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

As a child, she had tried explaining it to her mother. ‘You’re liverish,’ Margot had sniffed.

‘What does that mean?’

‘That there’s nothing wrong with you.’

It was one of the many things she looked up in later life. Her computer dictionary gave the meaning as ‘slightly ill as in having a liver disorder’ or ‘unhappy and bad-tempered’.

Well, she’d certainly been unhappy.

And now her mother was dead and the feeling had come back. She wandered through the downstairs rooms and hovered at the closed door to her office. She told herself that she should go in and get on with some work. Work had always been her salvation; a raft to cling to when storms raged.

‘Keep going, Penny, keep going,’ her father had told her when she started to learn to use her Hula Hoop. She had kept going every day of the summer holidays until she became really very good at it. It was the same mantra she had applied to her work and to every contraction that had squeezed Jenna into the world.

Keep going, Penny, keep going.

Now, standing outside her office door she said it to herself again. ‘Keep going, Penny. Just open the door. Keep going.’

‘Hellooo.’ A stranger’s voice came from the back door and startled her.

She jumped in fright.

Her heart was in her mouth. ‘Hello? Who’s there?’

Thank God Simon had taken Jenna out for the day. If she was to be murdered by a stranger at least they were safe.

The voice called out again. ‘Hello? It’s your new neighbour. Kit?’

The bloody man with the uncontrollable dogs! She’d tell him where to go.

Penny stomped to the kitchen where she found Kit standing apologetically at the open back door with a large bunch of flowers. He smiled, not unattractively she was annoyed to notice, and proffered them to her. ‘Good morning. These are from Terry and Celia and me.’

Penny’s pursed lips were not the reaction he had expected but he continued valiantly, ‘As way of an apology for the way they behaved yesterday.’

‘I’m very busy, but thank you.’ She took the flowers. ‘I’d offer you tea or something but—’

He stepped over the threshold. ‘That’s very kind of you. I’d love a coffee. I won’t keep you long as I have a busy afternoon ahead.’

Penny frowned. She had been about to tell him that she had a busy afternoon ahead. ‘I don’t have much time myself,’ she said acidly.

He pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down. ‘What a lovely kitchen.’

‘Thank you.’ She filled the kettle whilst quietly hating him.

‘Are all the cupboards original?’ he asked, looking around.

‘Yes. Do you take milk? Sugar?’

‘Black, two sugars. They look Edwardian.’

‘They are.’ What was this, Bargain Hunt? ‘Here’s your coffee.’

‘Thanks. How long have you been here?’

‘A while.’ She looked pointedly at the wall clock above the Aga.

‘I’m sorry – I’m being intrusive. I’m just interested in getting to know the village and my neighbours and all that stuff before Adam comes down.’

In spite of herself she was interested. ‘Ah yes. Where is he at the moment?’

‘Finishing off some odds and ends at his old practice – he’ll be here before Christmas though. I’ve been sent ahead to get the cottage set up with all his little home comforts. I’ve got a builder coming later this morning. I have permission to put in a couple of skylights.’

‘Oh? I thought all the building work had been finished.’ She took a mouthful of coffee and thought of all the noise and dust she had just endured.

‘I’m a painter. The spare bedroom will be my studio and the roof windows will give me the northern light that is so good.’

‘Who’s your builder?’

‘Bob. Bob the builder.’ Kit laughed at his own joke.

Penny smiled and said ‘Sinewy bloke? Very brown? Favours short shorts and always has a cigarette on?’

‘That’s him.’

‘He’s known as Gasping Bob.’

‘Behind his back, I hope?’

‘No, no. To his face. Almost all the locals have nicknames here: Dreadlock Dave, Flappy, Twitcher, Simple Tony—’

‘Simple Tony? That’s a bit un-PC, isn’t it?’

‘Not here, and anyway, it’s what he likes to be called. He’s a dear man and a very good gardener.’

‘I’m looking for a gardener. Perhaps you could give me his number?’

‘He doesn’t have a phone. He says they make him go all fizzy or something. But you’ll find him in the back garden of Candle Cottage. Polly owns the house and she lets Tony have the Shepherd’s Hut there. Best let Polly introduce you to Tony as he’s a bit shy.’

‘Is he good? At gardening?’

