Page 47 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

By tacit agreement, Peggy and Ted ate supper in the kitchen.

Outside, the June evening light, the scents, the blooms radiating colour seemed too lovely, too at odds with their current mood.

They didn’t bother to make conversation, just finished the food quickly, Peggy barely tasting it.

After they’d cleared up, Ted said he was going for a run.

He took Bolt with him, leaving the house filled with a dull, foreboding silence.

She didn’t know what to do, where to go, how to break the impasse between them.

In the end, she too went out, wandering disconsolately down to one of the benches on the slope leading to the beach.

The sun was still an hour away from setting– the longest day only just past– the tide coming in, water calm and empty of activity at this time, waves darkening as the light began to fade over the western hillside.

There were many holidaymakers promenading lazily up and down the strip, chatting quietly, enjoying the balmy evening air.

More were ensconced in the pubs or various eateries, from which she could hear music and loud shouts of laughter.

The wooden bench was rough and cool, wonky as Peggy sat down, one of the weather-beaten slats loose at the end. She took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, feeling her thumping heart begin to slow for the first time in hours. It had been a very, very long day.

As she sat in the peace of the evening, Liam’s suggestion that she was wasting her life down here came back to her. Now her son had voiced it– claimed Dan was in agreement– it hovered on the edge of her tired brain, niggling at her.

Have I made a terrible mistake? she wondered.

Was thinking I could retire and be happy in a place so different from London just a foolish dream?

But she had begun to be happy in the village.

She’d begun to feel her life could be satisfying and fulfilling– fun, too.

Despite her sons’ gloomy insistence, Peggy had no desire whatsoever to move back to the city.

She knew, even after so short a time away, she would never settle again in the noise and the dirt, the busyness of urban life, having experienced the gorgeous tranquillity of Pencarrow Bay.

I desperately want to live here now , she thought, as much as Ted does .

That came as something of a surprise to her.

She shifted on the bench, let out a small sigh.

What did Ted mean when he said I should trust him?

She felt she could no longer read his mood, work out what he was thinking.

What she’d seen as his open, enthusiastic approach to life seemed to have disappeared recently, his communication with her faltering to such a degree, she wasn’t sure how much she could trust him any more.

Peggy noticed the sun had gone down and shivered in her thin T-shirt.

She rose stiffly and made her way up the hill towards home in the gathering darkness.

The lights were on in Lilac House, and she was curious as to what was going on inside.

For all I know, Ted’s in there right now , she said to herself as she walked past. It wouldn’t have surprised her.

Peggy had nearly reached the castle, when she heard the sound of pounding feet and whoops coming up the hill fast behind her.

As she turned, startled, she saw, appearing out of the gloaming, Paul and Sienna, hand in hand, running towards her.

When they saw her, they stopped dead in their tracks, breathless and laughing– clearly intoxicated.

‘Peggy? Come with, we’re storming the castle!’ Paul said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. She tried to protest, but he paid no attention. ‘Follow me,’ he shouted. ‘Bring your clarinet. We’re having a party.’

Peggy found herself dragged along, even found herself laughing with them, their crazy antics seeming a fitting end to a bizarre and confusing day.

Why not? she thought, as they reached the ruins.

Paul yanked her across the ditch and over a pile of mossy stones in a gap between two much higher stone walls.

Peggy had read in the blurb about the history of the fort that this area represented the guardhouse.

The centre of the exposed square was now grassed over, kept trim by English Heritage, and Paul and Sienna threw themselves down.

The sky retained enough light for Peggy just to be able to make out their faces.

Sienna lay flat on her back, arms and legs splayed in her floaty, calf-length dress– which was an acid green not many people could get away with.

Paul sat comfortably cross-legged beside her as he pulled something from the top pocket of his denim shirt.

Peggy flopped down, winded from the run, and stretched her legs, feeling the coolness of the grass beneath her cargo shorts and wondering what on earth she was doing there.

A moment later, she saw the flame of Paul’s lighter and the glow from the end of what appeared to be a large spliff.

He sucked on it, held his breath and handed it wordlessly to Peggy.

She shook her head, but he kept holding it out, waggling it at her, as he slowly released the smoke in a long stream.

‘Go on,’ he urged, grinning. After another moment’s hesitation, she cautiously took it between her thumb and forefinger.

It was years since Peggy had smoked anything, let alone hash.

Those were Max days, when all sorts of substances had circulated at the parties he’d dragged her to in their youth.

Occasionally she had sucked on a joint as it was passed around, until one New Year’s Eve they’d been to dinner at the house of a batty film producer friend of his.

‘Good stuff, this,’ Bruce had declared, as he produced a tray of neatly made joints.

‘Hindu Kush,’ he added, as he passed them around the party.

Peggy hadn’t smoked much, but half an hour later, she felt herself go cold and start to sweat.

Max, who never touched the stuff– he abhorred anything, like yoga or incense or pot, which smacked of hippie culture– had looked at her in drunken alarm.

‘You’ve gone green,’ he said. She only just made it to the bathroom, where she was violently sick.

It took her at least twenty-four hours, she remembered, to feel normal again. She’d never touched the stuff since.

But tonight Peggy found she didn’t care. Sucking in the mellow smoke in the darkness, she lay back on the grass beside Paul and felt all the thoughts that had hammered painfully at her brain since dawn begin to lose traction.

‘They’re out tonight,’ Sienna murmured, pointing up into the night sky with a wobbly hand.

‘Can you see them?’ she asked no one in particular.

