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Previously…

‘You both have a long and difficult path ahead of you, Candice, but I’ll be around to help whenever you want.’

‘Would you? You’re so kind, I wish I hadn’t been such a bitch to you.’

‘Or the other poor patients?’

She grimaced. ‘Mmm; I shouldn’t have been like that to people: stress does funny things and I’m sorry to say I was using my job to hit back by being a vile cow.’

‘Maybe you’ll be gentle as a baa-lamb now?’

‘I don’t know about that, but I’ll try,’ she laughed. ‘Thanks again, Samantha, for helping Bethany–and me.’

‘You’re very welcome. Now I’m going to see Abby, I could do with a pint of ginger beer after today.’

‘You be careful, girl, that stuff’s pretty powerful!’

We both laughed and after a hug I left to go to the baby unit. Heather was doing brilliantly. It was nice to see her improve and gain weight like she was. The doctors were now saying that she would be going home very soon now and I couldn’t wait to have all those sleepless nights, feeding and changing hundreds of nappies. Abby and I had decided that we were going to save the world by using cloth nappies and I was practicing on an old doll of Abby’s. I had only pierced the doll a couple of times, so I had hopes that by the time she came home, I wouldn’t have any oopsies! Of course Abby didn’t have that problem as she did it perfectly every time. Did I ever say that I hate her sometimes?

After getting a bit tearful when I said goodbye to my darling little girl, I then went out of the hospital and into the car park, walked over to the car and said, ‘hello Dolly,’ and resuscitated her so I could go and find my other half.

And now the story continues…

‘Mmm, that was nice, Abby.’

I was worn out, out of breath, but very satisfied.

‘Who would have thought that you could get so much pleasure out of chocolate sauce?’

‘Yes,’ said Abby, licking her lips. She was in a similar state to me. ‘I will never look at a jar again and feel the same way.’

She sighed and leaned back next to me. We kissed deeply and I felt very happy and sated.

After a while I glanced at the bedside clock,

‘I suppose we should get going?’

‘Do we have to?’ she said with a pained voice.

‘Stop it, Abby; you know that whining is my job. Are you coming in the shower?’

‘Are you offering?’

‘I’m offering.’

‘Last one in gets the loofah!’

As we washed the chocolate off our bodies, we were a bit miffed. Our old loofah had been worn out, so, me being thrifty, had bought one off eBay. Needless to say, when we started using it rather vigorously, it fell apart.

We dried ourselves and returned to the bedroom. After shooing two cats off the bed, we took our dirty plates and the remains of our crackers and choccy sauce and went to the kitchen for a cuppa.

Abby looked at the clock. ‘Blimey, I must fly. I have to meet a buyer at the pottery in twenty minutes. What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to see our friendly PC Plod and tell him about the latest monstrosity regarding my poor little Beemer. The insurance people–may they have copious quantities of piles–told me that if I don’t get a crime number, they won’t pay out,’

‘Well you’re going to be busy then. Meet at the pub at twelve thirty?’

‘Okay; you potter off and I’ll see you later.’

After a quick, toe-curling kiss, she went off in a hurry leaving me to wash dishes and do other housewifey type chores.

I was sitting down having a nice cuppa when my ’phone chirped.

Picking it up, I pressed the green button thingy.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that you, young Samantha?’

‘Oh hello, Dotty.’ I said holding the handset about a foot away. She gave foghorns a bad name but I would never tell her so.

‘Hello yourself you snivelling little rat.’

‘Snivelling, erm rat? Something wrong Dotty?’

‘Yes, damn it, you were supposed to give me daily reports about how the young sprog is doin’; not heard a peep out of yer for three days.’

‘Sorry, Dotty, a couple of crises cropped up and I have been rather busy.’

‘Not good enough, consider yerself chastised, as it were. Tried to ring the damn' hospital, got a lot of guff about confidentiality- stuff and nonsense. I’m on the damn’ Hospital Trust Board. I’ll give Peter Mason, the chairman a roastin’ when I see him.’

‘Right, erm well, Heather’s doing just fine, gaining weight and has the usual number of arms and legs. The doctors are pleased with her and we hope to have her home soon.’

‘Good, glad ter hear it, all be it late. Young Sarah’s bin twitterin’ on about visitin’ her–all right with you? I know how possessive young mothers are nowadays. In my day, Nanny looked after the sprogs and parents were only seen at bedtime. My father said that children should be raised by puttin’ ’em in a barrel and feeding the little tykes through the bung hole until such time that they could hold a sensible conversation–a bit extreme that, but Father shot elephants for fun and you know where that leads.’

‘Riii—–ight, erm––anyway, yes, please visit. The more people she sees and gets to know the better.’

‘Good, right, got to go, the Ladies Croquet team needs me–noblesse oblige and all that–’bye.’

I said goodbye to thin air as Dotty had already rung off and went and put some makeup on so that I could face the world without said world screaming at the sight of me.

