Chapter Thirteen #2
By then, they’d emerged into the gloom of the late November afternoon. ‘I still think you’re joking about me running for Cornwall Council,’ Sheila stammered, shaken off balance. ‘But thanks for talking to me. And for your speech. I can’t wait to try some of these ideas out on the Parish Council.’
The former MP shook her hand again, smiling.
‘It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Newton. And I’m happy to help.
In fact, my assistant will give you my home address, so you can contact me with any questions you might still have.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.
’ And with that she swept away, climbing into the back of a sleek black car that had pulled up at the kerb while they were talking.
Her assistant, a stout woman in early middle-age, handed Sheila a printed card without a word, before following Mrs Newbury-Holmes into the vehicle.
Just as the car was pulling away, Lily came dashing up breathlessly. ‘Was that her?’ she hissed, excitement in her eyes. ‘Blimey, I bet that fur coat is worth a fortune … She must be very rich.’
‘She might be rich, but she’s ever such a nice lady. She talked to me for bloomin’ ages.’ Her head still reeling from everything they’d discussed, Sheila showed Lily the card. ‘And she gave me this so I could write to her.’
Lily was astonished. ‘Write to her? Whatever for, Gran?’
‘In case I have any questions she didn’t cover in her talk.’ She took a deep breath, adding proudly, ‘Also, she said I should run for election to Cornwall Council. For parliament too one day. She said as how I’ve done more than most MPs do for the poor.’
‘Sounds to me like she was having a laugh.’ Lily was looking dubious.
Sheila was offended at this lack of confidence, but decided not to scold her granddaughter, given that she was staying in her house. ‘Anyway, I took ever so many notes. Now I just hope I can read my own handwriting!’
‘Come here, love, and sit on your old great-gran’s knee,’ Sheila urged little Morris, who dropped his toy and scrambled onto her knee at once, beaming.
Her great-grandson was happy, inquisitive and intelligent, and rapidly becoming her pride and joy.
She cuddled him, and he squirmed, giggling noisily. ‘Do you know any Christmas songs?’
He nodded, waiting in expectation.
‘Christmas is coming,’ she chanted, ‘and the goose is getting fat …’ Then paused to let him join in.
‘Pwease put a penny in the old man’s hat,’ he responded, though getting a few of the words wrong, and then threw back his head with a roar of laughter that reminded her strongly of his father, Tristan, who also had a good sense of humour.
Tristan had not always been so prone to laughter, of course.
Her young grandson-in-law had come back from wartime service with terrible burns, deeply depressed by what he’d considered to be his failures, and Lily had nursed him back to health.
Eventually, he’d joined the fire service in St Ives where they’d been living and worked his way back to happier times. Like the birth of his son.
‘If you haven’t got a penny,’ she went on with an encouraging nod. ‘A ha’penny will do. If you haven’t got a ha’penny …?’
‘God bwess you!’ he cried.
‘That’s right,’ Sheila chuckled, holding him tight. ‘Aw, bless you too, little man.’
Lily bustled past with an armful of freshly laundered clothes. ‘These are for you, Gran.’
‘What’s that?’
‘We’ve been collecting hand-me-downs from folk hereabouts,’ her granddaughter said, placing the stack on the table. ‘These are all in good repair, and I’ve washed and ironed them, ready for your charitable fund.’
‘Gawd, you didn’t need to do that,’ Sheila exclaimed, letting Morris wriggle free. ‘You must be rushed off your feet already, what with the boy and this farm.’
‘That’s all right. Besides, Demelza helped me with the laundering,’ Lily told her, smiling. ‘And Mary too.’
Sheila’s brow wrinkled. ‘Mary?’
‘I think you met her once. She was a trainee nurse like me, one of my closest friends at the Convalescent Home for Wounded Servicemen in St Ives. She’s Mrs Jeffries now, though.
’ Lily knelt with a hanky to clean Morris’s face.
‘She married a teacher and they moved to Penzance this summer so Dick could take up a new position here at the school. Anyway, he put up a poster at the school last week, asking for clothing donations for your fund, and these came in from parents, so they’re mostly children’s clothes.
I’ll pop them in a bag to take back to Porthcurno. ’
Sheila was touched by such a kind gesture. ‘Thank you for taking the trouble … And Demelza too, especially given her condition.’
She hadn’t seen much of Lily’s sister-in-law during her stay.
The poor thing had been ‘indisposed’ with morning sickness, despite having already produced an infant less than a year ago – a baby girl called Teresa with plump cheeks and strawberry-blonde wisps of hair, whom she’d heard bawling for a feed occasionally.
‘If you give me their address,’ she added, ‘I’ll write Mary and Dick Jeffries a thank-you note too.’
‘You can thank them in person.’ Lily grinned at her. ‘They’re coming to dinner tonight.’
‘Blimey.’ Sheila, who had invited Bernie to supper that evening too, was surprised. ‘I hope that won’t be too much hard work for you. It’ll be a full house.’
‘We can manage,’ her granddaughter assured her cheerfully. ‘Besides, Mary always brings a large pudding with her, and her husband will help with the dishes afterwards, along with Tris and Rob.’ She laughed merrily, carrying Morris off for his nap. ‘We all muck in here, you’ll see.’