When neither Paul nor Peggy replied, not knowing what she was talking about, she went on, ‘The piskies. They love the solstice. Hang around in their hordes for days afterwards. Magic time. Look, there… And there.’ She kept moving her finger to alert them to another of the fairy folk that she could spot but which Peggy, certainly, could not.

Although she did find herself squinting into the darkness, wishing, suddenly, that she could see them.

Their presence would be a comfort , she thought.

Paul just gave an amused harrumph, but said nothing.

Sienna was singing now, a melody Peggy didn’t recognize at first, barely in tune, more of a drunken whisper than a song.

Then Paul took it up and Peggy realized what it was: ‘The Rose’.

A tender ballad about the vicissitudes of love, it was first made famous by Bette Midler in the late seventies and Peggy had always adored it.

Paul’s voice was beautiful, a pure, mellifluous tenor with perfect pitch.

The weed was kicking in now, and it didn’t seem strange or embarrassing to Peggy that she joined in.

She’d done a lot of vocal harmony in the choir at school– Rupert Featherstone, the choirmaster, had rated her voice.

Now she matched Paul, following the shape of the melody but effortlessly embellishing it as she stared up into the dark sky where stars were now appearing in the summer night, listening to the chords float away on the breeze.

It was heaven, the music vibrating through her body, the smoke from the joint soothing her battered nerves.

She hadn’t felt so relaxed for a long time.

As the song ended, she heard Paul breathe, ‘Wow.’

Peggy laughed softly, but didn’t feel the need to speak.

The three of them lay on the cool grass in silence.

Occasionally the red glow of the remains of the spliff lit up the night as it was passed between them.

Peggy closed her eyes. She felt she never wanted to leave this spot, never wanted to go back to the reality of her life, which had slipped tactfully away with the notes of the song and the hash smoke, but which she knew awaited her as soon as she chose to move.

She had no idea what time it was when Paul stirred beside her. ‘Getting chilly,’ he said, as he sat up, his shape only just visible to Peggy in the blackness of the castle grounds.

He must have nudged Sienna, because she muttered sleepily, ‘What?’

‘Home time, love,’ Paul said, now on his feet, as he gently lifted his wife to hers.

Peggy wasn’t sure how stable she would be upright, but she gave it a go, anyway, feeling the world sway– not unpleasantly– for a moment before she got her balance.

The three made their way slowly back across the ditch to the road, then continued up the hill.

It was very dark, all the houses along the way shuttered in sleep, but their eyes soon adjusted.

When they reached Peggy’s house– the farm shop being situated further along the lane– Paul hugged her tightly. He smelt of weed smoke and a woody, scented fragrance. ‘So you kept that quiet, your voice,’ he teased, as he let her go.

‘It’s been in the attic, along with my clarinet,’ she joked, smiling up at him. Although what she said was true. She would sing in church, but seldom at any other time. Not for years now.

Sienna fell against Peggy’s shoulder, still barely awake, her wispy ash-blonde hair brushing against her chin. She snuggled in, seemed to be preparing to settle down for the night on her chest. ‘Fun time,’ she murmured.

Paul laughed. ‘Come on, missus.’ He lifted her off Peggy as if she weighed nothing and wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her upright.

Glancing at Peggy, he said, ‘Music? My place? Soonest?’ then smiled a farewell, waving with his free hand as he disappeared into the night, dragging his limp wife at his side.

Peggy opened the front door really quietly, or so she thought as she slipped off her shoes and left them under the coats.

But she was still unsteady and intoxicated.

Stumbling through the darkness, she crashed into the wooden chair that stood against the wall in the hallway– usually piled with supermarket bags they’d forgotten to put back in the car– stubbed her toe and let out a shriek.

Then a curse. Nothing unusual for the average drunk’s return home, but uncharacteristic for Peggy. The thought made her giggle.

Water , she decided. I need water.

But as she advanced into the kitchen, she saw a dark shape rear up from the sofa, heard a loud grunt. She jumped. ‘Ted?’

He was still fully dressed. He’d obviously fallen asleep on the sofa. Rubbing his hands over his face, he peered at Peggy, reaching down to turn on the lamp that sat beside the sofa.

‘Hi,’ Peggy said nonchalantly, as she flicked on the tap and filled a glass.

It was a moment before Ted spoke. Then he said, ‘Where in God’s name have you been? It’s gone two in the morning.’

‘Oops,’ she said, having the vaguest feeling she was being irritating but not sure how to remedy this.

‘I’ve texted you a million times,’ Ted complained, his mouth twisting in disapproval.

He looks bedraggled , she thought, as she stared at him, but the possible reason did not impinge.

‘You’re drunk,’ he added, frowning.

‘Stoned. I’m stoned,’ she explained patiently, feeling a little insulted he’d accused her of drunkenness. She was seldom drunk.

‘ Stoned? ’ Ted seemed shocked. ‘Were you with Liam? He’s not home yet.’

Peggy sighed. What’s he on about? This explaining thing seemed to be getting out of hand. She was so exhausted she felt she could have gone to sleep standing up. ‘No, no. Not Liam . Paul and Sienna. We sang.’

Ted looked nonplussed. ‘You’ve been smoking dope and singing?’

She didn’t answer as she began to move past him, towards the stairs. She needed her bed so badly it hurt. ‘Can we talk about this in the morning?’ she pleaded.

As she reached the bathroom, Peggy was hazily aware of Ted’s face behind her in the mirror as she attempted to clean her teeth. She could hear him speaking. See him frowning, gesticulating. But she had absolutely no idea what was wrong.

Then there was nothing.