Page 5 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

As she walked back up the hill, Peggy mused on what it would mean for her to fully experience and become part of this ‘proper community’ to which Lindy had referred.

It wasn’t familiar territory. In the block of flats in Highgate where she’d spent nearly twenty years, there had been minimum interaction with the neighbours.

The only person she’d really bonded with was Flann, the old boy in the basement– a relic from before the gentrification of the block– who used to keep Murray Mints in a scuffed Pyrex bowl to offer her sons when she dropped by to check on him.

The other residents merely smiled the usual hurried greetings, exchanged brief chats about the weather or the skittish heating system in the block, as they passed on the stairs.

And Peggy had been fine with that: it was London.

Village life seemed more all-encompassing.

A small, cohesive tribe, not the pockets of individual friendships that were the norm in a city.

She hoped she could somehow shake down into it, break through the strangeness and, as Lindy had insisted, ‘get there’.

That afternoon Peggy went for a long walk.

She took the smaller ferry– hardly more than a large rowing boat– round the corner of the bay and walked up onto the headland beyond the lighthouse.

There was a strong breeze and intermittent sunshine as she tramped along the coastal path, with its narrow twists and turns, steep ups and downs, treacherous tree roots, spiky gorse hedges, loose scree to trip the unwary, and down onto a small, sandy bay hidden among the cliffs, where she sat for a while, the sand cool against her bare legs.

This was a walk she often did, now she had so much time on her hands.

It was beautiful today, with the wild spring flowers and grasses, salt on the air, the insects buzzing in the hedgerows.

She waved at the seal that regularly shimmied across the water of the cove like a vaudeville turn.

He was huge and lazy and shiny and a bit of a show-off: Peggy adored watching him plunge in and out of the waves.

So graceful for his size, with his almost comically whiskered snout below huge dark eyes, he seemed to be performing just for her.

As she sat there, the beach to herself, her thoughts drifted again to Ted.

Buoyed up by the warmth of Lindy’s friendship and the welcoming ladies at the coffee morning, she felt a little more optimistic about joining him in the social life of the village.

I can do it , she thought, clapping her hands at the seal as it pirouetted in the surf. I’m sure I can.

Back home and with a couple of empty hours before supper, Peggy returned to her recent obsession: baking the perfect Cornish pasty.

She’d attempted some a couple of weeks ago and they had been a disaster, the pastry too short and crumbling, the filling claggy and tasteless.

But she felt this failure was no laughing matter: pasties were taken extremely seriously in Cornwall, to the extent that they were a protected species, with a Protected Geographical Indication or PGI.

You can’t call your pasty ‘Cornish’, Peggy had discovered with surprise, unless it has a minimum of 12.

5 per cent beef and 25 per cent veg, which must include only potato, onion, swede (called ‘turnip’ in Cornwall, just to confuse you), and a seasoning of salt and pepper.

You weren’t allowed to cook the ingredients before slow-baking in a pastry case.

She had thought it couldn’t be that hard– after all, generations of impoverished Cornish tin miners’ wives had thrown them together daily, with only the most basic cooking facilities.

But any tin miner worth his salt would have scoffed– possibly clipped her round the ear– if faced with one from her first batch.

Today, Peggy took a lot more time and care.

She used a stronger bread flour to stop the pastry crumbling, mixed lard with the Cornish butter, bought good-quality beef skirt from Pete, the village butcher, and added plenty of salt and pepper to the layered ingredients.

Then she baked them for nearly an hour at a lower temperature than before.

Later, at supper, consuming the golden-glazed, pungent, peppery pasties with some baked beans, Peggy couldn’t help purring with pride. ‘Perhaps not up to the harbour bakery standard yet,’ she considered, ‘but not bad, eh?’

‘I think they’re better,’ Ted replied gamely, making appreciative noises around another large mouthful of pasty. ‘I could definitely sell these at the van if you make them again.’

‘Thanks… So, let me tell you about the coffee morning,’ Peggy said.

‘Everyone was very charming and welcoming. There was this wonderful old actress who told hilarious stories about her love affairs with all these famous actors– had us in fits of laughter. And there was another lovely woman, Lorna, who’d been on the lifeboats in her youth– incredibly brave.

They know each other so well, of course, and I was very much the newbie. But they seemed interesting and nice.’

Ted nodded, his mouth full again.

‘I think Lindy has her eye on you for a bit of fundraising,’ Peggy said. ‘Called you “lovely Ted”!’ She chuckled. But Ted did not. And his smile, when he finally looked up. seemed a little forced.

‘Well, I am lovely, aren’t I?’ he joked, then concentrated on scooping up the remaining beans with his fork.

Peggy eyed him. ‘You okay?’

He nodded, head down. ‘Yeah, fine.’

She remembered being asked the same question earlier by Lindy– giving the same response– and her surprise that Lindy seemed to have detected some emotion in her face that Peggy wasn’t even aware of feeling.

She wondered now if something similar was happening with Ted.

She wanted to ask more, delve deeper, to find out what was bothering him– what had been bothering him generally in recent weeks.

But he got up, grabbed his plate and hers– they’d barely finished eating– and walked over to the sink.

To his back, she said, ‘I think Lindy could be a friend, you know– it’s great to have someone to share novels with.

I never even did that with Annie.’ Her lifelong best friend in London preferred stodgy biographies.

Although they spoke regularly, not having Annie round the corner was another element of her past life she was struggling to come to terms with.

She felt the connection between them loosening with every passing week as they missed their regular coffee-and-bun catch-ups and their lives diverged.

Ted stared at her, but his gaze lacked focus, as if he didn’t see her. Then his expression cleared. ‘That’s fantastic, sweetheart. Lindy will look after you. And she knows everyone.’

Peggy laughed. ‘Like you!’

But she seemed to have lost Ted again. He didn’t respond, falling silent as he loaded the dishwasher, clearing the table of the supper things.

‘I’ll take Bolt out,’ Ted said, when he’d finished. He came over to drop a quick kiss on her forehead. ‘Love you,’ he said absently, as he made for the front door.

Peggy was left alone… and bewildered.