Chapter Thirty-Five
The following morning Paddy woke up buzzing; she had more energy than she had had in months. Maybe this was the surge that everyone talked about? She certainly felt great. She was delighted with Michelle who was proving to be a proficient pair of hands. Paddy had no idea how she was going to do stuff after the baby, but in the first few weeks at least she knew she’d be unlikely to achieve much of anything. Nick had recommended Kensey House to a few of her contacts and they had a small booking in a few months. One of the villagers had also approached her about a new business development to run non-motorised water sports out from the beach. They wanted to convert one of the old fish sheds for the venture. She personally thought it was a great idea, but would need to consider things like increased visitor numbers. There was nothing to be gained by upsetting the locals. At that moment her phone rang and she saw it was Paul from the pub asking if she was able to pop over.
Getting into her car she was concerned about his tone of voice and remembered the look he gave her as she left the previous day.
As she walked into the pub she saw that, although it wasn’t opening time yet, the place was full of villagers. She wiped her palms on her legs and fiddled with her blouse.
‘Hello, Paul. You wanted to see me?’ Her voice was hesitant. Not one person was smiling at her. This felt like a proper ambush. She smiled and nodded at a few familiar faces, but they just looked awkward; those she didn’t recognise just glared at her. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Is something wrong she asks,’ taunted Bill Hunkin. Paddy’s heart sank. ‘Did you think we wouldn’t find out about your plans?’
‘Plans?’ She had no sooner opened her mouth than she was drowned out by a barrage of shouts.
‘To flood our village with up-country druggies.’
‘And ex-convicts. What do they call them, rehabilitation centres.’
‘I’m not having it. You can’t do this to us.’
‘I’m going to have to start locking my door at night. I don’t want to live with murderers and rapists roaming down the lane.’
‘And what about the beach, what am I supposed to say to my children when they find needles in the sand?’
Paddy stepped back under the onslaught of questions and wanted to run out the door. She tried to speak, but each time she was cut off by another protest. Throwing Paul a look of appeal he slammed his hand on the bar.
‘Do you want her to answer or just to shout at her? Give her a bloody chance to explain herself.’
A room of sullen faces stared at her.
‘Um hello. Good morning.’ She faltered, this was horrible. Why were they all shouting at her? ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what any of you are talking about. We aren’t running a rehabilitation centre.’
‘Well you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ sneered Bill.
‘Yes! Because it’s true,’ pleaded Paddy. ‘I have no idea where you got this idea from.’
‘Yesterday that woman from the council asked several of us how we’d feel if we had that sort in the village. And I’ll tell you how I feel about it. It’s not happening. And I don’t care if you are our landlord, I say no. I know my rights. I’ll go to the papers.’
Paddy couldn’t keep track of all the arguments being shouted at her, not one of them made sense. ‘You’re being ridiculous!’
‘Ridiculous! It’s all right for you. I bet you won’t even be living here. Just take the money and run.’
‘What money?’
‘I bet the government are paying you a huge grant to do it, aren’t they?’
Paddy looked at the hostile faces and saw Beryl looking worried. Here at least was someone she could talk to directly.
‘Beryl, I’m not opening a rehabilitation centre. I promise you.’
‘I believe you, miss, but the woman yesterday was so convincing. She even asked me what sort of security measures I have in place. I’m like Brenda there, I haven’t locked my door in decades.’ Paddy was horrified. How could someone be so cruel as to deliberately mislead Beryl? She felt ashamed she had had any part in bringing such a troublemaker into the village. Beryl deserved better.
Apologising to her friend, she turned to the rest of the room and tried again. ‘We are planning to run a country house retreat for corporate clients and residential classes. Like I discussed with you already. And every now and then we will offer a free week’s holiday to people that need it.’
‘To dry out! Upmarket rehab centre!’ shouted Bill.
Paddy glared at him. Was he deliberately trying to be nasty?
‘Look, I’m sorry you have been given the wrong idea, but that’s simply not what we are doing.’
‘I’m going to appeal. I’m going to write to planning and tell them you’ve duped us.’
‘I haven’t duped anyone!’ Realising she was about to start crying, she headed for the door.
”Hey where are you going? You can”t just walk out on us!” Bill”s voice was sharp with anger, his face red and accusing.
