Sheila was down in the cellar, sorting out tinned goods, when her sister came to the door at the top of the stairs. ‘There’s an old boy in a suit to see you. Says his name’s Bernard.’ Margaret’s voice was high with astonishment. ‘And I think I remember him from years back. Bernard Bailey … Wasn’t he sweet on you when we were youngsters?’
‘For gawd’s sake, Maggie …’ Straightening so quickly she almost banged her head on the low ceiling, Sheila hissed back, ‘Tell him I’ll be right up. And keep your bloomin’ voice down.’
As soon as her sister had vanished, she smoothed down her hair, snatched off her work pinny, took a breath and hurried up the cellar stairs.
Bernard was standing over the local newspaper on the counter, reading the front page with apparent interest, but he turned when she appeared and took off his hat, saying smoothly, ‘Hello again.’ He looked her up and down, a twinkle in his eye that had Sheila worried she might have cobwebs in her hair or a run in her stockings. ‘You know, I almost thought I’d imagined seeing you in the churchyard the other day. Yet here you are again, large as life.’
‘’Ere, watch who you’re calling large,’ she told him, but added a crooked smile, so he’d know she wasn’t being serious. Her heart was beating rather fast, but she put that down to having raced up the steps so quickly. Her sister was watching the two of them with great interest, but Sheila ignored her. Maggie could take a flying jump if she was busy putting two and two together and making sixpence.
‘Would you like to come through to the back room?’ she asked in her most polite voice, intimidated by his smart appearance. ‘I was due a half-hour break, anyway,’ she fibbed, shooting her sister a look that warned Maggie not to contradict her. ‘We can have a nice chat and catch up on old times.’
‘If you’re sure I’m not interrupting your work.’ With a nod to Margaret, he followed her through to the back of the shop, murmuring, ‘Isn’t that your sister, Maggie? I remember her from the old days. She married … Oh, what’s his name? Local farmer. I’ve seen him down the pub quite a few times lately.’
‘Stanley Chellew,’ Sheila said, trying not to visibly grind her teeth. She closed the door so her sister couldn’t overhear what was being said, then waved him towards the table while she put the kettle on. ‘They’re still married. But separated.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. How long has that been going on, then?’
Always happy to gossip, Sheila gave him a pithy summary of how her sister’s marriage had foundered, while fetching the best china, cutting them both a slice of tangy ginger cake, and making the tea. ‘I never liked Stanley,’ she admitted in a low voice, ‘the miserable so-and-so. And he was very badly behaved towards my granddaughter, Lily. I’ve never forgiven him for that, and I never shall.’ She poured the tea. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?’
Bernard raised his cuppa. ‘And so say all of us.’ She watched in approval as he sipped the tea in a quiet, gentleman-like fashion, not slurping or spilling any in the saucer like Arnie used to do. She’d loved her husband dearly, but his eating and drinking habits had driven her almost wild at times. Then he set his china cup down carefully. ‘Sheila … I mean, Mrs Newton … This tea is delicious. You’re a miracle worker.’
‘It has been said,’ she replied airily.
He smiled.
Seated opposite each other, they nibbled on the ginger cake and politely discussed the weather, and then how the country had changed since before the war. She’d been worried his attitudes might be too posh these days for her and she would feel bored. But the old Bernard was still there, his eyes twinkling, his funny anecdotes soon making her lose her inhibitions.
That business with Mrs Treedy kept returning to plague her though, and eventually she couldn’t hold back.
‘When we met in the churchyard,’ she blurted out, ‘and I told you my trials and tribulations with this shop, you said you might have some ideas for me. Ways to help some of the villagers with these hard times we’re facing.’ She narrowed her eyes, scouring his face. ‘Did you mean it?’
Bernard laughed. ‘Never one to mince words, were you, Sheila? Do you mind me calling you Sheila?’ He grimaced. ‘I saw the marriage notice in the paper, but I still can’t picture you as Mrs Newton, sorry. Much as I admired Arnold for the good work he did for the community in his later years, I don’t think he deserved you.’
‘I won’t hear a word against my Arnie,’ she said in a rush, and felt her chest tighten with upset. ‘All right, maybe he weren’t as posh as you. But his ’eart was pure gold. And I loved him.’
‘In that case, I apologise.’ He sipped his tea again, his look thoughtful. ‘It’s true, he did like to look out for the people of Porthcurno. And it seems you’d like to carry on in the same tradition.’
