The Postcard: Escape to Cornwall with the perfect summer holiday read. Fern Britton
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to see Suzie. She’s a good girl.’
Penny would sit on the monks seat of the small hallway, watching out of the window and waiting until they returned.
‘Is Daddy coming home soon?’ she’d ask.
Her mother would look at her with impatience. ‘Absolutely not. He’s much too ill.’
Then one day the answer was different. ‘The doctors say he can come home tomorrow.’
Penny was filled with happiness. ‘I shall make a coming-home picture for him.’ She ran up to her room and found her crayons and drawing book. She drew a picture of her father wearing his old jumper. He was in the garden and a big smiley sun with curly rays was over his head. Behind him was the greenhouse with red blobs of ripe tomatoes and long green cucumbers. She wrote welcome home daddy xxxxx across the fluffy clouds and along the bottom by Penny Leighton age 7.
She kept it under her bed as a surprise for the next day.
Penny had been waiting impatiently for her mother’s car to pull into the drive. When it did, she opened the front door and rushed to meet her father. She stopped a few feet away as she saw him climb out. His perpetual suntan had faded and his clothes were loose on him, but as soon as he saw her he beamed and spread his arms out wide. ‘Penny,’ he said lovingly, ‘I’ve missed you.’
She ran to him and hugged him close, his stomach soft on her face, ‘Have you missed your old dad?’ he asked, ruffling the top of her hair.
‘I have. I wanted to see you but Mummy said you were too ill and that I’d get you over excited.’ Her words were muffled by his jacket and her tears.
‘Did she? Well, I think you would have been the best medicine. I feel better already just seeing you.’ He took her hand and together they walked to the front door.
The daily, Linda, came out on to the step. ‘Welcome home, Mr Leighton. I’ve got the kettle on.’
Margot had caught up now, carrying a small suitcase and Suzie. She thrust both at Linda. ‘I’ll do the tea. If you could just put Mr Leighton’s case upstairs, in the spare room, and see to Suzie, please.’
Linda did as she was asked.
‘Come and sit in your chair, Daddy.’ Penny led her father to the sunny drawing room that ran the length of the house. At one end you could see the front garden and the road and at the other end the back garden. His chair was facing the back garden. Mike sat and patted the arm for Penny to sit on. ‘So, Pen, have you been looking after my greenhouse?’
‘Mummy said I wasn’t to touch it.’
‘Well, we’ll go and have a look later, shall we?’ He held her hand and squeezed it.
‘Oh, that reminds me …’ Penny jumped down. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
When she came back, Margot was fussing with teacups and plates of bread and butter. ‘Here you are, Daddy.’ Penny handed him her drawing. ‘I did it for you last night.’
He took it and admired it carefully. ‘You’ve got it all just right. My old jumper, the greenhouse … And I love the sun shining down.’
Penny glowed with this praise.
Margot admonished her. ‘Penny, don’t just sit there, help with the tea.’ She helped to pass round the little plates and gave Suzie her beaker of milk. ‘Mummy, Daddy says we can go and look at the greenhouse together later.’
Margot looked incredulous. ‘Look at the greenhouse? Oh no you won’t. Either of you. The doctor has told Daddy to take things easy which means no more digging and lugging heavy watering cans around.’
‘But I can do that for him,’ smiled Penny, thrilled with the idea of helping her father. ‘Can’t I, Daddy?’
Mike smiled at his wife. ‘Seeing to the greenhouse isn’t hard work; and anyway, the doctor said I need to take exercise to keep me fitter.’
‘No,’ said Margot flatly. ‘The greenhouse is too much and I’d never be able to trust you again. As soon as my back is turned you’ll be smoking again and worse.’
Mike chuckled and gave Margot one of his most handsome glances. ‘Come on, old thing. A man is allowed the odd bit of fun.’
She remained impervious. ‘In case you have forgotten, you nearly died because of your secret smoking and drinking.’
Two bright spots of colour formed on his cheeks. ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he said angrily.
‘Now don’t lose your temper. I’m trying to help you,’ said Margot.
‘Help me? Castrate me you mean.’
‘Drink your tea and calm down. You know you’re not to get agitated.’
Penny watched this exchange with mounting anxiety. ‘Mummy. Daddy. Stop.’
Margot sniffed and sat on an upright chair, balancing her teacup on her lap. Mike looked out of the window at his greenhouse and drained his cup. ‘Penny, put this on the table, would you, darling?’ He handed her the empty cup and stood up. ‘I’m going to have a look at my greenhouse,’ he said. ‘Care to come with me, Pen?’
She glanced quickly at her mother who was finding the toe of her shoe fascinating.
Penny took her father’s hand. As they got to the kitchen and unlocked the back door they heard her mother shout bitterly, ‘Take a good look. I’ve got a man coming to take it down tomorrow.’
*
Penny leant back against her pillows feeling the familiar tears pricking her eyes. Why were these memories flooding back now? Drowning her. The death of a parent? The fact that she hadn’t shared the truth with a soul? The opening of old wounds? The fear of what would happen next? Or just a deep dark sorrow …
*
ELLA
At exactly the same time in London, Ella was wiping tears away too. Tears of fury and frustration because of her mother, her irresponsible, unreliable mother, who had left her and her not-much-older brother, Henry, two tiny children, with their grandmother and disappeared to God knew where. Ella blamed her mother for the early death of her darling granny – after all, she had worried night and day about where her daughter had disappeared to, as well as being left in sole charge of two young children. But Granny had devoted every breathing moment to making their childhood magical.
Ella thought back to a time when she was about eight years old and she and Granny were walking on Shellsand Beach looking for shells.
‘I want you to find the prettiest, the smallest, the most colourful and the biggest,’ Granny had said. Ella had dashed down to the rock pools and begun scrabbling through the seaweed and sand. Something caught her eye. ‘Granny!’ she shouted excitedly. ‘I think I’ve found a hermit crab. Look.’
Her grandmother was settled on a dry piece of sand. She was sitting on a beach towel and wearing her usual garb of blue linen trousers and fisherman’s smock, faded through sun and wear. ‘Put it in your bucket and show me,’ she called back.
Ella had some trouble catching the little hermit crab that sidled speedily under a cloud of seaweed, but eventually she got him and trundled up the beach, trying not to slop the bucket. ‘Look, Granny.’
Her grandmother always took the time to examine treasures fully. ‘Oh yes. He’s a beaut. What shall we call him?’ she asked.
‘How about Crabby?’
‘Perfect. Crabby he is. I’ll look after him while you find me those shells.’
Ella smiled at the memory. How she missed her grandmother. There was nothing to miss about her mother, who just hadn’t been there.