Paddy whirled around, her own temper flaring. ”You aren”t listening to me, why should I stay?” she snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. She could feel the burn of tears behind her eyes, the tightness in her throat, but she refused to let them see her cry. With a final glare, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the building, slamming the door behind her with a resounding bang.
Her tyres spat out gravel as she tore up the hill. Her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. By the time she reached the house, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely get the key in the lock. Inside, the silence felt oppressive, the emptiness mocking. Paddy leaned back against the door, squeezing her eyes shut as the events of the evening replayed in her mind.
The accusations, the anger, the complete and utter lack of understanding - it all swirled inside her, a toxic mix of hurt and frustration and despair. Her stomach churned and her head pounded, the beginnings of a migraine throbbing behind her eyes. She felt like she was going to be sick.
Suddenly, her phone began to buzz in her pocket, the vibration startling in the stillness. Paddy”s eyes flew open, dread coiling in her gut. Was it Paul, calling to tell her off for leaving the meeting unresolved? With a shaking hand, she fished her phone out and glanced at the screen.
Hal”s name flashed up at her and something inside Paddy snapped. The dread morphed into white-hot fury, the force of it staggering. This was all his fault. All the pain, all the humiliation, all the heartache - it all led back to him.
She jabbed the answer button with a trembling finger. ”You!” she shouted, her voice raw and ragged. ”You have just cost me my whole bloody scheme for here! Everything I was trying to build has been ruined by your bloody woman. The whole bloody village hates me. I hate it here. I hate the people. I hate being pregnant and I want to go home!”
The words poured out of her in a torrent, months of pent-up emotion finally finding release. She was dimly aware of Hal saying something, his voice tinny and distant, but she couldn”t make out the words over the roaring in her ears. With a choked sob, she ended the call and hurled her phone across the room.
It hit the wall with a crack and clattered to the floor, but Paddy barely noticed. She was already doubling over, retching, as the stress and the anger and the heartache finally became too much. She vomited onto the slate tiles, her whole body heaving with the force of it.
When it was over, she slumped back against the wall, spent and shaking. The wall was cool against her burning cheek, the floor hard beneath her. Paddy wrapped her arms around herself and let the tears come, great gasping sobs that felt like they were being ripped from her very soul.
She cried for herself, for her baby, for the love she had lost and the future she had been denied. She cried until she had no tears left, until her throat was raw and her eyes were swollen and her heart was a hollow, aching thing in her chest.
In the silence that followed, one thought crystallized in her mind, sharp and clear and undeniable. She couldn”t do this anymore. She couldn”t stay here, in this place that held nothing but pain for her. She had to leave, had to go somewhere far away where no one knew her name or her story.
Somewhere she could start over, build a new life for herself and her child. A life that didn”t include Hal Ferguson.
With a shuddering breath, Paddy pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the way her legs trembled beneath her. She had arrangements to make, plans to put in motion.
But first, she was going for a swim. The sea was her saviour, in its embrace she would calm down and begin to plan. Baby fluttered within and she stroked her stomach, worried that she might have upset the little one. She needed to get her emotions under control and she needed to stop hoping.
***
Two hours later, Paul watched as Henry Ferguson left the pub and felt deeply uneasy. Not because of Henry’s behaviour but because of his own. One of Henry’s comments about bullying a pregnant woman had touched a nerve. He knew the comment had been directed at Bill, the village troublemaker, rather than him, but he’d failed to intervene.
Shortly after Paddy had fled the pub, he’d received a call from a Mr Henry Ferguson. He’d been in the pub the day before with Paddy and the woman from the council and was involved with one of the charities that the villagers were so concerned about. Mr Ferguson felt there had been a problem with communications and the fault lay with him. Could Paul reconvene the villagers who were available and he’d pop down to run through their concerns? He lived about a half hour’s drive away but he would come straight over.
As soon as he’d arrived Paul could see this man was far more practised at public speaking than Paddy was. He was relaxed and interested and listened to everyone’s concerns and then spoke at length with passion and eloquence.