‘Will you help me if I do?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled, that twinkle back in his eye, and she had to remind herself that he’d dumped her, not the other way around. There was no call to be thinking soft thoughts, just because he’d lost his spouse too. ‘You think I’m posh? An old boy from Cornwall?’
‘You’re posher than me,’ she said frankly.
‘That only goes as deep as the suit.’ Bernard nodded to his smart togs. ‘My wife Eugenie’s influence. She had such ambition for me. Sadly, I couldn’t live up to her dreams. But I did my best.’
‘I recall you was always good with words at school. What did you end up doing?’
‘Journalism. I worked on the local rags in Penzance at first, then moved to Exeter. I was even in Bristol for a spell. Served in the war too – the Great War, that is – and came back with a few unsightly scars, but my spirit intact.’ He grinned. ‘Bit long in the tooth for the second shout, I’m afraid.’
‘You were lucky, then. We lost so many bloomin’ men in this last war. Yes, and women and children too, in the Blitz, and gawd knows what else.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t know how this country’ll ever recover.’
‘This new Labour government is a start. But legislation can take years to enact. In the meantime, Britain needs people like you, Sheila, people who are willing to stand up and do something to help their community.’ He tapped the table decisively. ‘So, what do you intend?’
‘To be honest,’ she admitted, ‘I can’t for the life of me work out what’s for the best. Should I start a fund to help the poor folk out? Run a tombola? Maybe a jumble sale at the village hall? But what about afterwards? I can’t just go round their houses like bleedin’ Santa Claus, handing out a few bob here, a tenner there.’ Sheila gave a gusty sigh. ‘And what if they get offended and tell me to sling it? I’ll look a proper Charlie then, won’t I?’
‘Yes, I quite see that. It has to be done properly.’ Settling back, Bernard crossed one leg comfortably over the other, balancing his hat on his knee. ‘In my opinion, you ought to speak to the Parish Council.’
Sheila stared at him, taken aback. ‘You what?’ She’d only ever heard Arnold speak in scathing terms of the Parish Council and didn’t see how it could possibly help her cause to approach them. Bunch of stuck-up toffs and turnips, was what Arnie had dubbed them, despite having been one himself at one point. ‘I dunno about that. Parish Council? They wouldn’t be interested in talking to the likes of me.’
‘I only recently moved back to Porthcurno,’ he explained, ‘after Eugenie died. I don’t think you ever knew her, did you?’ When she shook her head, he went on wistfully. ‘She was born near here but was sent away to a boarding school, you see, so we didn’t meet until she was in her twenties. Her family still have a plot here in the churchyard, so that’s where she was laid to rest, and I came back to Porthcurno to be … Well, to be near her.’ His keen eyes searched her face. ‘You understand, don’t you? You were visiting your Arnold’s grave when we met the other day.’
She nodded, her eyes misty.
‘When I settled back here, I was retired. I’ve always been a busy person, so I soon found myself at a loose end. I stood for the Parish Council and was elected unopposed. They’re always desperate for new council members, with so many men still away on the continent.’
‘Sorry, but what can the council do?’
‘They hold the purse strings for the local area,’ he pointed out. ‘If there’s money in the kitty that can be put aside for families in need, the council will know what’s in the coffers and what can be spared. They also understand how to organise the collection and distribution of funds,’ he added with another wry smile, ‘without anyone getting offended.’
‘But I told you, they won’t listen to the likes of me.’
‘You won’t know until you try. Anyway, I’ll be there to introduce you. I’m a councillor, remember.’
‘I don’t know …’ She was deeply uncomfortable at the idea of having to speak in public. ‘No offence, but what do all you toffs on the council know about poverty?’
‘I wasn’t well-off until I married Eugenie,’ he pointed out gently.
‘Well, maybe not you … But I don’t have time for all that malarkey. I’ve got my granddaughter’s wedding this weekend. We’ve got family and friends arriving from all over. The house is at sixes and sevens over it.’
He studied her for a moment. ‘I never figured you for a coward, Sheila.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me. You’re scared, so you’re avoiding it. Yes, maybe talking to the council isn’t what you’re used to. But you’re running this shop now. You’re a respected member of the village community.’ He leaned forward, his gaze boring into hers, impossible to avoid. ‘And if you want to help those people, you’re going to have to stand up and speak out. The council has its monthly meeting a week on Thursday. Will you be there, or won’t you? I’ll be chairing the meeting. I can put you down under Any Other Business.’
Sheila folded her arms, huffing. ‘I suppose there’s no point me saying no, seeing as how you’re determined to railroad me into it.’
He sat back, smiling. ‘I always suspected you were a person of conscience. I’m glad to see I was right.’
