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

Penny sank gratefully into one of the three tatty armchairs that had appeared recently in the shop. Queenie liked a chat and most of her customers enjoyed a sit down.

‘This chair’s very comfortable,’ sighed Penny, sinking into the feather seat.

‘Ain’t it? Simple Tony got them for me over St Eval. Someone was chucking them out.’ Queenie sat down with Jenna on her lap and Jenna reached up to pull at the rope of pink tinsel Queenie had thrown round her shoulders. ‘Real pretty that is, darling, ain’t it? When you’re a big girl you can come in ’ere and ’elp me get all this stuff out.’

Jenna crammed a thumb in her mouth and sucked it ruminatively.

Penny shut her eyes and enjoyed the peace. ‘Tell me the gossip then, Queenie.’

‘Well, you know Marguerite Cottage what’s just behind the vicarage?’

‘Oh God, yes. The builders have been making a racket for months.’

‘Well, I had the estate agent in here the other day. Come in for her fags. Silk Cut. Not proper fags at all but that’s what she wanted. Anyway, I asks her, “Oh, who’s buyin’ Marguerite, then?” and she says, “It’s been let for a year by two fellas from up country.” I says, “Well, good luck to ’em if they’re ’appy together.” And she says, “One of them is a doctor and the other an artist.” So I says, “Stands to reason. These gay boys are very arty and nice-natured.” And she says, “They’ve got dogs, too.” And I turn round and say, “Well, they always ’ave dogs.” And she turns round and says—’

Queenie stopped mid-flow and looked at Penny. ‘Oi, Penny, ’ave you fallen asleep?’

2

The following morning Simon crept out of bed and left Penny snoring quietly. She hadn’t been sleeping well at all since Jenna had arrived, but she always refused his offer to share the night-time feeds. He knew how tired he was with a baby in the house, so goodness knows how tired she was. Simon stood on the landing and looked through its curtainless window. From here, in the winter before the trees were in leaf, you could just see the sea at Shellsand Bay. The waning moon was low in the sky and spilling its silver stream onto the dark waves. It was so peaceful. He sent a prayer of gratitude for his wife, his daughter and his life.

Downstairs he put the kettle on and, while he waited for it to boil, he tidied up the previous day’s newspapers. Tomorrow was recycling day.

He enjoyed the order of recycling and was fastidious about doing it correctly. He opened the paper box. Someone – Penny presumably – had put a wine bottle in it. Swallowing his annoyance he picked it out, replacing it with the newspapers, then opened the box for glass. It was almost full. He counted eight wine bottles, not including the one in his hand. All were Penny’s favourite. He put the lid back on and stood up. So this was why Penny had been so moody. She was drinking.

Too much.

She had always liked a drink. When they first met she had never been without a vodka in her hand. But she’d settled, and although enjoying the odd glass of wine, he had not seen her the worse for wear since she’d been pregnant with Jenna.

Upstairs, he woke her gently. ‘Coffee’s here, darling.’

Penny opened one eye. Her wavy hair was over her face and she pushed it out of the way as she sat up. ‘Thank you.’

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

She looked at him with suspicion. ‘Fine. How are you feeling?’

‘Good. Yes. Very good.’ How was he to broach this new and tricky subject? ‘Shall I buy some more wine today? I think we’re low on your – our – favourite.’

‘Are we? We polished off a bottle with the steak last night, I suppose.’

Simon thought back to last night. She had been halfway down a bottle of red wine by the time he got home. ‘Yes,’ he said carefully.

‘Well, if you’re passing the off-licence, get some.’ She took the coffee cup he was proffering.

He took a mouthful of his own coffee. ‘We seem to have got through the last lot of wine quite quickly. And you are still breast-feeding.’

She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Oh, I see. Are you lecturing me?’

‘Heavens, no.’

‘It sounds like it.’ She put her cup down and got out of bed. ‘I need a pee – and, as it happens, an aspirin. I have a headache.’

He pushed his glasses a little further up his nose and looked at the carpet.

‘Don’t give me that attitude.’ She glared at him. ‘I have a headache, not a hangover.’

The morning followed its usual routine. Penny treated Simon with the cool indifference that had recently become second nature to her. (When had that habit started, she wondered.) And he trod round her as if on eggshells. Eventually he left the house to do God knew what and Penny saw to Jenna.

Jenna was washed and dressed, breakfasted, entertained and put down for her nap. She was overtired and it was making her silly and difficult. Penny checked her forehead. ‘Is it those naughty teeth?’ she asked. Jenna nodded her pink-cheeked face and a string of drool dribbled from her mouth. ‘Poor old Jen.’ Penny kissed her daughter’s damp head. ‘I’ll get the Calpol.’

Cuddled on Penny’s lap, Jenna suckled at Penny’s breast while keeping a sleepy eye on the picture book being read to her. She fell asleep before the end giving her mother a chance to drink in the sight, sound, and smell of her. The overwhelming love Penny had for Jenna hurt. It also filled her with a kind of panic. She had never been the maternal type and had honestly thought that she would never marry. She had had endless unsuitable affairs with glamorous and handsome men, not all of whom were single, but she hadn’t ever imagined falling in love with someone. Or someone falling in love with her. But both things had happened when she’d found Pendruggan, the ideal location for Mr Tibbs. She had been cruel to Simon when she’d first arrived, had thought him a parochial innocent, a drippy village vicar, wearing his vocation on his sleeve.