‘Well, put it this way, a couple of years ago Alan Titchmarsh came to open the village summer fayre and Tony gave him a few tips.’

Kit drained the last of his coffee. ‘Great. I’ll get in touch.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Well, I’d best be off. Gasping Bob said he’d be here by two thirty and I know you’ve got a lot to do.’

Penny felt a sudden fear of being left on her own in the house. Simon had taken Jenna out in order to let her absorb the news of her mother and think more about contacting her sister. ‘Go for a walk on the beach,’ he’d said. ‘The fresh air will help clarify your thoughts.’ But now she found the company of Kit, a stranger, very important to her sanity.

‘Don’t go. Not yet. Bob’s not known for his timekeeping. Let me make you another coffee?’

Kit looked surprised but he accepted and watched as Penny filled the kettle from the old brass tap over the butler’s sink.

With her back still to him, she said, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been rude. I had some bad news yesterday. My mother died.’

Kit looked at her with concern. ‘I’m so sorry. And it’s me who has been rude. I shouldn’t be here. Would you like me to go?’

‘No. Please stay. She and I didn’t get on very well and I haven’t seen her for quite a while. But, it’s still been a shock.’

‘It must be.’

Penny nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s made me feel rather numb and … I can’t explain it.’ She brushed away the embarrassing tears that had sprung from nowhere. ‘It feels unreal.’

‘I’m a good listener and very discreet if you want to talk?’

She shook her head. ‘That’s kind, but I’m fine. It has felt good just being able to say the words out loud to somebody. I am going to have to say it a lot more now, I suppose. I have to tell people that my mother is dead. It’s convention, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know. We could practise it a few times if you like.’ She shook her head and wiped her nose on the back of her hand.

He continued, ‘Or we could talk about something else?’

‘Oh, let’s talk about something else.’ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rubbed at her tired eyes. ‘Let’s talk about you. What do you paint?’

‘Ah well, I paint landscapes for myself, and portraits for money. That’s why I’ve come down here with Adam, actually. I have a commission to paint Lady Carolyn Chafford of Chafford Hall, near Launceston.’

‘How very posh!’

‘Not quite as she sounds. She and her husband bought the title – feudal, of course, so not in the peerage – with the manor, but they are very nice and very loaded, so she’ll do for me.’

‘And tell me about your partner, Adam.’

‘Partner?’ A frown wrinkled Kit’s clear brow then he started to laugh. ‘He’s not my partner. He’s my cousin.’ He sat back in his chair and tipped his head to the ceiling, letting out a deeply infectious laugh. ‘Oh my God, that’s why Queenie said the dogs were like children to me!’ He reached for a handkerchief in his jeans and wiped his eyes. ‘She’s very open-minded, I’ll give her that. Wait till I tell Adam.’

Penny was smiling too. ‘Typical Queenie. She loves a gossip. She was convinced you were going to be the only gays in the village.’

Kit blew his nose and put his handkerchief back. ‘Oh, that’s so funny. Sorry to disappoint her, but Adam and I have lived together, practically from birth. Adam lost his dad in the Falklands War and so his brother, my dad, took him and Auntie Aileen in and we grew up as brothers.’

Penny’s mobile phone interrupted him. Penny looked at the screen and saw it was Jack Bradbury from Channel 7. A familiar surge of panic made her clench her hands. She could feel her pulse quickening. She reached for the phone and cancelled the call.

Kit felt her mood change. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine, yeah.’

‘I barely know you but I can see you are upset,’ he said gently.

Penny flashed a wide smile at him and pushed the phone under a pile of newspapers. ‘Just a work thing. It can wait. Want a biscuit?’

Penny and Kit spent the rest of the lunchtime swapping snippets about their lives, work and village characters.

‘Just look out for Queenie,’ Penny warned, ‘she’s not the sweet innocent old lady that she likes to pretend to be. She has a sharp business head with a love of gossip but a heart of gold. Pendruggan wouldn’t be the same without her.’ Penny hesitated for a moment then added mischievously, ‘Let’s not tell her just yet that you and Adam aren’t a couple.’

‘You are very naughty for a vicar’s wife, aren’t you!’ Kit nudged Penny’s arm with his elbow.

Penny sighed. ‘Well, I used to be naughty – before I married – but let’s just say this last couple of hours have been the most entertaining I’ve had in a long time.’