‘Conscience, my giddy aunt …’ But she felt ridiculously pleased at this compliment. ‘Got time for another cuppa, Bernard?’
When Sheila returned to the farmhouse late afternoon, she found the place in an uproar. There were two cars parked in the farmyard, and she could hear a child crying somewhere inside. Someone had also put the wireless on loud, with big-band music drifting out of the open kitchen windows. When she opened the back door, the first thing to meet her eyes was a hand-painted banner hung across the kitchen rafters, that read: CONGRATULATIONS, ALICE AND PATRICK. Little squiggles that were clearly meant to be wedding bells and flowers decorated the banner on either side of these words. The kitchen seemed to be crowded with people, and she hesitated on the threshold, feeling her heart thump with surprise. But she was soon seized by her tall, fair-haired eldest granddaughter and given a resounding kiss on the cheek.
‘Gran!’ Lily was beaming, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.
‘Blimey, love,’ Sheila exclaimed, giving Lily a tight squeeze in return. ‘You nearly gave your old gran a heart attack, jumping on me like that. And what on earth’s going on in here? Looks like we’ve been invaded.’
‘The old place is a bit full, ain’t it?’
‘Oh, but it’s wonderful to see you again.’ She held Lily out at arms’ length. ‘Gawd, look at you. You’re the picture of ’ealth.’
‘It’s all this fresh air I keep getting. Tris has me out on the farm most days, teaching me how to look after the sheep.’ Her granddaughter laughed at Sheila’s horrified expression. ‘It ain’t as bad as it sounds. Morris comes too sometimes. He loves riding on the tractor with his dad.’
‘Bless his little soul. I hope Tris keeps bloomin’ good hold of him. Dangerous things, tractors.’
‘We’re always careful,’ Lily assured her. ‘Aunty Violet told me you’ve been opening the shop most days. How’s it going?’
Sheila bit her lip. She hadn’t yet told anyone about her sister working there, and Lily would be devastated if she knew, given how wickedly Margaret’s husband had behaved with her. ‘Oh, don’t mind about that now. Let’s talk about you, love.’
‘No, I want to hear all about the shop. You’re so brave, taking it on in Arnie’s place. I meant to drop in today and have a look around,’ she added blithely, and Sheila’s heart leapt as she realised how close she’d sailed to disaster that afternoon. If her granddaughter had turned up and seen Maggie there … But the girl was rattling on, oblivious to Sheila’s guilty stare. ‘Tristan and I arrived early with Robert and Demelza, so we thought we’d drive down to pick you up and save you the walk home. But then Hazel and George Cotterill turned up with their own little Lily, and their new baby, Dickie, so I had to stay for a chat and to admire the baby. They’ve just taken them both to see the pigs, along with the Land Girls.’
‘Oh, baby Dickie’s a sweet one, ain’t he? Though he came a few weeks earlier than expected and poor Hazel was in labour two days with him, did she say? I think she was soon wishing you were around to help, love, after you delivered their first so easily.’ They both had a chuckle. ‘But who’s Robert?’ Sheila frowned. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
‘You remember Robert, Gran … He’s my brother-in-law. Demelza’s husband.’ Lily turned, nodding towards the two young men deep in earnest conversation at the kitchen table. One was ginger-haired Tristan, so the other one had to be Robert. The young woman beside him, also with a shock of gingerish hair and freckles, was cradling a chubby baby in a pink smock and chatting excitedly to Violet, who was wiping Sarah Jane’s face while the girl wriggled and tried to escape. ‘That’s their baby, Teresa. Noisy little thing. Quite a set of lungs on her. But adorable, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Sheila agreed, adding in a whisper, ‘He’s the Quaker, is that right? The hero.’
‘That’s the one, yes.’
Robert Day had refused to fight in the war, declaring himself a conscientious objector. But he’d earned a George Cross all the same, as an ambulance driver, risking his life on the battlefield to rescue wounded soldiers under heavy fire and take them by ambulance to the field hospital.
‘A little help here, Joe?’ Ernest muttered, standing on the top rung of a wobbly stepladder as he struggled to tie the congratulations banner in place. Joe sidestepped a dancing child to hold the stepladder grimly in place. ‘Thank you.’
The small child staggering around the kitchen table, clapping his hands and crooning tunelessly to the band music, was Sheila’s great-grandson, Lily and Tristan’s little boy Morris, who was nearly two and a half now. He was big for his age, with a lively intelligent face, and the trademark reddish hair, though not as bright as his father’s.
