Page 29 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

Early on Friday morning, Peggy went down to the village to get food for supper: they had guests tonight.

It had been a peaceful few days, no further sign of Lindy at the coffee van.

Walking down to the village earlier in the week, Peggy had noticed the house was closed up, the white wooden shutters pulled over all the windows, the front door, which usually stood ajar, now shut.

Then she’d found out the family had gone on a trip to Paris for half-term and she’d felt a cloud lifting, a quick stab of relief that Ted could enjoy a temporary reprieve, that they could get on with their lives.

Peggy felt she now had a life to get on with, one she was getting quite excited about.

Guests for supper, a job, a yoga class to attend– when Joyce got back from a last-minute break on the Scillies– budding friendships…

The village was still empty so early in the day, but later it would be rammed with holidaymakers: occupants of rentals and Airbnbs, coach parties, day-trippers coming over on the little blue ferry from Falmouth, kids with crabbing nets and buckets wandering all over the sea road, as if it were a pedestrian precinct.

The yachts were back in the bay too. Gangs of teenagers in shorts and sailing boots– their floppy hair and slouching walk a badge of belonging– would soon be lounging about the various hostelries or sitting along the sea wall, drinks to hand, their posh voices carrying loudly above those of ordinary mortals.

The locals had a love-hate relationship with the tourists, of course.

If they didn’t turn up, God forbid– like during Covid– they were panic-stricken.

But when they did descend on the village every spring, a great deal of resigned sighing went on from those not actually engaged in commerce of some sort.

Peggy didn’t mind the influx at all. Used to the city, she enjoyed weaving in and out of the busy sea front.

People loved the bay, and she felt privileged today, with the sun out, the sea shining, the air fresh and salty, to live there.

As soon as she arrived at the quay, she saw Tina, leaning against the door of her shiny white van, smoking and hugging a cup of coffee. The stall seemed open and ready for business, the neon strip-light harsh in the interior.

Tina was large and beautiful, always made up carefully and dressed in bright colours.

Her big wheat-blonde hair waved luxuriously around her face and onto her shoulders, although she twisted it into a cap when she was serving the food.

Peggy and Ted had indulged on more than one occasion in her crab treats.

‘Morning, Tina. How’s things?’

Tina shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Living the dream,’ she said morosely.

‘That bad?’

‘Emerald can be such a bitch sometimes.’ Tina’s tone was laconic– she seemed almost to be talking to herself.

Peggy was hardly surprised by the comment, remembering all the times Emerald had been condescending or impatient when she’d been buying crab.

Tina’s partner was an aristocratic hippie in her late thirties, complete with scuzzy light-brown dreadlocks, which looked as if they hadn’t been washed since the late Queen was on the throne, and a large black fly/bee/cockroach– it wasn’t clear which– tattooed disconcertingly around her throat.

It looked restrictive, as if it might actually choke the woman one day, and Peggy found herself unable to tear away her eyes.

But she reckoned there must be a nicer side to Emerald, as Tina seemed to have found something to love.

‘Sorry about that,’ Peggy replied. You deserve better was what she’d have liked to say.

Tina nodded her thanks and seemed to pull herself together, stamping out the end of her cigarette with the toe of her thick-soled white trainer and tipping the last drops of coffee into her mouth. ‘I’m opening up in a minute, if you’re after a sarnie.’

‘Just some crab for supper would be great. Quentin and Rory are coming over.’

Tina’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘That Quentin’s a hoot.’ She began to heave her bulk into the van, then stood looking down at Peggy, palms flat on the counter. ‘Now. How much do you need for tonight, my lovely?’

As Peggy collected the tray of crab meat– neatly wrapped in greaseproof paper– and put it into her string bag, she felt the buzz of an incoming text. Pulling her phone from her back pocket she read, Come over. Need to discuss something. Sienna.

Reading nothing into the curtness of the message– it was Sienna, after all– she replied in the affirmative. Great , Peggy thought, looking forward to progressing her relationship with her future employer.

‘Thanks, Tina,’ she called. ‘Hope it works out with Emerald.’

Tina harrumphed and waved a hand in a nonchalant gesture. ‘Oh, we always make up. Can’t decide whether it’s me or my crispy crab fingers she can’t resist.’

