The Newcomer. Fern Britton

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 can call Dr King any time. But we generally chat once a week. It helps. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I am drowning in the grief of missing Mum and other times I am totally numb. Dr King says it’s all normal.’

      ‘Do you talk to Robert when things are difficult?’

      ‘I try not to. It worries him and he feels helpless so …’ Angela rubbed at her forehead, not wanting to break down in front of Mamie.

      ‘When we were little, your mum and I, she was the good daughter. If there was washing to hang on the line, she’d do it. If Mum needed her feet rubbed, it was her she wanted. It caused more than a little sibling rivalry between us, I can tell you.’

      Angela smiled. ‘Mum told me you were a bit of a rebel.’

      ‘A bit! The uncomfortable truth is, I was jealous of her. Her beauty, her sweetness, her brains. Her smooth complexion. She had no need to rebel. Everyone loved her.’

      ‘She told me she envied your independence.’

      ‘Oh, I was independent all right. Lipstick, boyfriends, the Rolling Stones, cigarettes and gin. Insisting that everyone called me Mamie rather than Marjorie.’

      Angela laughed. ‘Is it true that you tried to get Mum to change her name too?’

      ‘Oh, yes! How could I have a sister called Elsie! I went on and on at her. Ellie. You must be called Ellie. Mamie and Ellie sounded infinitely better than Marjorie and Elsie.’

      ‘And yet you were so close as you got older.’

      ‘We were. She was my best friend. I could tell her anything and she’d never judge me.’

      Angela nodded. ‘She told me that when Dad died, you came straight home to be with her.’

      ‘Where else would I be? Anyway, being a chalet girl in Klosters might have sounded good but it was a terrible job. The men were all randy, but ugly, and the women were all skeletal bitches.’

      Angela laughed. ‘I can imagine you arriving, all glam in white salopettes and fur boots.’

      ‘I brought her a bottle of Nina Ricci L’Air du Temps from duty-free. To cheer her up.’ Mamie inhaled her cigarette deeply then stubbed the butt on the tiled floor. She noted Angela’s raised eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll pick it up before we go. So I gave her the perfume and she hugged me for it and, shortly afterwards, we discovered you were on the way.’

      Angela bent down and picked up the discarded cigarette butt. ‘What would she and I have done without you?’

      ‘Well, you’d have been called Tracey, for a start!’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Yep. It was the name of the midwife who delivered you. Terrible idea. So I gave her some better options. Sadie. Eloise. Tuesday.’

      ‘Tuesday?’

      ‘Well, you were born on a Tuesday. Anyway, she said no to all of them and then I thought of Angelina because you were such an angel, but your Mum preferred Angela so here we are. And, as it happens, the perfect name for a perfect vicar.’

      ‘I will be happy with being a half-decent vicar.’

      Mamie put a comforting arm around her niece and kissed her hair. ‘Darling, your mum and I couldn’t be more proud of you.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Angela’s eyes pricked with tears. ‘I wonder if I have been incredibly selfish. Asking Robert to take a year out. Disrupting Faith’s school life …’

      ‘Now stop that!’ Mamie reached for her bag and drew out her packet of cigarettes. ‘That is self-indulgent nonsense and you know it.’ She lit another cigarette and with it between her teeth said, ‘You, my girl, are a brave and wonderful woman. Robert will survive; in fact, I think he’s very grateful to be out of his rut for a bit.’

      ‘It’s not a rut! Mamie, the Prime Minister calls him Bob. The BBC are thinking of sending him to Washington to be their correspondent. He is important. I’m just a rookie vicar who has landed in a tiny rural parish and who isn’t