‘If my desire to help a homeless teenager have a break from it all by the Cornish seaside has ruined it for other charities, then I will withdraw my interest in this property. But please consider who you want to say no to. Lady Patricia is offering a week’s break to carers who have been looking after their parents for months without end, with no hope or social life. She was offering holidays to young families where one of the children has leukaemia. She was offering free holidays to residents whose flat burnt down leaving them with nothing but the clothes they fled in. These are the people that now and then, maybe once a month, she wants to help, totally free of charge.’ He paused and looked around the room. He could see people nodding along with what he was saying.
‘My own charity is aimed at homeless teenagers and young adults. We help them finish a basic education where needed. We find them permanent accommodation so they have an address to apply for jobs from. If any have addictions, we help them get clean. They have one-on-one counsellors that help them with traumas, CVs, bank accounts. Anything that helps get them on their feet. And when they are stable and happy, we would love to give them a week’s holiday, eating ice cream and jumping in the waves. And we would never ever send anyone that wasn’t one hundred per cent back on their own two feet.’
‘Will you tell us when they’re coming?’ called out a voice belligerently.
‘No. Because they are no different to you and I, and deserve their privacy as much as you or I do.’
‘Well they must have become homeless for a reason,’ sneered the man with the bloodshot nose.
‘That’s right, blame the homeless,’ said a middle-aged woman. ‘Bill, you haven’t got a brain in your head sometimes, let alone a heart. What would you know about being homeless? I was homeless for six months and I tell you what, it only takes the slightest slip before you fall through the cracks.’
One of the women sitting next to her turned to look at her. ‘Jane, I never knew! Homeless, like sleeping on the streets?’
‘No, like sleeping in my car, sleeping on friends’ sofas.’
‘Well it’s not the same then, is it,’ called Bill.
‘It bloody is in here,’ Jane said, tapping her temple. ‘What if I was fifteen and didn’t have any mates or a car? What would I have done then? We need more people like him there,’ she gestured towards Hal, ‘than people like you.’ Now she addressed Hal directly, ‘You give your young people a holiday here if you want. There’ll be no objection from me.’
Gradually the mood had changed; through Hal’s eloquence and Jane’s passion, the villagers began to be swayed.
‘But what about that woman you brought down yesterday? Telling us we were going to be surrounded by druggies and criminals?’
‘Yes. I released her from her contract yesterday, after our site visit. I didn’t feel she properly understood the charity or had the best skills to develop it. And may I apologise unreservedly for the way she went about causing strife and division. Her behaviour was incredibly unprofessional and caused fear where it was completely unwarranted. I am fully to blame for not properly briefing her and then letting her loose amongst you.’
‘Well, what about Lady de Foix storming out of here earlier?’ jeered Bill. ‘Why would she do that if she didn’t have something to hide?’
‘I’m guessing she fled, rather than stormed,’ said Hal in a cold voice. ‘A young pregnant woman, on her own, being shouted at and heckled, for trying to do something nice?!’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
The others looked at their pints.
‘It wasn’t,’ he protested again, ‘but her sort come lording it over us just because she’s our landlord.’
‘Did she even mention your tenancies?’
‘Yes. She did!’
‘No, Bill,’ said Paul. ‘You did, and she said your concerns were her foremost considerations. And you said, ‘you would say that’.’
‘I tell you what, you’re bloody lucky you’re not one of my tenants!’ snapped Hal.
‘Hey, hey!’ Bill swung his arms out and appealed to the crowd. ‘See that! Lord of the Manor. Do you like to intimidate people because they’re your tenants? Hey?’
‘No, because I don’t have any respect or patience for the sort of man that bullies a pregnant woman!’
Bill tried again but the mood of the pub was now very firmly against him. On the whole they rather liked their new landlady and were used to Bill and his ways. Realising he no longer had the village on his side he stormed out of the pub.
Hal smoothed his hair back and took a deep breath. ‘Sorry about that. Now look, I’m going to leave my private contact details behind the bar. Contact me with any concerns you have that you didn’t want to raise here or think of later on. I will happily answer all your questions. But please, I beg you, do not derail Lady Patricia’s scheme because I hired an unprofessional consultant.’ And then he left the pub.
All things considered, Paul thought Lady Patricia’s scheme would go through just fine now. He gave Henry the directions to her cottage and hoped she would welcome the good news. He’d have to remember to give her an extra portion of the Yorkshire puddings she loved, to make amends, next time she came in. When it came to Yorkshires, he would swear she had hollow legs.