‘Intriguing. What was your life before this one?’ he asked.

Penny told him about what she did, about her production company and Mr Tibbs, her thrilling time in Hollywood with the film Hats Off Trevay.

‘That was your film?’ asked Kit in amazement.

‘Yep. Well, me and quite a few other people too, but it was amazing.’

‘What a life you’ve had. How on earth have you managed to settle down in sleepy Pendruggan?’

She shrugged. ‘Oh. You know. I have a wonderful husband and Jenna my gorgeous daughter. Lots of blessings.’

‘You must miss the excitement of your old life, though?’

She picked up their coffee mugs and took them to the sink. ‘Maybe. A bit.’ She kept her back turned so that Kit wouldn’t see the disloyalty she felt at having suggested her marriage wasn’t happy. She and Simon were going through a difficult patch admittedly. Everything he did annoyed her. The way he ate, breathed, looked— She pulled herself up sharply at these terrifying thoughts. Keep going, Penny, keep going.

‘Well, I’d better be off.’ Kit was standing and tying his stripey jumper round his neck.

Startled, Penny stood up straight. ‘Yes of course. Well, thanks again for the flowers and the company.’

She opened the back door to let him out and found her best friend Helen rounding the corner.

‘Oh Helen, you must meet Kit. Helen, this is Kit, our new neighbour at Marguerite Cottage.’

Helen shook his hand. ‘Lovely to meet you. Queenie is all agog with the news of two young men arriving in Pendruggan.’

‘We’ll try not to disappoint,’ smiled Kit, tapping his nose conspiratorially.

Penny turned to him. ‘If you want any fish or lobster, Helen is the woman to go to. Her partner, Piran, catches them all the time.’

‘Sounds amazing. Adam loves my curried lobster.’

Helen beamed excitedly at him. ‘Oh, Piran and I love curry.’

‘Well, I must cook for you when we’re settled.’ Kit bent to kiss Penny’s cheek and shook Helen’s hand. ‘Lovely to meet you, but I have a date with Puffing Bob.’

‘Gasping Bob!’ Helen and Penny shouted in unison and they watched Kit stroll over to Marguerite Cottage just as Gasping Bob’s rusty Rascal van rattled its way towards him.

‘He seems nice,’ said Helen.

‘He is. Very,’ said Penny, and immediately burst into tears.

Helen bundled Penny back into the kitchen. ‘What’s happened, darling?’

‘It’s my mother,’ sobbed Penny. ‘She’s dead.’

‘What?’ Helen was shocked. ‘When?’

When Helen had heard the whole story, short though it was, she became very practical.

‘You must phone your sister and ask her when the funeral is.’

‘I don’t think I have her number.’ Penny’s head was in her hands. ‘And the last time we spoke it was so awful. I can’t ring her.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Penny, she’s your sister. She should have phoned you by now, anyway.’ Helen stood up and looked purposeful. ‘Right, where is your address book?’

Penny looked at her, pale-faced. ‘In my office somewhere.’

‘In your desk?’

‘Probably.’

‘Right. I’ll get it and we’ll call her.’

‘I’m not sure I’m up to that.’ Penny struggled out of her hair and followed her friend to the office. ‘Please, Helen. I can’t. I need to feel a bit stronger before I—’

It was too late. Helen was in the office and pulling at a drawer. As she did so the house phone rang.

‘Don’t answer it!’ Penny almost screamed. ‘Leave it.’

The two women stared at each other before the answerphone picked up. They listened to Penny’s recorded voice telling the caller that she was unavailable and to please leave a message. She would get back as soon as possible.

It was Jack Bradbury.

He was shouting. ‘Penny! Jesus. Don’t you ever answer your calls or look at your emails? Mavis Crewe is pulling out and if you don’t get me six new scripts and a Christmas special soon I can promise you that you will never work for me or Channel 7 ever again!’

He hung up.

Helen looked at her friend properly.

Penny shoved her hands inside the saggy pockets of her ancient cashmere cardigan dropping her pale,swollen-nosed and red-eyed face to the floor.

It was the first time in twenty-five years that Helen had ever seen Penny Leighton look defeated. ‘Open your emails,’ she said.

Penny hovered for a moment; she’d got into an awful habit of hiding things and Helen would be cross with her if she knew the emails were deleted. She took a deep breath and then made her decision. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.