‘My, your little Mo’s growing quicker than a beanstalk,’ Sheila said admiringly.
‘He’s a handful, for sure,’ Lily agreed, eyeing her child ruefully.
‘I didn’t know those two were coming to Alice’s wedding too. So who’s looking after the farm?’
Since the recent death of Tristan and Demelza’s father, the four young people had been running his sheep farm on the outskirts of Penzance. Sheila wasn’t sure what she thought of two couples living together, especially now they both had a child. But if it suited them …
‘Tristan’s aunt is holding the fort, with some help from friends. We’ll only be away a couple of days anyway, just long enough for the wedding and to see Alice and Patrick off on their honeymoon. Then we’ll be dashing back to Penzance, I’m afraid.’ Lily gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry it’s a flying visit. But the livestock won’t look after itself.’
‘Of course not. And I’m delighted to see you at all. But where’s the bride-to-be herself? She’s not here yet, I suppose?’
‘I think Alice is due any minute. Though Patrick won’t be staying long. Apparently, the Cotterills are putting him up until the wedding. Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding night, and all that.’
Sheila went to say hello to Tristan and little Morris, now sitting on his dad’s knee, still clapping his hands to the music. ‘This one will be a drummer when he grows up, mark my words.’ When she’d kissed both on the cheek, Sheila shook hands with Robert and Demelza. ‘You’ve all been given a cuppa, have you?’ she asked, glancing at the mugs on the table.
‘Violet’s been looking after us brilliantly,’ Robert said in the deep, calm voice she remembered, and then turned to applaud Ernest as he came gingerly down the ladder, Alice and Patrick’s welcome banner having been fixed in place. ‘Well done, you two.’
‘I didn’t do much.’ Joe grinned, folding up the stepladder and putting it away under the stairs. ‘Though we got it up just in time, I’d say,’ he said, nodding to the kitchen door.
Sure enough, they could hear an engine straining up the steep hill to the farm.
‘Alice!’ Lily shrieked, and ran out to greet her sister.
Demelza passed her baby to Sheila with a wink. ‘You’ll look after her, won’t you, Gran?’ she asked with an innocent expression before following Lily outside.
Sheila wasn’t Demelza’s grandmother, but she didn’t mind being an honorary ‘Gran’ to the young woman, given that her granddaughter had married Demelza’s brother. And she liked being Gran to everyone. It was a comfortable title.
Still, she mused, gazing fondly into the baby’s wide eyes and admiring her wisps of strawberry blonde hair, she had rather enjoyed revisiting her youth today, chatting with Bernard Bailey in the back room of the shop. Margaret had teased her about it afterwards, of course. Said all manner of foolish things, as though the two of them had been up to no good together over that cup of tea and slice of ginger cake.
Guiltily, Sheila recalled how much she’d enjoyed her little chat with Bernard, barely giving Arnie a second thought until after she’d waved goodbye to her old friend. You’re a respected member of the village community, he’d told her, and she’d been pleased as punch. Even so, it wasn’t right for her to have been smiling like that at another man, she told herself sternly. She was still mourning her husband, for gawd’s sake.
Nonetheless, as she’d told her sister afterwards, their meeting had been purely business. Bernard was going to help her speak to the council, and the council would apparently help her raise funds for the villagers down on their luck, the ones who barely had two shillings to rub together. And it was no use saying the Labour government would sort it all out because those things took time, and meanwhile families were starving and children walking about barefoot.
The thought of going barefoot gave her an idea. Perhaps she could ask villagers to donate unwanted clothes and footwear in reasonable condition, rather than simply money. In these days of ongoing restriction, with everyone still forced to tighten their belts, suggesting a clear-out of drawers and wardrobes for items they no longer used might meet with more favour than asking outright for money.
In the absence of proper help from the authorities, she could even start the ball rolling herself. There were several dresses and skirts in her room that no longer fitted her, and although it might hurt to donate Arnie’s Sunday best to the fund, his old clothes and hats were no use to anyone just sitting in her room and maybe it was time to let him go …
‘That’s a very serious face,’ Robert said, coming to relieve her of his baby daughter. ‘I hope Teresa hasn’t disgraced herself,’ he remarked, sniffing the pink-smocked baby suspiciously.
‘Bless her, no. I was just thinking about the government.’
‘Good God.’ Tristan, trying to keep his own child from running out of the door after the others, shook his head. ‘This is a celebration, Mrs Newton. No politics allowed.’
Lily’s dad, Ernest, stopped in passing and threw them both a quizzical look. ‘What? No politics? What kind of a party is this?’
