Page 20 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

Peggy said goodbye to Quentin when they reached the old dairy where he lived with Rory, set back in a small road a couple of minutes from the sea but with a view of the bay– according to Quentin– from the garden deck and master bedroom.

Then she wandered back through the village, pondering all that had been said that morning.

She’d been intrigued by Quentin’s story about the falling-out with Lindy.

It must have been a difficult time, as Quentin pointed out: Teresa, a person everyone loved, in the centre of village life, being accused of a crime.

Peggy could appreciate how factions had developed and people had fought over it.

Quentin’s passionate support of his friend was admirable.

But she could also understand Lindy’s position of doubt.

Peggy, too, had wondered, when she’d read about it at the time.

Needing stamps to send birthday cards to the twins– their thirty-fifth looming the following week– she stopped at the newsagent, the tiny sub-post office situated in the windowless space at the rear of the shop.

She would see the boys at the party Max was throwing for them in his Mayfair gallery– which she was rather dreading.

And she’d already organized presents: Dan had requested an online subscription to National Theatre Live, because he loved plays but hated sitting in a stuffy theatre to view them.

Liam had asked for a voucher for one of his favourite clothes shops.

To Peggy, neither seemed like a real present– the sort that is a surprise to the recipient, that you take trouble to choose, then wrap in shiny paper with a big bow.

A couple of clicks of her mouse and she was done– she didn’t have to scour the shops and decide what might suit.

The cards felt like the only really personal part of her gifts.

Gary, who’d taken over the post office, radiated an intense sociability.

Youngish, ginger-haired and enthusiastic, he made it his business to address all his regulars by name, remembering, too, the names of their dogs and children, even their old mum’s budgie in Leeds.

Peggy thought it was almost as if he was trying to make up for the previously shocking behaviour of the corporation he worked for.

But she couldn’t help responding to his obviously genuine warmth.

‘Good morning, Peggy. How goes it? Ted keeping well? I haven’t been up to the van for a while, but I saw him at the swim. Impressive.’

‘He’s fine, thank you,’ she replied, with a smile.

‘So what can I do you for?’

She asked for first-class stamps. The cards she would get from the gallery along the way where they had an array of original local artists’ cards she knew the boys would really appreciate.

Gary tore off a couple from a sheet he drew from the drawer beside him and handed them to her through the slot in the Plexiglass. ‘Umm,’ he said, ‘I’ve been updating the situations vacant board. Do you want me to keep your ad for tutoring in there?’

‘Oh, yes, please. Not sure there’s much call for it, with most of the children around here on holiday, but you never know.’

Sienna’s project sounds hopeful, though , she thought, her heart lifting a little as she left the shop.

She thought about what it would mean to be involved in a local school.

The children would no doubt come from a wide catchment area, but she wasn’t sure if they would be full-time or not, wasn’t sure what she might be expected to teach.

Twig-whittling and building fires from scratch wasn’t her forte, but she could learn– Ted knew about that sort of thing.

Whatever, it would be brilliant to be part of it, if Sienna was willing to take her on.

She walked along the front to the gallery, where she took a long time to choose the cards. Some were beautiful: seascapes and rugged coastlines, boats and colourful cottages, handmade and original. She would be offering a little bit of Cornwall to her boys, stuck in the confines of the busy city.

Wistfulness dogged her steps as she made her way homeward with her cards.

She had a sudden vision of the two blond boys with their eager little faces– identical, although she could always tell them apart– across the small table as they ate their supper in the London flat, the lively chatter that bounced between the three of them.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to her sons being so far away.

The WhatsApp group helped, the three of them sending multiple messages back and forth when a subject came up that prompted getting in touch.

Dan’s style was a string of brief communications, as if he was thinking aloud.

Liam’s were longer and more structured, signed off with vast quantities of odd emojis, the meaning of which amused and baffled Peggy much of the time.

But they both made her laugh. Miss you , she often added at the end of her messages.

And without fail there would be an instant response from them both. Miss you too, Mum.