Peggy laughed. ‘Like the sound of those.’

She said goodbye, then headed back up the hill, stowing the crab safely in the fridge at home en route to the farm shop.

When she arrived, the high barn doors were open, a number of cars already parked haphazardly in the road.

Sienna was standing just inside the shop, talking to a man with a full basket of shopping, who, from his sycophantic grin, seemed rather smitten with her company.

But as soon as Sienna spied Peggy, she spun away mid-sentence– leaving the man looking mildly surprised– waving for her to follow, then strode into the back, where a rickety, makeshift office had been tacked onto the side of the barn.

The place was cramped, stuffy and chaotic. Separate heaps of papers in all sizes were strewn about– receipts and invoices, some held together with bulldog clips, some lying loose– plus dog-eared catalogues, staplers and biros scattered at random.

A black swivel chair stood behind the desk, in front a metal beach chair with a ripped green-and-white-striped fabric seat: both had seen better days.

Sienna beckoned Peggy to join her, then sat down, Peggy peering over her shoulder as she opened the desktop computer and clicked on an email. ‘Look what came this morning.’

Frowning, Peggy bent to the screen, her hand resting on the back of Sienna’s chair.

The email was from: [email protected]

The subject line read: Peggy Gilbert

Dear Ms Rybicki,

I notice from your Instagram post that you’re employing Peggy Gilbert in your new forest school– which sounds like a very worthwhile project.

I hate to spread unpleasantness, but I feel I should warn you about Ms Gilbert, who left Great Ormond Street Hospital, where she was an English teacher, under a cloud.

There were allegations made against her, by more than one child, of bullying.

The hospital did not want any form of scandal sullying their spotless reputation– they have always depended on charitable support and the goodwill of donors– so they covered it up.

I would suggest you call her boss, head teacher Christine Prendergast, to confirm. But she has now left the hospital school and I’m afraid you will come up against a brick wall with those in charge.

I’m sorry to be the bearer of such grim news. But I feel that your wonderful project depends so much on the people you employ espousing and promoting your ethos of healing and regenerating the planet, and the distressed children in it. Bullying is the exact opposite of your dream.

Sincerely,

A well-wisher

Sienna looked up at Peggy, raising her eyebrows in question.

Peggy knew she had paled. She felt instantly sick. Stunned. But more than anything, bewildered. What? Who?

‘Kinda took me by surprise,’ Sienna was saying, as Peggy backed away from the computer and the poisonous email.

‘It’s… nuts,’ she replied, her voice little above a whisper. ‘I don’t understand.’

Sienna stared at her, a small frown on her beautiful face.

Peggy’s eyes flicked to the sender: R. Jones? Her mind whirred. Robert? Richard? Rachel … The names flung themselves around her brain but she was in too much shock to concentrate. ‘I don’t know any R. Jones,’ she said eventually. ‘Can’t think of anyone…’

Sienna shrugged. ‘I’m pretty thick about internet stuff, but I imagine that isn’t a real name.

Or they’d have signed it.’ Both women went back to staring at the screen, as if by looking harder they could fathom the secret behind it.

‘Odd address too. Haven’t seen that one before.

’ Looking up from the email, Sienna asked, ‘Why did you leave Great Ormond Street?’

‘Because we moved down here. I retired. Nothing more to it than that.’ She swallowed hard, tried to catch her breath. ‘I loved my job. And the children.’ Why would anyone want to say any different? she asked herself desperately.

Sienna looked thoughtful. ‘This is all pretty strange, then…’

If it isn’t true, you mean, Peggy thought bitterly, remembering the beautiful banner the children had made for her: We love you, Ms Gilbert. We’ll miss you very much .

‘It’s just,’ began Sienna, ‘I can’t jeopardize the project, be seen to be hiring someone with a reputation for bullying…’

‘ I haven’t got a reputation for bullying ,’ Peggy almost screamed. ‘This is total madness. Complete bloody lies.’ Who? Who would say this? The question continued to reverberate in her head.

‘Hmm,’ said Sienna, biting the end of a yellow and green biro, which must have come with some vegetable delivery as it was in the shape of a corn cob. ‘So you’re not aware you have enemies? Someone who has it in for you?’