Sure enough, dinner that evening in Penzance was a lively affair, the small farmhouse dining room packed with folk.
It was dark and snowy outside, but Tristan and Robert had herded their large flock of sheep into fields nearer the house to keep a closer eye on them, while the newborns and the lambing ewes were under shelter in a large, covered enclosure.
The two sheep farmers stamped in from the bitter weather, snow on their boots and coats, just in time to sit down with their guests.
Mary and Dick were good-natured and friendly, and it was soon clear that Mary was expecting, revealing a rounded tummy as soon as her coat came off.
‘Only two months to go,’ the curly-haired young woman told Sheila with a smile, easing wearily onto the sofa.
Mary and her husband Dick both had strong Cornish accents like Tristan and Demelza, Sheila had noted when they were first introduced.
‘But we’re all prepared. I’ve been knitting booties by the dozen, my parents bought us a second-hand crib at their last visit, and Dick’s painted the nursery a glorious bright yellow. I can’t wait for Baby to arrive!’
‘Enjoy those broken nights,’ Demelza muttered.
‘Well, it looks like you must enjoy them,’ Mary quipped, accepting a cup of tea from Sheila, who’d insisted on making herself useful while the two women cooked. ‘Thank you, Mrs Newton.’ She nodded to Demelza’s increasing tummy. ‘Given that you’ve decided it’s time for round two.’
‘That was more of an accident than a decision,’ Demelza admitted, chewing on her lip, then flushed when everyone laughed.
‘Accidents do have a tendency to ’appen, love.
’ Sheila chortled. ‘Anyway, you might as well have two babies as one. That’s what we thought when little Violet came along, after we’d grown used to the idea of only having Betsy, who was Lily’s mum.
’ She sighed, wishing again her eldest daughter had survived the war. ‘Ah, those were the good ol’ days.’
Bernie, standing up to drink his tea, as there weren’t quite enough seats in the cramped front room to go around, gave her a wink. ‘Plenty of time for more good new days ahead, Sheila.’
‘Amen to that,’ Robert murmured.
They sat around one big table to eat a roast chicken meal with all the trimmings, and afterwards each enjoyed a portion of Mary’s fruit pudding, heated up and served with lashings of condensed milk.
‘You’ve outdone yourself, ladies,’ Dick announced as he pushed aside his dessert bowl. ‘Three cheers for the cooks!’
And they all cheered, while the young women grinned, looking bashful. Then the three men rose, with the exception of Bernie, who’d offered to help with the washing-up but been told to stay and entertain the ladies instead, and began clearing the table.
‘Have you had a good holiday here, Mrs Newton?’ Mary asked, producing wool and needles from her bag, and began to knit with a practised air.
‘Oh, I’ve had such a wonderful time, thank you.’
Across the cosy room, Sheila caught Bernie’s eye and smiled. They’d walked out together every other day during her stay, and she had indeed enjoyed herself being away from home and Violet’s disapproving eye.
Only that morning they had strolled arm in arm along the seafront at Penzance, in an icy wind laced with snowflakes, where he’d braved the weather to take off his hat and once again proposed marriage to her.
She had said no, of course. But she couldn’t deny the man was good company.
Indeed, she was beginning to feel so much affection for him, she could happily have agreed to marry him, if it hadn’t been for her fears over what might happen once she was a wife again.
Bernie might claim that he wouldn’t interfere with her running the village shop or sitting on the council once they were wed, and she believed he meant it, but she also knew that men had a funny way of changing their minds once they’d achieved the thing they were after.
So, although Sheila liked him a great deal, she was not yet ready to say yes.
On her last day in Penzance, Sheila had a comfortable chat with her other granddaughter Alice, who’d had a telephone installed in her flat in London, and got all their news too.
She and Patrick were still working for the government and had high hopes of being able to afford their own house soon, with a garden too, out in the growing suburbs.
She also spoke briefly to Ernest, who was still staying with Alice and her husband.
‘How’s the weather been in Porthcurno, Sheila?’ her son-in-law asked down the crackly line.
‘We’ve been having a nasty, cold snap,’ Sheila admitted, pulling her cardigan closer in the draughty hall, ‘but I’m sure it won’t last.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Ernest told her. ‘The government expects heavy snowfall this winter, and not just up north. I hope Joe and Violet are prepared for this “cold snap” to get worse before it gets better.’
Sure enough, when Bernie drove her home from Penzance, snow lay thicker than ever along the verges, the sky glowering with dark clouds.
Sheila mentioned Ernest’s warning. ‘He says we could have blizzards, even down here in Cornwall.’
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Bernie told her easily, and whistled between his teeth. ‘You warm enough, my darling? Or would you like that blanket from the back seat?’
Shivering in the chilly car, Sheila reached through for the tartan blanket to wrap about her knees and caught his quick grin. ‘Don’t you tell Violet. She already thinks I’m as old as the hills and that I need looking after.’
‘Ah, but to me, you’re still the fresh-faced girl I fell in love with at school,’ he told her softly, and she chuckled, torn between wanting to tell him off for such ridiculous flattery and a growing curiosity to know how it would feel to be Mrs Bernard Bailey.