The Newcomer

Helen picked up Piran’s wet jumper from the rail of the Aga and threw it at him. ‘Goodbye.’

Piran caught the jumper in astonishment. ‘Now what’s got into you? I thought you was cooking supper?’

‘I am cooking supper. But not for you. I don’t like it when you go all Neanderthal. Go to the pub and get something there.’

‘But my trousers are still damp.’

‘Well, go back to your house, get changed, and then go to the pub.’

Scowling, Piran went to the door, whistling up Jack behind him. ‘Come on, Jack. Someone’s had a sense of humour failure.’

Helen winced as he slammed the front door. Piran was one of the kindest, gentlest men she had ever met. But, unfortunately, he still had rather a large slice of chauvinism in his blood.

Helen abandoned the idea of making a lasagne, and took a Scotch egg, some salad and a bottle of wine out of the fridge. Putting the small meal together she went to her snug front room and turned on the television. A romantic comedy starring Ryan Gosling was just starting. Helen settled into the sofa and balanced her plate on her lap. She took a sip of wine and put her feet up.

‘He’ll be back,’ she said to herself. ‘Idiotic man.’

6 (#u68b2c4e0-1ab1-559d-9e35-f3749b316f39)

‘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.