Mr Worthington?’
‘In the car. Sleeping. Dreadful company. And he has had the most unpleasant attack of wind all the way down the motorway, so try not to breathe around him.’
Faith was already out in the hall and wrenching open the front door. Within moments a long-legged, shaggy wolfhound with caramel eyes and a dignified face lolloped in. Faith followed behind. ‘Your car does smell terrible, but Mr Worthington says he’s very sorry.’
Angela sank to her knees and fondled the big wise head in her lap. ‘Hello, boy. Welcome to your new home. You’ve come to live by the seaside. Shall we go walkies on the beach later? Shall we?’
Mr Worthington thumped his long, feathery tail on the kitchen tiles and held a leg up to have his elbow tickled.
Breakfast was a busy mêlée of boiled eggs and gossip as Mamie demanded to hear all about the new people of the village.
‘Queenie sounds like my kind of gal,’ she affirmed. ‘We’ll be great friends. Get her out on the tonk and I’ll know everything there is to know in a flash. And what about you, Robert? What will this year in Cornwall bring you?’
‘I am here purely as Angela’s wingman.’
‘Not going to put your journalistic talents to use?’ Mamie liked to get straight to the point. ‘I am certain that the local news outlets would love to have the famous Robert Whitehorn on their books.’
‘Oh, no, no. My first priority is to get Faith settled into her new school.’
Mamie turned her shrewd eyes to Faith. ‘When do you do your GCSEs?’
‘Mocks are in the summer term,’ Faith said, scowling. ‘Real ones next year.’
‘A bit disruptive for you, then?’
‘My old school is keeping an eye on the syllabus down here, before I go back there. It should be fine.’
Mamie nodded slowly. ‘Just promise me one thing.’
‘What?’
‘You work hard and you don’t give your parents any trouble. This is a big year for your mother. Her first parish. She needs this to go well and for you to respect that. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
‘Good.’ Mamie stood up decisively. ‘I am going to unpack. Have a shower and get out of these townie clothes.’
‘Don’t you want to have a rest? You haven’t been to bed,’ said Faith kindly.
‘Good God, no. I’ve never needed much sleep. Time for that when I’m dead. Now, Faith, take that dog for a pee, please. He stinks. Robert, you wash up. Angela, get dressed. I want to see this new church of yours.’
The vestry key, heavy and old, had a knack to it that Simon had showed her but Angela now couldn’t remember.
‘The previous vicar told me the trick but …’ she turned the key and wiggled the old latch to no avail, ‘… I can’t think what it was.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Mamie. Angela stepped aside as her aunt lifted the latch and pulled the door up and outwards. She turned the key. The door opened smoothly. ‘I think it’s one of those doors that changes with the weather,’ she said to an astonished Angela. ‘You’ll get used to it.’ She stepped into the vestry. ‘God, it’s cold in here.’
‘The heating’s on a timer.’ Angela was looking for the light switch. ‘Just a couple of hours twice a day, to keep the old place ticking over.’ She found the old brass light switch and flipped it down with a pleasing clunk. A dim, unshaded single bulb, hanging from the ceiling, began to glow. ‘It’ll warm up in a minute. Let there be light and all that,’ said Angela, hoping that Mamie wouldn’t hate everything. ‘And I think the bank of lights switches over by the door there turns on the main lights.’
Mamie peered at the plastic panel and pushed each switch down.
Angela opened the inner door to the church and found the nave and choir fully lit. ‘Oh, good. They are the right ones.’
Mamie walked in and took in the beauty of the old church with the late morning sun making the jewelled, stained-glass windows glow.
Taking her time, she stepped towards the altar, heels clicking on the cardinal-red floor tiles. She gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, motes of dust drifting through the sunbeams.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘Imagine all the weddings and baptisms and funerals that have taken place here.’ She turned to Angela. ‘It’s perfect and you are perfect for it.’
An anxious Angela asked, ‘So you like it?’
Mamie sat on a pew. ‘Darling, I am bursting with pride.’
‘Would Mum like it?’ Angela asked as she sat next to Mamie.
‘She’d hug herself with joy.’ Mamie put her feet up on the pew in front of her. ‘Bloody cold, obviously, but this is exactly where you belong. I can feel it. There is good karma here. I like the smell too. Beeswax. God, if your mother were here she’d be polishing every day.’
Angela grinned. She pointed at a needlepoint kneeler lying at her feet and examined the motif of a lamb watching a bright star in a night sky. ‘Wouldn’t she love making one of these?’
Mamie nodded. ‘Oh, yes. She’d have the stitch-and-bitch club up and running. Knitting for beginners, forcing the poor grannies and young mums into creating hideous pram blankets and woolly hats.’ She sighed. ‘I miss her.’
Angela looked towards the altar and sighed. ‘This is one of those times when I want to ring her. Tell her all about it. I find myself actually reaching for the phone at times. Let her know how Faith is doing. How happy I am with Robert … Silly, isn’t it?’
Mamie took her niece’s hand. ‘I do the same. Very often. I miss her more than I can say. I have so much to thank her for.’ She rummaged the depths of her pockets. ‘Three years this October.’ She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a gold lighter. ‘Can I smoke in here?’
‘Probably not but I won’t tell.’
Mamie lit up and blew a plume of smoke into the still air, then turned her concerned eyes towards Angela. ‘How are you?’
Angela watched the smoke rise in the still air. ‘OK.’
‘Only OK?’
‘I haven’t cried for almost a fortnight.’
‘And the tablets?’
Angela looked at her hands. ‘Good. Half the dose now. Dr King keeps an eye on me.’
‘And who will keep an eye on you while you are here?’
‘I