He had originally been keen on her best friend Helen, who had just moved into the village. Penny had teased him, but Cupid had shot his arrows capriciously. The oddest of odd couples fell in love and were married. That was a miracle in itself, but Simon’s God had one more surprise for them. Jenna. Penny leant her head back on the Edwardian nursing chair and looked around the nursery: soft colours and peaceful, the Noah’s Ark night-light that the parishioners had presented to them on Jenna’s birth, the cot given to her by her godparents, Helen and Piran, the photograph of Penny’s father. How he would love his granddaughter. And next to his picture, legs dangling over the shelf, was her love-worn Sniffy, the bear her father had given her when she was a baby.

Penny shut her eyes for a moment and felt the familiar stab of grief. She missed her father every day. In her unsettled childhood he had meant everything to her, until he died. She spoke to him, ‘Daddy, look how lucky I am. Jenna, Simon, success.’ She felt her throat tighten. ‘Why aren’t I happy, Daddy? Can you help me to feel happy? Help me to be nicer to Simon? A good wife?’

Once Jenna was tucked into her cot, Penny felt drained; if the pile of laundry on the landing hadn’t been winking at her she’d have gone back to bed. The aspirin was working on her hangover but not her spirits. She heard the sound of raking from the garden and closed Jenna’s door. Looking out of the landing window she saw Simon, returned from wherever he’d been, raking leaves on the back lawn. His breath was steaming in the chill air. He looked happy creating neat piles. He stopped for a moment, aware of her gaze. He waved up at her. She waved back and debated whether to take him out a cup of tea as a peace offering.

She took the tea out to him and gave him a kiss.

‘What have I done to deserve this?’ he asked, pulling off his warm gloves.

‘It’s a thank you,’ she said. ‘And an apology. I am so sorry I’m being a cow to live with. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

He put an arm around her waist and hugged her. ‘You’re just a bit tired. We both are. Babies do that, apparently. You’ll be fine.’

‘Will I?’

‘Absolutely. By Christmas you’ll be as right as rain.’

Penny nuzzled into the comfort of Simon’s old gardening jumper. ‘I don’t want to hear the C word.’

Simon kissed the top of her head. ‘Well, there’s a few weeks to go yet and Jenna is old enough to sit up and enjoy it this year. You’ll bring her to the Nativity service, won’t you?’

‘Only if I can put her in the manger and leave her there.’ She looked at Simon to check his reaction. ‘Only joking. Of course I’ll bring her. She’ll enjoy seeing her daddy at work.’

Penny had commandeered the vicarage’s old dining room as her office. Her desk sat under the big Victorian sash window through which the December sun shone weakly. She swung on her new office chair, watching the dust motes that sallied in the air. An estate agent might call this a ‘handsome room with tall ceilings, wood panelling, and magnificent large fireplace’. Which was true. But it was also very cold. She thought about lighting the fire but couldn’t muster the energy to find newspaper and kindling.

She opened her laptop and plugged in the charger, then fished her phone from the drawer where she’d chucked it yesterday.

There was a text from her best friend, Helen.

Hiya. Piran and I wondered if you and Simon would like to go into Trevay one night this week for a bite to eat. We’ll go early so that Jenna can come too. I need a cuddle with my goddaughter! H xx

Penny read the message twice. Helen had been Penny’s friend for almost twenty-five years. They’d worked together as young secretaries at the BBC and Helen had married a handsome womanizer with whom she had two children. Finally, tired of the repeated humiliation of finding the lipstick and earrings of other women in his car, she divorced him, left Chiswick, and found her paradise in Pendruggan, in a little cottage called Gull’s Cry, just across the green from the vicarage. She was now happy with the handsome but difficult Piran.

Penny’s eyes filled with tears again at the thoughtfulness of her friend. ‘We’ll go early so that Jenna can come too.’ Helen knew how hard Penny found it to leave Jenna with a baby-sitter, the anxiety she felt about being apart from her little girl.

Helen understood Penny’s determination to be a better mother to Jenna than her own had been to her.

She replied. ‘Darling, how lovely. I’ll talk to S. xxxx’

She put the phone back in the drawer – ringer off – and checked her emails. She scanned to see if there was one from Mavis. There wasn’t. What did that mean? Had Mavis read the email or not? A cold sweat of anxiety swept over Penny again. Oh God! If she didn’t get Mavis to write more scripts she’d have to find a writer who could do them in a similar style. And quickly. And if that didn’t work there would be no more Mr Tibbs, no more work with Channel 7, and she’d be a laughing stock in the industry, all her old foes sniggering and toasting her downfall. She shivered as a ghost walked over her grave. She remembered something Helen had once said to her, ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean to say people aren’t out to get you.’

She pulled herself together and replied to all the easy emails, deleted the rubbish ones, and left the others for later.

