The Newcomer

Simon swivelled his shocked eyes towards Penny, who put her arm across Jenna’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘What fun. But no nicking my expensive stuff.’

Jenna giggled. ‘Your make-up is for ladies with wrinkles. Faith told me that. She’s got proper young stuff. She’s even got a purple lipstick.’

‘Wrinkles? I haven’t got wrinkles.’

‘Because you hide them with the wrinkle make-up.’

Simon nodded. ‘She’s got a point.’

Penny elbowed him hard in the ribs, but Jenna hadn’t finished. ‘And when I showed Faith inside your make-up bag she said that her mummy uses that white cream on her moustache, too.’

‘You showed her my make-up bag?’

‘Well, she’s family now, isn’t she? By the way, can I have a mobile phone because Faith says I can ring her any time when I’m in Brazil.’

Simon spluttered, ‘I don’t think so, young lady.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Penny.

Angela and Robert closed their new front door as the last of the party visitors went home.

‘They are nice people,’ said Robert, taking Angela in his arms. ‘I like Helen.’

Angela tucked her head under Robert’s chin. ‘She is nice. I like Piran, too.’

‘Do you?’ he asked. ‘My jury is out. He did suggest we go fishing. But much too macho caveman for me.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Angela. ‘Do you think they’ll like us?’

‘I think they will love you.’ Robert kissed her hair.

Angela laughed. ‘And you! Everybody loves you.’ She paused. ‘Listen.’

Robert listened. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘Exactly. Not a sound. No traffic. No aeroplanes. No music. Just the peace of the Cornish countryside.’ Angela stretched up to kiss him. ‘Glass of wine?’

Faith was at the kitchen table, surrounded by the remains of the party food. She was munching the end of a pasty and flicking through her iPad. ‘Wi-Fi here is useless.’

‘Good.’ Angela tickled her daughter’s head as she passed and began opening cupboards, looking for wine glasses. ‘Would you like a small glass of wine? Special occasion and all that.’

Faith cheered up. ‘Yes, please.’

Robert sat across the table from her. ‘What do you think then, Faith? Like your room?’

‘It’s nice apart from being baby pink.’

‘You’ll get over it,’ laughed Robert.

‘To us.’ Angela raised her glass.

‘To you.’ Robert tipped his glass to hers. ‘This is your gig and Faith and I are happy to be the back-up team,’ He swallowed the pale white wine. ‘Nice.’

‘Mamie sent it to us. House-warming present.’

‘When does she get here?’ asked Faith.

‘Tomorrow. She’s bringing Mr Worthington with her.’

Faith clapped her hands. ‘I’ve missed him. We can explore the village together. Apparently the lane by the side of the church goes down to the sea and a nice beach, Jenna told me.’

‘I might make a picnic for us all. If it’s not raining.’ Angela looked around her. ‘Lovely kitchen, isn’t it? I’m a bit afraid of the Aga, though. Never used one before. Is anybody hungry?’

‘Those pasties filled me up. I had two.’ Robert patted his stomach. ‘How about you, Faith?’

‘I think I’ll have a bath now that I’ve got my own en suite.’ She picked up her iPad and strolled to the door.

‘Well, don’t take all the hot water because Daddy and I will want one too.’

‘Gross,’ said Faith with a curled lip. ‘TMI.’

‘Married people do take baths together sometimes, you know,’ Robert called after her.

Faith ran up the stairs. ‘La-la-la-la, I can’t hear you.’

‘Well, that’s got rid of her,’ smiled Robert. ‘Come and sit next to me.’

‘I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘No you haven’t. The removal men are delivering our meagre essentials tomorrow and I know you don’t have to make any beds up because, thoughtfully, Penny told me that she had done them already.’

‘I know,’ Angela sighed gratefully.

‘So, sit here and give me a cuddle.’

‘Can’t we just lie on the sofa, and watch television?’

Robert checked his watch. ‘That’s a point. Chelsea were playing Tottenham earlier. We might get the highlights.’

Robert woke the next morning in the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room. The mattress was supportive but seemed to mould to his body. The pillows were the perfect mix of comfort and yield. The duvet exactly the right weight.

He stretched his limbs, feeling the blood tingle through his body, then relaxed once more.

The light creeping over the top of the curtains drew long, bright fingers over the Victorian corniced, whitewashed ceiling. The walls were painted in a subtle eau-de-Nil, which highlighted the old and uneven plaster. He wondered, as men do, about the workmen who had built this vicarage. How long it had taken them. The families they went home to, covered in sawdust and sweat. They had done a good job. The outer walls were built of sturdy granite and slate. The inner walls probably plaster and lathe with horsehair to bond and insulate.

He closed his eyes and pictured the men working in this room. Caps on. Tweed jackets. Aprons over trousers tied at the ankle. Feet shod in sturdy boots.

They might have sat right where he was lying, eating pasties and smoking pipes.