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

‘Is Daddy coming home soon?’ she’d ask.

Her mother would look at her with impatience. ‘Absolutely not. He’s much too ill.’

Then one day the answer was different. ‘The doctors say he can come home tomorrow.’

Penny was filled with happiness. ‘I shall make a coming-home picture for him.’ She ran up to her room and found her crayons and drawing book. She drew a picture of her father wearing his old jumper. He was in the garden and a big smiley sun with curly rays was over his head. Behind him was the greenhouse with red blobs of ripe tomatoes and long green cucumbers. She wrote welcome home daddy xxxxx across the fluffy clouds and along the bottom by Penny Leighton age 7.

She kept it under her bed as a surprise for the next day.

Penny had been waiting impatiently for her mother’s car to pull into the drive. When it did, she opened the front door and rushed to meet her father. She stopped a few feet away as she saw him climb out. His perpetual suntan had faded and his clothes were loose on him, but as soon as he saw her he beamed and spread his arms out wide. ‘Penny,’ he said lovingly, ‘I’ve missed you.’

She ran to him and hugged him close, his stomach soft on her face, ‘Have you missed your old dad?’ he asked, ruffling the top of her hair.

‘I have. I wanted to see you but Mummy said you were too ill and that I’d get you over excited.’ Her words were muffled by his jacket and her tears.

‘Did she? Well, I think you would have been the best medicine. I feel better already just seeing you.’ He took her hand and together they walked to the front door.

The daily, Linda, came out on to the step. ‘Welcome home, Mr Leighton. I’ve got the kettle on.’

Margot had caught up now, carrying a small suitcase and Suzie. She thrust both at Linda. ‘I’ll do the tea. If you could just put Mr Leighton’s case upstairs, in the spare room, and see to Suzie, please.’

Linda did as she was asked.

‘Come and sit in your chair, Daddy.’ Penny led her father to the sunny drawing room that ran the length of the house. At one end you could see the front garden and the road and at the other end the back garden. His chair was facing the back garden. Mike sat and patted the arm for Penny to sit on. ‘So, Pen, have you been looking after my greenhouse?’

‘Mummy said I wasn’t to touch it.’

‘Well, we’ll go and have a look later, shall we?’ He held her hand and squeezed it.

‘Oh, that reminds me …’ Penny jumped down. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

When she came back, Margot was fussing with teacups and plates of bread and butter. ‘Here you are, Daddy.’ Penny handed him her drawing. ‘I did it for you last night.’

He took it and admired it carefully. ‘You’ve got it all just right. My old jumper, the greenhouse … And I love the sun shining down.’

Penny glowed with this praise.

Margot admonished her. ‘Penny, don’t just sit there, help with the tea.’ She helped to pass round the little plates and gave Suzie her beaker of milk. ‘Mummy, Daddy says we can go and look at the greenhouse together later.’

Margot looked incredulous. ‘Look at the greenhouse? Oh no you won’t. Either of you. The doctor has told Daddy to take things easy which means no more digging and lugging heavy watering cans around.’

‘But I can do that for him,’ smiled Penny, thrilled with the idea of helping her father. ‘Can’t I, Daddy?’

Mike smiled at his wife. ‘Seeing to the greenhouse isn’t hard work; and anyway, the doctor said I need to take exercise to keep me fitter.’

‘No,’ said Margot flatly. ‘The greenhouse is too much and I’d never be able to trust you again. As soon as my back is turned you’ll be smoking again and worse.’

Mike chuckled and gave Margot one of his most handsome glances. ‘Come on, old thing. A man is allowed the odd bit of fun.’

She remained impervious. ‘In case you have forgotten, you nearly died because of your secret smoking and drinking.’

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

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.

‘But Daddy can, can’t he?’

‘He’ll have to. I certainly can’t.’

Penny thought about the other bit of news. She wasn’t going to join them on holiday. That hurt. She liked her uncle, her father’s brother, very much and her aunt was cuddly and kind, but she would rather be going on holiday with her family. ‘How long will you be away for?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Can I go and look at Daddy? If he’s asleep I won’t wake him. I promise.’

‘You must not go near his room. I have enough on my plate.’ Her mother got up and went looking for Suzie.

Penny sneaked upstairs and opened the door of the spare bedroom as quietly as she could. Her father was lying on his side, facing away from her, his breathing deep and rhythmic. She crept a little closer and tiptoed around the bed so that she could see his face. His eyes were shut but he looked a lot better than he had done. She climbed on to the bed and snuggled next to him. She kissed his nose. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at her with a smile. ‘Hello, Pen.’

‘Hello, Daddy.’

‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too – and I’m going to miss you when you go on holiday with Mummy and Suzie.’

His face clouded momentarily. ‘Ah, Mummy’s told you, then?’

Penny nodded.

‘I’m sorry, sausage, its doctor’s orders apparently and you don’t mind being at Uncle Nick and Auntie Dawn’s do you?’

‘Not really, but I’d rather be with you.’

He put his arm around her and hugged her to him. ‘And I’d rather be with you.’

‘Penny!’ Her mother was shouting at her. ‘Penny! Wake up. Jenna’s screaming.’

Penny opened her eyes – and Simon was standing in front of her …

‘Penny, have you been drinking? What’s going on?’

She couldn’t think of a suitable answer. He turned and walked away. ‘I’d better see to Jenna. One of us has to be a responsible parent.’

*

‘He looked at me with such – disappointment.’ Penny was sitting at Helen’s kitchen table in Gull’s Cry, nursing a dry mouth and a headache.

‘Well, can’t you see why?’ said Helen worriedly. ‘Penny, how could you have done something like that when you had Jenna upstairs. Anything could have happened.’

Penny looked at her forlornly. ‘I’ve never felt as low as this. I have no energy. I look forward to nothing. I want everything to just stop. I feel I’m going mad. Mr Tibbs has come to an end, my mother has died – wouldn’t you have a little drink too?

Helen, who had had a particularly unpleasant argument with Piran not half an hour before Penny had arrived, had little patience left. ‘Penny, I’m worried about you. It’s just not like you to be so defeatist. Yes, it’s a tough time right now but you have so many blessings to count. Your life is peachy compared to others.’ She started to tick the list off on her fingers. ‘A house, a husband, a daughter, a business, money in the bank, friends – what more do you want? If I were you I’d be skipping round the village green every day, thanking my lucky stars. Couldn’t you use this time to take a little break, enjoy being with Jenna while she’s still so tiny and get back into all the TV stuff in a year or two?’

Penny was stung. ‘But if I was out for that long people would forget about me! And I know I should be grateful, of course I do. But why do I feel so unhappy? Why don’t I feel the happiness I should feel?’

Helen felt out of her depth and said more gently, ‘Penny, you must snap out of it. Go for a walk. Read a book. Go to a spa?’

‘Simon says I need to get a nanny.’

‘You do need to get a nanny.’

‘I don’t want a nanny.’

‘It wouldn’t be for you, it’s for Jenna.’

‘Because I’m such a useless mother?’ Penny’s voice started to rise in panic.

‘No, no,’ Helen tried to calm her. ‘No one is saying that but …’ She took a moment to think of the right words. ‘But you need a break and some help.’

‘I just need some sleep and for Simon to be around a bit more.’

‘And you could have that if you had a nanny.’

Penny sat back in her chair and rubbed her make-up-less eyes with her fingers. ‘I’d love a spa day.’

‘Then let’s do it.’ Helen leant across the table and held her best friend’s hand.

‘Who will have Jenna?’ countered Penny.

‘Simon will.’

‘But he’s always so busy.’

‘I’ll ask him. Anyway, it’s your birthday soon, isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I’ll tell him it’s an early birthday present. Or a late one. ’

When Penny got back to the vicarage, Simon had more than a whiff of burning martyr about him. ‘Jenna’s had her supper and bath.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m sure she’d like a story from you … if you aren’t too tired.’ To Penny’s mind he put the emphasis on the word tired to suggest she might still be full of wine.

‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’

‘Right.’ He collected up some leaflets for the Parish Council meeting. ‘Well, I’m off.’ He picked up the keys to his Volvo. ‘See you later.’

As the door clunked shut behind him Penny had to fight the urge to run after him, tell him she was so sorry for getting drunk. Sorry for being a horrible harridan. Sorry for being a bad mother. Anything to stop him from leaving her. She needed his reassurance, his security. She wanted him as she had wanted her father when he had finally left her.

She looked at herself in the mirror behind the kitchen door. Who was she? She looked like a mad woman. Her face frightened her.

Frantically she splashed herself with cold water, dried her hands by running them through her uncombed hair. She could hear Jenna calling from upstairs.

‘Come on, Penny. You can do this,’ she said to her reflection before calling out, ‘coming, my love.’

When Jenna had finally fallen asleep, Penny crept out on to the landing and down to her office. She knew she couldn’t bury her head in the sand and checked her emails. Nothing from her contacts or Jack Bradbury or Mavis Crewe. This is how it starts, she thought, one day the phone stops ringing and your career stops too.

