The Postcard: Escape to Cornwall with the perfect summer holiday read

Two bright spots of colour formed on his cheeks. ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he said angrily.

‘Now don’t lose your temper. I’m trying to help you,’ said Margot.

‘Help me? Castrate me you mean.’

‘Drink your tea and calm down. You know you’re not to get agitated.’

Penny watched this exchange with mounting anxiety. ‘Mummy. Daddy. Stop.’

Margot sniffed and sat on an upright chair, balancing her teacup on her lap. Mike looked out of the window at his greenhouse and drained his cup. ‘Penny, put this on the table, would you, darling?’ He handed her the empty cup and stood up. ‘I’m going to have a look at my greenhouse,’ he said. ‘Care to come with me, Pen?’

She glanced quickly at her mother who was finding the toe of her shoe fascinating.

Penny took her father’s hand. As they got to the kitchen and unlocked the back door they heard her mother shout bitterly, ‘Take a good look. I’ve got a man coming to take it down tomorrow.’

*

Penny leant back against her pillows feeling the familiar tears pricking her eyes. Why were these memories flooding back now? Drowning her. The death of a parent? The fact that she hadn’t shared the truth with a soul? The opening of old wounds? The fear of what would happen next? Or just a deep dark sorrow …

*

ELLA

At exactly the same time in London, Ella was wiping tears away too. Tears of fury and frustration because of her mother, her irresponsible, unreliable mother, who had left her and her not-much-older brother, Henry, two tiny children, with their grandmother and disappeared to God knew where. Ella blamed her mother for the early death of her darling granny – after all, she had worried night and day about where her daughter had disappeared to, as well as being left in sole charge of two young children. But Granny had devoted every breathing moment to making their childhood magical.

Ella thought back to a time when she was about eight years old and she and Granny were walking on Shellsand Beach looking for shells.

‘I want you to find the prettiest, the smallest, the most colourful and the biggest,’ Granny had said. Ella had dashed down to the rock pools and begun scrabbling through the seaweed and sand. Something caught her eye. ‘Granny!’ she shouted excitedly. ‘I think I’ve found a hermit crab. Look.’

Her grandmother was settled on a dry piece of sand. She was sitting on a beach towel and wearing her usual garb of blue linen trousers and fisherman’s smock, faded through sun and wear. ‘Put it in your bucket and show me,’ she called back.

Ella had some trouble catching the little hermit crab that sidled speedily under a cloud of seaweed, but eventually she got him and trundled up the beach, trying not to slop the bucket. ‘Look, Granny.’

Her grandmother always took the time to examine treasures fully. ‘Oh yes. He’s a beaut. What shall we call him?’ she asked.

‘How about Crabby?’

‘Perfect. Crabby he is. I’ll look after him while you find me those shells.’

Ella smiled at the memory. How she missed her grandmother. There was nothing to miss about her mother, who just hadn’t been there.

Straightening her shoulders and wiping her eyes, Ella called Henry’s mobile. ‘Hey, it’s me. Granny’s solicitor in Trevay has just called. He thinks he may have another lead on Mum’s whereabouts.’

She heard Henry swear under his breath. ‘Hasn’t she done enough damage? If they find her she’ll swoop in and inherit everything. Granny will be spinning in her grave.’

7 (#ulink_e2cbeeed-bd6c-594e-9999-2da1105bbea0)

Getting up the next morning, Penny couldn’t remember when she’d had more than a two-hour run of sleep. She felt weak and dizzy most of the time. Her appetite had drifted and her eating had become chaotic. Jenna was the centre of her being and yet she was being grizzly and difficult and Penny had started to berate herself for being a terrible mother. Simon, who was caught up in his preparations for Christmas and all the needs of his flock, hadn’t appreciated how low she was until last night.