6

Helen was back in Gull’s Cry, her cosy cottage across the village green from the vicarage. She’d listened to Penny as she’d sunk a bottle of wine and then eventually been persuaded to go to bed. Helen nestled the phone between her shoulder and chin and put a pan of water onto the Aga for spaghetti. ‘I’m really worried about her, Simon.’

Simon, sitting in his study, phone in one hand, his head in the other, was feeling helpless. ‘She’s just a bit tired, that’s all.’

‘I think it’s more than that.’ Helen saw her boyfriend, Piran, walking up the path with a brace of mackerel in his hand. ‘I think she should go to the doctor.’ Piran pushed open the front door and Helen put her finger to her lips and mouthed ‘Simon’ at him before pointing to a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

She heard Simon attempt a half-hearted laugh before he said, ‘I’m not sure she needs the doctor, just a couple of good nights’ sleep. Jenna’s teething, work’s a bit stressful, and her mother dying …’

Helen rolled her eyes at Piran and said, ‘Simon, seriously, for my sake, could you go to the doc’s with her? Tell her you’ve made an appointment to check on Jenna’s teeth or something. Go together, the three of you. Then throw in that you’re worried about Penny. Please?’

Simon fiddled with his propelling pencil, a wedding gift from his parishioners, and sighed. ‘OK.’

Helen was relieved. ‘Good. Is she still asleep?’

‘Yes. I checked on her a little while ago and she’s fine. What actually happened earlier?’

‘I think Mavis Crewe isn’t going to write any more Mr Tibbs scripts and Jack Bradbury is taking it out on Penny. Also, I think she really should get in contact with her sister about when the funeral is. But when I suggested that she looked so … well, the only way I can describe it is that she seemed to have all her legendary courage drained from her. I ran her a bath and popped a hot water bottle in her bed and she didn’t argue. Just did it and got into bed. That’s not like her, is it?’

Simon pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. ‘No. It isn’t.’

‘Can you phone the sister?’ asked Helen hopefully.

‘I’m not sure. Pen won’t want me interfering behind her back. She never talks about them, not even when Jenna was born. I don’t want her more upset than she is.’

‘Understood. Let’s see how she is tomorrow.’ Piran handed Helen a glass of chilled Sancerre and sauntered into the small drawing room where Helen heard him turn on the television news. The water on the Aga began to boil. ‘Simon, I must go …’

Simon drooped in his chair a little. ‘One last thing, Helen: do you think a nanny might be a good idea? A little help with Jenna might help Penny a lot.’

‘Yes I do. Just try persuading her of that.’

Upstairs, Penny had woken from her sleep and was furtively searching for her tablet. She found it in her bedside drawer. She got back into bed and listened carefully in case Simon had heard her. Nothing. She turned the tablet on and the stream of ignored emails plus others popped up. She deleted a fair majority and managed to answer the simple ones. The three she’d deleted from Jack, she retrieved but there were two new ones, one of which sent a flood of panic through her abdomen. It was from Mavis. The other was from an old school friend, Marion Watson. A jolly hockey sticks sort of girl who married well and became an MP. The subject line said SUZIE. Penny didn’t know which to go for first.

The one from Mavis could be good, could be bad.

The one from Marion spooked her, so that had to be last.

The ones from Jack? Well, at least they wouldn’t hold any surprises.

She opened Jack’s first email.

TO: Penny Leighton

FROM: Jack Bradbury

SUBJECT: URGENT: MR TIBBS

P,

Mavis has flatly refused to write any more scripts.

What are you going to do about it?

Bloody call me.

J.

Penny thought it could have been worse. It could have been the sack.

She hovered between opening the next two.

She opened the one from Mavis.

TO: Penny Leighton

FROM: Mavis Crewe

SUBJECT: Jack Bradbury

Dearest Penny,

I really cannot deal with Mr Bradbury any longer. What an arrogant bully. Even if I were able to write more Mr Tibbs tales, I would never again let them go to Channel 7.

I can see now why your last email was trying to butter me up. Oh yes, I can tell. I wasn’t born yesterday. The odious Mr Bradbury has been leaning on you, hasn’t he? No wonder you made the wild suggestion that another writer could take over. No no no, my dear. That is never going to happen. Mr Tibbs is my creation and I will never give permission for another writer to take on the franchise while I have the copyright.

