowly, ‘but I’ve wanted to have a go.’

‘Then,’ Mamie looked around her for prying ears and whispered, ‘shall we? Just a little? Excellent for arthritis.’

‘Is it? When?’

‘I’ll let you know when I have some.’ Mamie smiled naughtily. ‘I haven’t done it for years but seeing how good you are at rolling your cigarettes, what would be the harm?’

The two women, both so different outwardly, but inwardly so similar, locked eyes as sisters.

‘Grab life by the horns, my mum always said,’ Queenie said. ‘That’s what she told me when I was evacuated from the East End. Gawd, I missed her, but one of bloody Hitler’s bombs didn’t. That’s why I stayed here after the war. Nothing to go back to. Met my husband here and I grabbed life by the horns, like she told me.’

Mamie nodded. ‘I think you and I are going to be friends.’

‘We already are, girl. We already are.’