I had a packed agenda today–apart from seeing PC Trevor Stevens, Penmarris’s answer to Morse–regarding the car defacement incident, I had to go and check up on the current state of play re the gallery. I also wanted to go back to my cottage to continue Dotty’s painting for a bit; what with everything going on lately, I hadn’t had much time and I was itching to get back in harness.

Then I was to meet Abby at the pub and after that–if I was still standing after eating an illicit Cornish Pasty with optional chips–I would go and see Heather and Bethany. I might mention to Dotty, with Candice and Bethany’s permission of course, what had happened to Bethany and whether there was any way that Sarah could have a chat to her about things. It was an idea and I added it to my growing mental list of things to do.

I met Trevor down at the quay. He was eating an ice cream and I wondered if he was allowed to do that on duty, but said nothing. He was talking to a youngster as I walked up––

‘–James, if I catch you riding that bike on the quayside again, I’ll take the flaming chain off and wrap it around your scrawny neck,’

‘Sorry, Trevor,’

‘Be off with you before I give you a clip.’

‘Dad said that adults shouldn’t clip kids around the ears–it’s against my human rights.’

‘You can tell your dad that I might be looking very closely at his car tyres if he comes out with that sort of rubbish. Now off you go and walk, don’t cycle.’

James walked off rather more deflated than his tyres and I smiled at Trevor.

‘Hello, Miss, what can I do for you?’

‘I have to report some vandalism on my car.’

‘What’s that then?’

‘My car had some nasty things written on the bonnet.’

‘Mmm–look, come up to the station later and I’ll take down your particulars. Know where it is?’

‘What?’

‘The station.’

‘Yes, it’s your house, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. If I’m not there, the missus’ll take down your particulars.’

‘You don’t want to dust it for prints then?’

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘Evidence?’

‘Not worth it. Never catch anyone like that. Can’t do the finger prints of every daft villager around here. No, I’ll file it with the others.’

My Sherlock Holmesian instincts were aroused and it was all I could do not to whip out an oversized magnifying glass and give him the once over.

‘Others?’ I asked casually–I can do casual, you know.

‘Yes, we’ve had a spate of funny things happening lately. I blame kids coming over from Bodmin, you know what it’s like there.’

‘No.’

‘Well, I’ve said too much. Pop back home–I mean to the station later and we’ll file the incident.’

‘Mmm, okay, officer.’ I said as he sauntered off to have a go at a poor visitor for dropping litter.

It was plain to see that I wasn’t going get anything more out of Trevor. Perhaps his wife might be more forthcoming. I was very interested in the fact that things a bit unusual were happening in the village and I was determined to find out what these things were and whether they were pertinent to my ongoing enquiries.

Anyway, I decided to go and find out how the gallery was progressing. As I passed the pottery, Abby waved and then continued talking to the man I took to be the buyer. He seemed to be quite enthusiastic, looking at Abby’s wares and I hoped that it would result in a sale.

Anyway, outside the gallery a sign writer was doing his stuff, writing the, erm, sign.

It was going to be called “Gallerie Samantha” which I thought was a bit soppy but all my friends thought sounded a bit posh and bound to pull in the punters.

I made sure I didn’t walk under his ladders as I opened the door–I wasn’t superstitious, but wasn’t taking any chances.

It was nearly finished now and looked really nice. You could smell the fresh paint, but it wasn’t too overpowering. Arthur was wiring some lights and just looked up and gave me a toothy grin and said ‘hello’ as I walked in. That was an improvement on last time as he then went deep red and mumbled something about mangel-wurzels.

That was nearly it conversation wise that day, but I was more interested on the state of the gallery than Arthur’s linguistic skills.

Looking around, I gave a little whoopee shriek of delight, making Arthur drop his screwhammer or whatever. He looked at me disapprovingly.

‘Sorry,’ I said as he picked up his thingy and carried on twisting the doodah.

Anyway, the gallery was looking exactly how I pictured it–get it, pictured it? Oh do I have to draw a diagram? Shaking my head and thinking I should try to reduce my e-number intake to single figures, I looked around, poked things and generally said ‘oooh’ and ‘ah’ at appropriate moments. My faith in Arthur had been justified. He had done a first rate job and he was well worth the money.

‘Cuppa tea, Arthur?’ I asked brightly waving the kettle around.

He looked up.

‘No ’lec.’

‘Pardon?’

‘No ’lec’, he said pointing at the switch he was playing with.

‘Oh, no electricity. Right, okay, then–’ I stood there for a moment and then carried on opening things, shutting things and generally twiddling. I could see Arthur was worried as he kept glancing over at me. Then I realised that I was cramping his artistic style.

‘Right,’ I said, ‘got to go. Thanks for all the hard work; it all looks pretty super to me!’

He looked up, thought for a moment as he digested my kind words and then said ‘Arr,’ and carried on.