I understand this may be inconvenient for you and Penny Leighton Productions, but all good things come to an end, don’t they?

I have adored working with you and am still waiting to hear that you can come and join me on this marvellous cruise. How about hopping over for LA?

With affectionate regards,

Mavis

Penny felt dizzy. Black spots were clouding her vision. She was breathing in little rapid pants. She heard her father’s voice: Keep going, Penny. She wished she had a drink but couldn’t face Simon’s disappointment if he caught her creeping to the fridge.

She concentrated on getting herself calmer then she opened the email from Marion.

TO: Penny Leighton

FROM: Marion Watson

SUBJECT: SUZIE

Darling Pen,

Long time no see and all that. I have received an email from Suzie, which she has asked me to forward to you. She contacted me at my House of Commons address (very easy to find) wondering if I had your contact details. Apparently she has mislaid them. I sent them to her but she wants me to be an intermediary, God knows why, given that she and I only met at sports days and the like, hence my involvement. Being a nosy old cow, I did read it and may I say how very sorry I am to hear of your ma’s death. She was always the most glam of all the mothers at speech day.

Anyway, next time you’re in London drop in. I’d love to show you off in the Stranger’s Dining Room.

Regards,

Marion

Penny scrolled down.

Dear Penny,

Since you lost contact with Mummy and me, I have had to resort to going through Marion as she is a trusted friend of yours.

I’m sorry to break the news in this impersonal way. I would have rather phoned you or come to your home, but since I have no idea where you are, this is the best I can do.

Mummy died. She was very, very brave and was terribly ill at the end. I nursed her myself and friends and neighbours were very kind, bringing in meals. They have all said how marvellous Mummy was and how she wouldn’t have lasted as long as she did if it weren’t for me. I was with her till her last breath. It was so peaceful and such a privilege for me. She died listening to that lovely Schubert that she and Daddy adored. I made sure we played it at her funeral as she left the church for the crematorium.

I thought long and hard whether to contact you before the funeral but, honestly, after we last spoke I think Mummy wouldn’t have wanted you there.

As you can imagine, I am exhausted with it all and, even after all that happened, feel the need to make contact with you again. We are sisters and have been through so much together. Your life has been a lot luckier than mine. You have forged a career and now have a family of your own. I couldn’t have selfishly left Mummy to do what you have done. I forgive you for all the upset of the past and would like to come and visit you. Perhaps in the New Year? I am taking a little sunshine break over Christmas. Doctor’s orders. Too many memories of Mummy … You are my only family and my dearest wish is for us to reach the hands of goodwill towards each other in my bereavement.

Yours truly,

Suzie

Penny’s breathing became ragged again. She clutched at her bed sheets as if the bed was tossing on an open sea and she was to be cast into its chilled depths. Her eyes scanned the horrible words again.

Lost contact. Mummy died. Last breath. Schubert. Funeral. Wouldn’t have wanted you there. I forgive you. Penny had never felt so alone. Not since she had walked away from their last meeting. How could they have held such secrets from her? And Suzie, her sister. Always on target when inflicting emotional pain. Suzie, the sister who had kept the secret that Margot, their mother had shared with her but not with Penny. But the secret had popped out over that terrible lunch a few years ago. No apology. No comfort. A secret that had blind-sided Penny. A secret she still hadn’t processed. A secret she’d swept under the carpet where it could stay.

Would her father have told her the truth?

*

The memories that Penny had kept so tightly locked inside her were flashing back thick and fast, so real it was as if she’d stepped back into the shoes of her younger self. Little Penny standing in the kitchen holding her hands over her ears as her mother scolded, ‘You are responsible … If he dies now … it will be your fault.’ Penny still felt the pain of her mother’s words after almost forty years.

She hadn’t been allowed to visit her father in hospital.

‘He’s very ill. He certainly doesn’t want the stress and noise of a silly little girl like you,’ her mother had said.

Penny had watched as her mother had put Suzie’s little coat on and carried her out to the car.

‘Is Suzie allowed to see Daddy?’ she’d asked.

‘Of course. Daddy wants to see Suzie. She’s a good girl.’

Penny would sit on the monks seat of the small hallway, watching out of the window and waiting until they returned.