It was usually Peggy who made the trip to London every month or so to see the boys, maybe catch up with Annie and Marianne if they were free– Jamie was now living in Caracas with Fernando, so they could only manage FaceTime.

She would meet her sons in a restaurant or café.

Sometimes she would bring a takeaway to one of their flats for supper.

But it always seemed too brief. By the time they’d settled and caught up with things, it was time to go.

There was none of that easy back and forth between them that you get from spending longer periods together.

She worried she was losing track of their lives now that her own was so different.

They didn’t even have London in common any more.

She was reminded, suddenly, of the chasm that seemed always to exist between herself and her own parents– although that was rooted in very different circumstances. I will never, ever let that happen with Liam and Dan , she promised herself .

Ted waved Peggy over when she reached the castle car park. The tables were all full– it was lunchtime– but there was nobody currently ordering at the hatch.

‘Hey, where have you been?’ he asked, with a smile. ‘Shona’ll be here in a minute so I thought we might grab a late lunch. I did text you a couple of times.’

Bolt was nuzzling her hand and she bent to fondle him. ‘Sorry, I’ve been round the loop with Quentin. We stopped at the farm shop but they’ve got no power.’

‘Oh, wonder why. I hope we’re not affected at home.’

‘I think it was some problem with the panels,’ she said.

‘Listen, it’s such a lovely day, shall we do the George?

Outside shouldn’t be full by the time we get there.

’ The elegant Samson George hotel terrace ran above the beach, with luxurious padded chairs and delicious bar snacks– the rest of the menu priced out of reach for anyone without a bulging bank account.

Later, they were seated comfortably overlooking the water, enjoying glasses of a cold, citrusy Picpoul that Ted had chosen and soaking up the hot sunshine as they waited for their food order: fresh local whitebait, chunky chips and a bowl of warm Cornish prawns in garlic sauce, which they mopped up with chunks of malthouse bread.

‘We need to talk about the birthday party,’ Peggy began reluctantly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

If previous dos were anything to go by, the crowd would not only consist of the twins’ friends, but also be weighted with movers and shakers in the London art scene.

And while she was dying to see the boys on their birthday, she seldom looked forward to interacting with Max.

Not least because of his obvious lack of warmth towards Ted.

She hoped the boys would be more welcoming this time.

Ted pulled a face. ‘I’m definitely coming.’

‘Really? You don’t have to. I can take Annie. She says I can stay with her.’

‘You don’t want me to come?’ Ted asked now, looking amused.

‘Of course I do, if you want to. Max is always so cool with you, that’s all.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m a big boy, sweetheart. I can deal with Max. I want to be there.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, perhaps I don’t want to be there, as such, but I think I should be. I’ll ask Shona if she can do that weekend.’

She smiled and rested her eyes on Ted’s profile as he gazed out to sea.

Her heart filled with love. How could I ever have thought Max was a good idea?

She smiled inwardly at her youthful foolishness.

Their worlds had always been such poles apart, their values too.

Peggy, then teaching in an inner-city secondary school, had met Max when they both turned up separately at a small but exclusive gallery in Hornsey, for an opening night.

She was supporting Carla, her friend from school, who had six paintings on display.

Max had been sent by his gallery-owning father to scout for new talent.

Peggy stared into his hooded blue eyes for a second too long.

That had been it: a genuine coup de foudre .

He was so charming, so charismatic, so insistent.

And, like all good lightning flashes, it was programmed not to last.

Ted was talking. ‘About Lindy…’

Peggy nodded, waited.

‘I hate all this secrecy, her not knowing you know. I honestly don’t think she’d mind– she obviously really likes you. And you don’t have to mention it when you go down there for Ada, unless Lindy does.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Up to you… but tread carefully, Ted. You’ve seen how fragile she is. On that subject, I spoke to Quentin this morning–’

‘Christ, Peggy!’ he interrupted, his extraordinarily grey-green eyes flashing with panic. ‘That’s exactly what I told you not to do, what Lindy is so scared of… the bloody village gossip machine starting up.’