no, you’re joking, aren’t you? Ida, really? Why would you do that to Dominic and his poor unsuspecting wife?’ says George, wide-eyed.
Ida has the grace to look slightly shamefaced. ‘Angelina’s lovely,’ she protests. ‘She’s just eccentric, that’s all. And she’s very lonely.’
‘Lonely? I bet she is.’ Vera’s laugh is humourless.
‘What’s the problem, guys?’ asks Dominic. ‘She sounded OK on the phone. A little … excitable maybe?’
‘That’s a good word for Angelina,’ says Gladys. ‘She has a tendency to scamper through the streets semi-naked when the muse takes her. She’s very arty. If she runs out of Bacardi when she’s in the middle of painting one of her mad seascapes she just leaves the house and runs up to the pub in whatever she happens to be wearing. Not much, usually. She likes to be unfettered when she paints.’
‘There’s no harm in her,’ says Tristram. ‘I nearly married her once.’
‘You nearly married everyone once,’ Julia says, ‘except me,’ and then regrets her outburst as everyone turns to look at her.
‘Yes, however did I miss you out?’ Tristram puts on a mystified expression. ‘Maybe you were always spoken for. But as for Angelina, you’ll have a great time with her, Dominic. She likes a laugh and she really does love children.’
He gazes into the distance as if remembering something amusing. Julia feels ruffled. What’s Angelina got to make a man like Tristram go all googly-eyed over her? She must be ninety if she’s a day. Her hair is cropped short and dyed a fearsome orange, as it’s always been since she found her first grey hair. She wears a bizarre collection of shapeless linen garments and multi-coloured scarves, when she bothers with clothes at all.
Tristram catches Julia staring at him and grins. ‘What’s the problem? I like older women, always have done. And Angelina was gorgeous in her day. Still is, come to that. As are all you ladies present.’
Vera snorts and mutters something about men who need their eyes testing. After this, Ida seems to think it’s time to draw the meeting to a close. She tops up everyone’s glass and they end by having a good old gossip. Even Vera accepts a small sherry and begins to soften.
‘Don’t be fooled, that smile’s probably just wind,’ murmurs Tristram, catching Julia watching the doyenne of the shop in amazement as she stuffs crisps into her mouth and titters at something George is saying.
‘She should be given sherry on prescription,’ says Julia. ‘It’d make the village a much happier place.’
‘Thank you so much for giving up your time tonight,’ says Ida as they all file out half an hour later, slightly flushed. ‘I can’t believe how quickly you’ve all taken this on board. Some people think Pengelly is just a little backwater at the end of the world but to me it’s so much more.’ Her cheeks are glowing. ‘And you won’t forget the farmers’ market, will you? A week on Saturday.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ says Dominic. ‘Should I?’
Ida pats his arm. ‘Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it when I was talking to Cassie. The market’s a monthly event, mainly on the green but with a few other stalls dotted here and there, and a bouncy castle and so on for the littlies. This time I’m having an information station right outside the pub to tell everyone about Adopt-a-Granny.’
‘Sounds great.’
‘And I’m hoping you’ll all drop by at some time during the day in case anyone wants to ask questions. You’re the experts now.’ She hiccups slightly and hugs Dominic as he leaves.
‘I think Ida’s been hitting the sherry bottle too,’ whispers Tristram to Julia. Vera wobbles on the step and catches hold of him as he speaks.
‘Do you want to come back with me for a nightcap, Tris?’ she says, wriggling her shoulders. ‘I’ve got sloe gin.’
Tristram’s look of alarm sets Julia off giggling helplessly. She walks ahead and takes deep breaths. It wouldn’t do for Vera to see her laughing. But the sherry has done its work well, and Vera yawns hugely, giving Tristram the chance to escape with an excuse of an early morning booking for ten breakfasts tomorrow.
‘I’d love to be sociable but you understand what it is to be responsible for a business, Vera. We both need to be on the ball,’ he says. ‘Gina and Vince do so much already so I can’t ask them to get up at the crack of dawn just because I’ve stupidly agreed to host the local twitchers’ annual beano, can I?’
Julia returns his grin as he says a polite good night to Vera at the shop door and offers Julia his arm to walk her home. For a few moments, the whirlpool of her mind steadies and she relaxes into the luxurious sensation of being cared for. The ever-present sadness and the spasmodic, terrifying confusion ebb, and warmth flows through her body. They walk down the lane in silence, completely in accord.
The second letter is even easier to appropriate. May is left on her own for nearly ten minutes while Julia gasses on the phone to her granddaughter. She can hear Julia babbling like a schoolgirl as she chats to Emily about what she’d like to eat when she flies in from the States.
May has no idea what she’s getting when she plunges her hand into the heap of envelopes on the table.
She pushes the letter right to the bottom of her bag as Julia ends the call and comes back in, still chuckling.
‘That girl. She never changes, thank goodness,’ Julia says, pouring May a third cup of tea without asking.
May purses her lips. She doesn’t normally have more than two cups of tea at this time of day. It’s hard enough sleeping through the night without having to get up for a widdle every hour. But Julia is passing her the dainty china cup and saucer now, and handing over a plate of shortbread.
‘Have you been baking again?’ asks May. ‘Is this your mother’s recipe? She was a grand cook, wasn’t she?’
‘She was, but I’ve somehow managed to lose her cookbook,’ says Julia, ‘so I’ve gone back to the tried and trusted Be-Ro recipes. I think she copied most of those into her own book anyway, and just pretended they were family secrets, to be honest. The lemon cake’s never been the same since, though. I can’t seem to get it right any more.’
May pretends to be searching in her bag for a hankie. The recipe book, written in Julia’s mother’s elegant copperplate, is at this moment nestling in her bedside cabinet. It was lying around in the church kitchen one day when she and Julia had both been roped into helping at a charity tea. She’s used up all the memories out of it now, and a very gluttonous sort they were too. Gave her raging indigestion. She supposes she should sneak the book back now. It’s no use to May.
‘I’d have thought you’d have made all those cakes so often you’d not need a book?’ she says.
Julia flushes. ‘Well, that’s the thing. I’m having a few … issues … with my memory. Are you ever forgetful these days, May?’
‘Of course not! Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I’m
