The Newcomer. Fern Britton

his whiskery face in her lap.

      ‘I was just telling Angela how wonderful she was,’ Mamie told Robert as she took the G and T from his proffered tray. ‘Thank you, darling.’

      Robert passed a glass of coke to Faith, who had opened a bag of crisps and was tickling Mr Worthington’s tummy, and sat down in an armchair, opening his tin of beer.

      ‘She really was.’ He lifted his tin. ‘To Angela, the new vicar of Pendruggan.’

      ‘To Angela,’ said Mamie.

      ‘Mum,’ said Faith.

      ‘My wonderful wife,’ smiled Robert.

      ‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you, my family,’ Angela said, her voice soft.

      ‘Now now, none of that,’ Robert chided gently. ‘This is your time to shine.’

      ‘And I wouldn’t be able to do it if you hadn’t taken this year off, away from the job you love,’ she said.

      He waved a hand airily. ‘Piffle. You have stood in my shadow too long. It’s time I stood aside.’

      ‘Oh, Dad.’ Faith rolled her eyes. ‘Women can make their own way now, you know. Like, they don’t need a man to “stand aside” to help them achieve things in life. We are liberated from that sort of patriarchal nonsense, you know.’

      Robert was hurt. ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. Your mother is an independent, free-thinking adult woman, but in the past she has been the partner who has supported me while neglecting, maybe, some of things she wanted to do.’

      ‘Huh. Maybe? Listen to yourself, Dad. She definitely missed out while you were out building your career. How many times were you home in time to read me a bedtime story? How many times were you already at work by the time I woke up? How many times did you take me to school or pick me up or watch sports day?’

      Robert was wounded. ‘And who do you think paid for your holidays and looked after you and Mum?’

      Angela interrupted them. ‘Hey. Stop it. You make me sound like some sort of downtrodden drudge. Let me make this clear. Making a home and caring for you both was and still is, A Job. One that I love. I would change nothing … other than to still have Granny with us today.’

      Faith and Robert were chastened. ‘Sorry.’

      Angela took a sip of her sherry and leant back into the softness of the sofa. ‘Now then, this independent, brilliant, superwoman would like her lunch on a tray, right here, watching a movie. And while you lot make that happen, Mr Worthington and I are going to have forty winks. Scoot.’

      Later that evening, the phone rang in the hall. The women were watching Poldark, leaving Robert to get up and answer it.

      ‘Hello?’ he asked tentatively, not certain he would know who was calling.

      ‘Hi, Robert? It’s Helen here. Helen Merrifield?’

      Robert remembered the attractive woman from Simon and Penny’s party. ‘Hello, Helen. How can I help you?’

      ‘I was wondering if you and Angela would like to come round for supper this week. Would Tuesday be good? Listening to Angela in church this morning, I was thinking how brave she was.’

      ‘She’s a tough cookie,’ Robert laughed.

      ‘Yes. And I thought, we tough cookies need to stick together.’

      ‘That’s very kind, Helen. Hang on, I’ll ask her.’ He put the old-fashioned receiver down on the hall table and popped his head around the door of the sitting room.

      ‘Who was it?’ asked Angela, not taking her eyes from the television.

      ‘Shh,’ snapped Mamie and Faith, who were watching a strapping young man gallop a horse across Cornish cliffs, his ruffled white shirt open to the navel and billowing in the breeze.

      ‘Helen,’ whispered Robert. ‘Wants to know if we can have supper with her on Tuesday night.’

      Angela looked at him with bright surprise. ‘Love to,’ she mouthed. ‘Does she want us to bring anything and what time?’

      ‘What do you want me to put the linen napkins out for? You’ve only got to bleddy wash an’ iron after. Don’t make sense.’

      Helen, chopping fruit for a salad pudding, said firmly, ‘Just do it, Piran.’

      ‘She’s the vicar not the bleddy Queen of Sheba, is she?’

      ‘Oh, Piran, please, I simply want to make tonight nice.’

      ‘It’s nice without having to put out the bleddy linen napkins.’

      Helen pushed a handful of chopped grapes into a bowl and put her knife down. ‘What’s wrong with you? You normally like a kitchen supper with friends.’

      ‘I don’t trust him.’

      ‘Robert?’

      ‘Too smarmy by half.’

      ‘He’s charming. And devoted to Angela. Two things you could learn from him, actually.’

      Piran chuckled at that. He hadn’t seen Helen for a few days and had missed her. He walked towards her and put his arms around her. ‘You ’ad smooth and devoted from that womanising idiot you was married to, remember?’ He nuzzled into her neck, his beard tickling her. ‘But I reckon I suit you better.’

      Helen felt her shoulders relax. She had missed him too. ‘I need to turn the roast potatoes.’

      ‘They’ll be fine for a couple more minutes.’

      She ducked out of his arms with a kiss. ‘The reason you and I work is because you give me the space to be me and I give you the space to be you.’

      Piran’s eyes, as dark as the night ocean and as deep, softened. ‘I don’t say this often, but thank you for putting up with me. I know I’m a pain in the arse at times.’

      ‘Most of the time, actually.’

      ‘But we belong together. I don’t know what I would do without you.’

      Helen frowned comically. ‘Who are you? What have you done with Piran Ambrose? The grumpy, selfish, commitment-phobe I call my boyfriend?’

      ‘If you’re gonna be like that, I’m off to the pub then.’

      There was a knock at the door.

      ‘That’s them.’ Helen looked around at the untidied kitchen. ‘Shit.’

      ‘All right. All right. I’ll let them in.’ Piran moved to the door. ‘You get a bottle out of the fridge.’

      ‘I do love you,’ she said.

      Piran growled a bit before saying, ‘Likewise.’

      ‘This is so kind of you.’ Angela handed her coat to Piran. ‘Our first night out for a long time, isn’t it, Robert?’

      ‘I can’t remember the last time.’ He looked around at the inside of Gull’s Cry, Helen’s cottage. ‘This is lovely.’

      ‘Very small,’ said Helen, passing her guests a glass of cold wine each. ‘But I love it.’

      ‘Typical cottage for this area,’ said Piran. ‘Villagers round here didn’t have money to build mansions like up in London.’

      ‘I love the way the front door opens straight into the lounge, it’s so welcoming. And the fireplace is wonderful.’ Angela smiled. ‘Can I see the kitchen?’

      ‘Sure. It’s almost the same size as the sitting room. Come and see.’

      ‘Another Aga! I’m not sure how to use the one in the vicarage. I’m learning as I go but maybe you could give me some tips?’

      ‘Of