After a swift nod and a bright smile, I left him to it and nearly banged my head on the ladder outside. After a swift Fonteyn-like ballet sidestep I managed to avoid tragedy and found myself walking up the hill towards my cottage. I had always fancied being a ballet dancer and wearing a tutu, but having two left feet and fallen arches meant that the dream never came true. Anyway, my mother was under the misapprehension that I was a boy and boys in tutus were a big no-no for some reason.

Reflecting on what could have been, should have been and hadn’t been, kept me occupied until I reached my cottage. Opening the door, I heard the noise of the Hoover, hoovering. Mrs P was obviously doing her stuff somewhere so I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. The postman had been and it was a small parcel from Amazon. After breaking a nail and cursing for five minutes, I managed to get the over protective packaging open. Inside was the book I had ordered online. Devonshire Dialects and Customs for the Uninitiated.

‘Ah-ha.’ I thought, ‘Soon I will understand the locals and speak like one two–I mean too.’

The Hoover stopped and I shouted upstairs.

‘Cuppa T, Mrs P.’

‘Ooh arr,’ she replied succinctly.

I put the kettle on–it didn’t fit very well–pulled out several choccy hobnobs, put them on a plate and sat down ready to read my book. Just as I was reading the first page, the kettle whistled and I made the tea.

‘Mrs P, the tea’s ready.’

‘Yez’m,’ she shouted.

I heard a bonk or possibly a bang and then several clumps as she came down the stairs in her functional size eights. She entered the kitchen wearing a pink tabard that matched her complexion perfectly.

Sitting down she looked at me and then at the book.

‘’Readin’ sumat?’

‘Yes,’ I said as I poured, ‘it’s about Devon. I need to know more about it.’

‘Aven’t read a book in nigh on twenny year. Can’t be doin’ wi’ words.’

‘Why not, Mrs P?’

‘Last book I read were Lady Chatterley, fair put me off me pasty, that did. Hubby read it and it gave ‘im ideas.’

‘What ideas?’

‘Takin’ clothes off when ’avin nookie, can’t do that. My Ma never did and I wouldn’t, neither; fair turned ’is ’ead, that book.’

‘You can’t stop reading because one book wasn’t your cup of tea.’

‘I can’t be doin’ with it.’ She said finally and I decided that I wouldn’t press it, but I had to know–

‘So, erm, Mrs Pearson, have you never, um, seen his, erm, body?’

‘No,’ she said shocked at the thought, ‘nor ’im mine. Now I need ter get on.’

She drained her cup and disappeared. A few seconds later I could hear the Hoover being vigorously thrown across the floor. Was it something I said?

There was no chance of getting any painting done while Mrs P was doing her kamikaze cleaning, so I decided to go for a walk. Grabbing my yellow anorak–the weather was changeable at this time of year–I went up and strolled along the Coastal path. It was pleasant up here with the birds twittering, the rabbits, rabbitting and the bees buzzing. I walked past the various places that I had been before, stopping and gorging on blackberries and other fruity goodies, now ripe for picking. Then, fortified by the e-numberless fruit, I walked on past the headland.

The next cove looked lovely, with a golden sandy beach but no way to get down to it unless I learned to fly. I could get one of the salty or is that crusty old fisherman to take me around there by sea and put that on my mental list, to find out what the options were. I could see from here that there were some nice places to set my easel and I couldn’t wait to get cracking. I was still a bit twitchy that I hadn’t been able to continue Dotty’s painting. It was an itch that needed to be scratched regularly or I start getting a bit tetchy.

I sat on a grassy knoll and drank in the view. I loved the peace and quiet up here and it was a nice change from my normal frantically busy lifestyle. When I first moved here, I thought that it was a nice quiet place with nothing happening, a virtual backwater in fact. I fancied that, as up to then my life had been somewhat fraught and not very happy. Olivia and her father had sort of dominated my life and it was all I could do to get up in the morning and start yet another meaningless day.

Now things were so different. I had a lover and hopefully soon we would get married. I had lots of friends and a virtual mother, though I would never tell her so, in Dotty. The rest of my family were moving into the village shortly. I was rich, successful and my gallery was going to open shortly. Then there was Heather. My daughter meant everything in the world to me. I loved her to bits and I couldn’t wait to go and pick her up and hold her. I wanted her home with Abby and me. Maybe later, I would find out when she could come home with us. The only cloud on the horizon was the idiot who kept up a hate campaign against me. Well, if only one person didn’t like me, that wasn’t too bad, but if he, or she, thought that I would be driven out by this agro, they were wrong. Eventually, I would find out who the “perp” was.

Glancing at my watch, I noticed that time was getting on and I needed to get to the pub before all the pasties were eaten.

As I got up and brushed some grass off of my skirt, I made another mental note to buy some more choccy sauce from the local shop and wondered if they sold industrial strength loofahs too as I think that I was going to need them both quite soon.

As I made my way back, I smiled, it wasn’t a bad life.

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To Be Continued…

Please leave comments…thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.