She scrolled down her list of opened emails and found the one from her sister via Marion. She read it again. What kind of sister would withhold the information about her mother being ill, let alone dead? And to go ahead with the funeral, which she wasn’t sure she’d have attended anyway, without letting her know. Penny’s hurt balled into the back of her throat where it writhed and tightened until her body spat it out in one long wail. She sat rocking backwards and forwards on her office chair, unable to stop the noise or the tears, which now ran down her cheeks in a constant stream. She found her voice and sputtered into the air. ‘Help me! Someone help me. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t do this any more. I’m so tired. Please help me someone!’ Her throat constricted again and more sobs followed, but there was no one to come. After some time, and experiencing the odd sense of floating outside her body that had recently been so strong, she went to the downstairs cloakroom and rummaged on the shelves behind the coat racks where she kept the first aid tin. She opened it and the familiar smell of Savlon leaked out. She found what she wanted and put them in her cardigan pocket. She went to the kitchen, filled a large glass with tap water, and walked up the stairs

She took the strip of tablets from her pocket and carefully popped each one from its foil blister, lined them up on the bedside table, then went to look in on Jenna. She stroked the sleeping face and whispered ‘I love you so much’ to her tiny daughter. Her tears dripped on to the warm cheek of her beloved girl, causing her to give a little reflex jump, but she didn’t wake. ‘Night-night, darling. Mummy will always love you. I’ll always be here for you.’ As she left the room she saw Sniffy on the shelf. She picked him up and sniffed him before taking him to her room.

She cleaned her face and her teeth and brushed her hair. She spritzed on a little of the perfume that Simon liked and then got into bed. She lay down for a moment and, with the scene set, she felt a peacefulness that had eluded her for months. She propped herself on one elbow and picked up all the pills, put them in her mouth one by one, taking a mouthful of water with each and swallowed. She lay down with Sniffy in the crook of her arm where he had always belonged.

8

‘Can you hear me, Penny?’

Penny didn’t want to open her eyes. Who was this person disturbing her?

‘Penny, love, my name is Sandra. I’m a paramedic. You’ve taken some pills.’

Penny answered silently. Yes, I did, and now I’m sleeping. Stop tapping my hand.

‘Penny, stay with me. Can you say “Hello, Sandra”?’

Penny mustered the words. ‘Hello, Sandra.’ There, satisfied?

‘What was that? You’re mumbling a bit.’

Are you deaf? I’m trying to sleep.

‘Your husband’s here.’

Oh shit.

‘He found you and called us. He’s very worried. How many pills did you take?’

Not enough.

‘Penny, come on, stay with me.’ The patting on Penny’s arm was getting quite painful. She tried to pull her arm away but it was held fast.

Now she heard Simon’s voice, anxious, ‘Penny, darling. They’re going to pop you in the ambulance and get you to hospital.’

‘Where’s Jenna?’ she managed to say.

‘Jenna’s OK. Don’t worry about Jenna,’ said the bloody Sandra woman again. ‘She’s with your friend.’

Simon’s voice again, ‘Yes, she’s with Helen. I’m coming with you to hospital.’

She quite liked the feeling of being manhandled onto a stretcher and carried down the stairs. She could at least keep her eyes closed and no one was asking any more silly questions. The ambulance was comfortable but still the bloody Sandra woman wouldn’t let her sleep.

‘Open your eyes for me, would you, Penny?’

Bugger off, thought Penny.

‘Come on now, Penny, open your eyes for me, please.’ The woman started patting the back of Penny’s hand again.

‘What now?’ asked Penny, angrily opening her eyes.

‘That’s it, well done,’ said Sandra who immediately shone the brightest of lights into her eyes. She instantly shut them again.

When she woke next, she was in a hospital bed feeling groggy. There was a canula in the back of her left hand attached to a drip. The room was quiet apart from the beep of what she assumed was a heart machine recording her pulse. She wasn’t dead, then.

Simon was sitting in a plastic-covered armchair at the foot of the bed. He looked grey.

‘Hello,’ he said with a tired smile. He got up and came to the bed, bending down to kiss her forehead then her hand. He started to cry. ‘Oh, Pen. Why did you do it?’

‘What time is it?’ she asked him. Her throat was dry and her head ached.

‘Almost six.’

‘In the morning?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have I been here all night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you been here all night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you …’

Outside, the corridor was already rustling into life. She heard a rattle of teacups as a trolley pushed closer to her room. It stopped at a door along from hers and she heard the squeak of soles on the rubber floor, a cheery voice. ‘Morning, Mrs Wilson. You ready for a cup of tea, my dear?’

‘Why did you do it?’ asked Simon again.