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

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.

‘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.’