She heard the back door swing open and Simon’s voice. ‘Darling?’ he called. ‘Any chance of another cuppa?’

She dropped her head into her hands and took a deep breath. She forced a smile onto her face and called back, ‘Perfect timing. I’m just finished here.’

As it was almost lunchtime, the cuppa turned into scrambled eggs on toast. Jenna was still sleeping and both husband and wife were greatly appreciating the unexpected peace.

‘By the way,’ said Penny, ‘I had a text from Helen. She’d like us to go to dinner in Trevay with her and Piran. Early, so that Jenna can come too.’

‘That sounds good.’ Simon put his knife and fork together, wiping the last toast crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

Simon sensed that Penny was in a better mood and felt confident enough to bring up a tricky subject. ‘Penny, I really do think a nanny to help you with Jenna is a good idea.’

Penny looked at him wearily. ‘No thank you.’

‘But it would be such a help for you. You could concentrate on your work, go for lunch with Helen, have your hair done. The other day you were saying how you dreamt of spending the day at a spa. Massages and all that stuff.’

‘I can do that when she’s older but not while she needs me.’

‘She’ll always need you. You are her mum and a very good mum. But I worry about you and—’

‘And you worry about how much I drink?’

Simon pulled an expression of regret. ‘Well, yes, if I’m truthful.’

Penny carefully put her knife and fork together and folded her hands in her lap and said as calmly as she could muster, ‘Maybe a little more help from you would be good. Once Jenna has gone to bed for the night, where are you?’

Simon bridled. ‘We’ve been through all this before. I have to work.’

‘I’ll tell you, shall I? Monday, confirmation class. Tuesday, bible study. Wednesday, the parish council. Thursday, sermon-writing night. Friday, the bloody under 16s disco night … Shall I go on?’

‘No.’

‘And now it’s almost bloody Christmas with all that entails! So which night is Penny night? Hm? Tell me.’

‘Well, that’s what I’m saying. We get countless offers from ladies in the parish to mind Jenna and I know you don’t want that. But if we had a nanny, someone you can trust, you could get out more. See Helen. It makes sense.’

Penny put her hands to her temples and squeezed hard. What Simon said made some kind of sense, but why couldn’t he see that she loved Jenna so much that no one could look after her like she did?

There was a loud knock at the front door. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Simon, relieved by the timely interruption, and left the kitchen to walk down the hall to answer.

The knock had woken Jenna and Penny went to get her.

Jenna’s dear face was pink and puffy with sleep. She put her arms around Penny’s neck and rubbed into her neck.

‘Hello, baby girl. Do you feel better after your sleep?’

Jenna looked over her mother’s shoulder and gazed out of the window. ‘Woof woof,’ she said.

‘Woof woof to you too, my love. Now, shall we change your nappy? Then have some nice lunch? Hm?’

‘Woof-woofs,’ said Jenna, pointing at the window. Penny glanced down and saw two languid Afghan hounds sniffing round the garden. One cocked its leg on the old apple tree and the other was squatting on top of a heap of Simon’s raked leaves with a look of serious intent.

Penny banged on the window. ‘Shoo! Shoo!’

The dogs looked up and the one who’d finished peeing wagged its tail and barked a greeting.

Hurriedly changing Jenna’s nappy and wrapping her in a warm shawl, Penny ran downstairs, calling for Simon.

She found him loafing by the gate, hands in pockets rattling his small change and chatting to three men in matching sweatshirts. They were laughing together, plumes of steam escaping their warm mouths and hitting the cold air. Behind them was an enormous removal van blocking the gate to the vicarage.

‘Woof-woof,’ said Jenna and started to giggle. Simon, hearing her, turned and said, ‘Ah, this is my wife, Penny, and my daughter, Jenna. Darling, these chaps have come all the way from Surrey. I said you wouldn’t mind putting the kettle on for them. It’s damned cold out here.’

Penny fought the urge to scream and said coldly, ‘There are two dogs fouling my garden. Are they yours?’

The oldest of the matching sweatshirts, the foreman Penny guessed, rubbed his cold hands together then pointed to a man who was trying to open the front door of Marguerite Cottage, and said, ‘They belong to him.’

A man in his early-thirties, scruffily dressed in old jeans and a T-shirt with a stripey jumper over the top, was patiently trying one key at a time from the bunch in his hand.

‘Excuse me!’ shouted Penny.

‘No need to shout, darling,’ said Simon, taking her arm. She shrugged him off. ‘How can he hear me otherwise?’ she hissed.

The man had got the door open and had turned to give the three removal men the thumbs up.

‘Excuse me!’ Penny shouted again. ‘Are these dogs yours?’

The man smiled and lifted his hand in an apologetic greeting.

‘I’m awfully sorry.’ He came towards them and held out his hand. ‘Hello. My name is Kit and I’m your new neighbour. I’m moving into Marguerite Cottage.’

Penny didn’t take his hand. ‘Would you please remove your dogs from my garden and clear up any mess you find? My daughter is learning to walk and I like to keep the garden clean and safe.’

‘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.

3

‘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.