‘One without fisticuffs,’ Tristan said wryly, and finally let go of Morris, who had been wriggling fit to burst. Morris dashed to the door and Ernest hurried after him, followed by the boy’s father.
A few minutes later, Alice and Patrick, flanked by their family, grown-ups and little children alike, were bundled into the kitchen, and for a while Sheila couldn’t hear herself think, as everyone burst into applause, along with shouts of ‘Congratulations!’ and ‘Here’s to the happy couple!’
Alice, not quite as tall as her sister Lily, was looking slimmer these days and surprisingly elegant, despite having chosen to squash her fair hair down under a white straw hat. But then Lily had filled out since producing a child, and Sheila saw nothing wrong in that. She wondered if Alice and Patrick were also considering starting a family straightaway. She knew the young couple were ambitious though, and suspected they might want to wait a few more years until Alice felt ready for a baby. Back in her youth, of course, married women had almost never worked, but these were different times …
Patrick looked more mature too, smart in a clean-cut suit jacket and long trousers. He stood about grinning while everyone cheered, turning a stylish hat in his hands. Sheila thought she detected the hint of a moustache, and guessed he was growing one to look older, for his face was still a little boyish.
Sheila knew Violet had felt awkward about her niece not being wed and had been keenly telling everyone the two were only working together, not living together.
Well, they were about to tie the knot now. And good luck to them.
Ernest put an arm about his daughter on one side, and about his future son-in-law on the other, and drew them both towards him. ‘Welcome home, kids. And congratulations.’
Everyone cheered even louder at this, and the men stamped their feet until the kitchen rafters rang with the noise of their drumming.
‘My poor ears,’ Sheila groaned, clapping her hands over them until the hubbub had died down. Then she hugged Alice. ‘My beautiful, clever Alice. We’ve all missed you, love.’ Then she hugged her grandson-to-be, Patrick, who looked awkward and embarrassed as she wished them both well. When Violet and Joe moved in for their hugs too, Sheila bustled to the range to make sure everyone was furnished with fresh tea and her tasty home-made biscuits.
Sarah Jane, sitting on the floor with one of the dogs, was yawning and looked ready for her bed. Poor lamb, she was only two, after all.
‘You were a long time coming home from the shop today,’ Violet commented, bringing her a tray of dirty tea mugs for rinsing and re-using.
‘Was I?’ Sheila fetched down a biscuit tin and prised the lid off with the handle of a spoon. ‘Well, I’m here now. Is there any cake left?’
Violet eyed her suspiciously but didn’t press the matter, not least because Sarah Jane was tugging on her skirt. ‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘Except wedding cake, and we won’t be touching that until after the ceremony.’ She bent to her daughter. ‘Tired, poppet? Mummy will take you to bed soon. You need some bread and cheese first. And I expect Morris will want some too.’
Hazel and George Cotterill had returned from the pigsty with young Lily and baby Dickie, and were congratulating the happy couple, who both grinned and blushed, for George had been their boss down at Eastern House. The Land Girls had crowded in behind them too, giggling and teasing Alice about her forthcoming nuptials.
Sheila gazed about the kitchen, shaking her head. Her bad knee was beginning to ache again after today’s exertions. ‘Dinner’s going to be like the bloomin’ feeding of the five thousand … And where in gawd’s name are all these people expected to lay their heads tonight?’
‘Don’t fuss, Mum. We’ll find space, we always do. And Patrick’s staying with the Cotterills tonight.’ Violet smiled happily, sorting out bread and cheese for the youngsters. ‘Our Alice is getting married, Mum. Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ Sheila admitted, thinking back to the gawky, oddly behaved girl she’d waved goodbye to when Violet had taken the two girls down to Cornwall from Dagenham. ‘But she’s all grown up, ain’t she?’ She sighed, remembering her eldest daughter Betsy, who’d died too young. ‘I wish your sister could have been here to see her two girls so happy.’
‘Betsy’s looking down on them right now,’ Violet said, her eyes misty. ‘I feel it.’
Moved to tears, Sheila hugged her daughter close, and then managed a smile as the kettle began to whistle. ‘Stuff the tea. Let’s celebrate Alice and Patrick’s return with something stronger.’
‘Oh no, Mum, not your home brew again …’
Hearing this, Ernest shouted, banging on the kitchen table, ‘Yes, your magnificent mother’s famous home-made wine! That’s precisely what this party needs.’
Alice groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Laughing, Sheila hobbled off to fetch her home-made sloe wine.