Penny had had too much wine and accused him of ignoring the most important commandment of all. ‘Remember, do unto others as you would have them do unto you!’ she shouted at him. ‘Would you love me more if I dressed up as Mary and slept in the garage with Jenna in the wheelbarrow? Chuck in a couple of sheep and an angel or two then we’d have your full attention?’

‘Penny,’ he said, ‘you and Jenna are my top priority but I’m a vicar and this is one of the busiest times of the year for me.’

She clung to him, starting to cry. ‘It’s busy for me too. Christmas is less than four weeks away and I haven’t done anything. No presents. No cards. No tree. No husband to help me.’

Simon had held her tight. ‘OK, my love, OK. You tell me what you’d like me to do and I’ll do it.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise,’ he’d said.

Penny drooped down the stairs and sat at the bottom to listen out for Jenna who was settling down for her morning sleep. Satisfied that all was quiet she hauled herself to her feet and made her way to the office. She was exhausted mentally and emotionally but, with wearying inevitability, she knew she had an email to write.

To: Mavis Crewe

From: Penny Leighton

Subject: The Mr Tibbs Mysteries

Dear Mavis,

I can’t tell you how upset I am by your decision but I will honour it. In the next day or two I shall talk to David Cunningham and Dahlia Dahling’s agents and let them know that there is to be no more Mr Tibbs. David and Dahlia have worked so hard on their lead characters and I know they will be as distraught as I am seeing Mr Tibbs and Miss Trumpet leave our screens. I shall have to work on a press release that will go out once all the cast and production team have received the news.

On a personal note, I can’t express how much I shall miss you. Your friendship has meant a lot to me. However, as you said, all good things come to an end and I guess this is the end.

With fondest memories,

Penny.

She pressed send and quickly wrote another email, this time to Jack Bradbury, confirming that she accepted Mr Tibbs was no more and that she would not be presenting Channel 7 with plans for a future series.

In the kitchen she opened the fridge and took out an opened bottle of Chablis. She looked at the kitchen clock. Just after eleven fifteen. She reached for a wine glass. The bottle of wine was cool in her hand and, as she pulled out the cork the nostalgic smells of hot, uncomplicated summers assaulted her. She poured just half a glass. That would be plenty to take the edge off. She pulled her chair, with the soft cashmere cushion on it, out from under the table and sat down. She put the glass to her mouth and drank. The wine slid down like oil into a rusted engine. She could feel her body waking to its silky caress and took another mouthful; almost as good as the first; and another, until the glass was empty. She went to the fridge and took a last refill from the bottle. With every sip a new fear tripped into her mind: how could she ever be a good mother when her own mother had hated her? When her sister hated her so much? She sat and closed her eyes, hoping it would help shut out the memories. She knew there was another bottle in the fridge. Maybe just one more glass? The more she drank, the more relaxed she became, and the more it didn’t matter. She stood up and knocked her chair backwards, making a loud clatter. ‘Shhhhh,’ she said to the empty room, ‘mustn’t wake Jenna.’ She took the remains of the bottle to the fridge. Her legs felt wobbly. ‘Oh Penny,’ she smiled ruefully, ‘you’re pissed. You need a little lie down on the sofa. Just forty winks.’

*

Penny had come home from school and her mother was sitting in the drawing room looking wronged. ‘Hello, Mummy, are you OK?’ asked Penny.

Her mother shot her a look. ‘The doctor says your father needs a holiday. He needs a holiday? What about me? I’m the one who has suffered. I need a holiday more than he does.’

Penny went to put her hand on her mother’s knee. ‘I’ll help you. I’ll swim with him and you can get some rest.’

‘You’re not coming.’

Penny was baffled. ‘But Daddy likes to swim with me.’

‘You are staying with your aunt and uncle. You have school to go to. Daddy, Suzie and I are going to the south of France where it is warm.’ She pushed Penny’s hand away. ‘God knows how we can afford it.’

Penny didn’t understand why her mother was always going on about money when she was always at the hairdresser’s or coming home with a new dress.