Just for once, why couldn’t her mother be nice to Dotty, today of all days? Annabel wondered. Maybe it was just theusual tension between daughters- and mothers-in-law, but it had always been this way and it was tedious; Jeanette playing the role of the perfect daughter-in-law, whilst making sneaky, barbed jibes behind the scenes. Dotty, for her part, always seemed to rise above it as far as Annabel could tell, which doubtless rankled Jeanette.
‘It’s been a busy morning, getting everything ready,’ she continued. ‘A helping hand wouldn’t have gone amiss. Thankfully, William and Sarah got here before everyone else and helped finish setting up. They stayed with her sister near Exeter last night, so they didn’t have far to come. She’s so artistic; wait till you see the conservatory, she’s done it beautifully!’
Annabel refused to rise to the bait. She forced a smile and agreed how fortunate it was that they’d been around to help put up the decorations. She loved her brother and sister-in-law dearly, but the Golden Couple treatment that they always got from their mother never failed to grind her gears.
The usually neat farmhouse kitchen had been invaded by multiple food containers and boxes from the local caterers. Two middle-aged ladies in matching company polo shirts looked up from the chaos with cheerful smiles as Jeanette and Annabel came in. Annabel tried to compensate for her mother completely ignoring them by greeting them warmly and thanking them for their efforts. Jeanette was on a mission: she made straight for the kettle, filled it, switched it on and glanced at her watch.
‘Right, you have exactly twenty-three minutes to have a coffee and a shower, and get yourself ready.’ Jeanette looked her daughter up and down, and wrinkled her brow at her T-shirt and jeans. ‘Please tell me you’ve brought something to change into?’
Be nice . . . Be nice. It’s Dotty’s day, don’t let her spoil it, Annabel told herself. She swallowed her frustration and managedan affirmative nod. She was thirty-five years old and a history lecturer at a university. She had a PhD, for goodness’ sake, yet her mother still had a way of making her feel like a hopeless child. She took a deep breath and bent down to make a fuss of Monty, her granny’s faithful old black Labrador, who was observing proceedings from the safety of his dog bed by the back door.
‘The Lord Lieutenant’s arriving at midday,’ Jeanette continued, taking a mug from the cupboard and opening the jar of Nescafé. ‘And he’ll do the presentation first. That man from the press is here, it’s going to be in the local papers, would you believe! Then we’ll have the speeches; the Lord Lieut first, then your dad’s going to say a few words.’
As if on cue, the tall figure of Noel Penrose appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was dressed smartly in a navy-blue suit. In his mid-seventies, he was still a handsome man with his dark features and year-round golfing tan, and the salt-and-pepper flecks in his black hair lent him a distinguished look.
‘Annie, my darling girl!’ he called, opening his arms to his daughter with a wide smile. Annabel grinned and rushed over to him, letting herself dissolve into his safe, pine-scented embrace.
Annabel and Dotty often joked that the phrase ‘opposites attract’ had been coined when Noel and Jeanette first met, back in the seventies. Whereas Jeanette was a bundle of highly strung energy, determination and drive, Noel was Mr Easy-Going, with a laid-back charm and relaxed sense of humour.
‘I’m so glad you made it,’ he said, rubbing her back as he hugged her close, ‘How was the traffic?’
‘Bloody awful! The motorway was bad, but the A30 was even worse! I’m so sorry I’m late, Dad,’ she began. ‘It’s been the morning from hell!’
‘Oh, bad luck!’ He made a sympathetic face. ‘No Luke?’
Annabel sighed and shook her head. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
Noel’s blue eyes filled with concern for a moment, then brightened. ‘Well lucky us, I say; we get you all to ourselves!’ He gave her an encouraging wink, then lowered himself onto a stool at the breakfast bar with a grimace.
‘You alright, Dad? Hip still giving you trouble?’
‘Yes, damned thing! It was probably sitting cramped up in the plane that did it, plus the drive down from Heathrow. It just gets a bit stiff, I need to keep it moving. I’m booked in for the surgery, did Mum tell you? Getting it done in a couple of weeks, so that’s a relief. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back out on the golf course again soon!’
‘Enough chit-chat, there’ll be plenty of time for catching up later, you two!’ Jeanette cut them off as she handed the coffee mug to her daughter. ‘Noel, you need to practise your speech, and Annabel’ – she glanced at her watch again – ‘twenty-one minutes and counting!’
CHAPTER 2
Cornwall
Saturday 9th March, 2019
Dotty Penrose beamed out at the sea of familiar faces from her ‘throne’, as she’d dubbed the chair of honour at the far end of the conservatory. The royal blue of her dress matched her eyes, which at that moment were sparkling with excitement. Beside her, Annabel squeezed her hand and felt a lump form in her throat. She was so proud of her granny and it was a joy to see so many friends and neighbours come and pay tribute to her on her special day. Dotty had been delighted to see everyone, but confided in her granddaughter that she didn’t know what all the fuss was about, ‘Honestly, all these people making all this effort for this old biddy!’
Dotty was something of a local treasure in the Cornish village of Wincastle, where she had lived for over seventy years. She knew everybody and everybody knew her. To the locals, she was a second granny and she was never short of a friend to take her for a trip out, for a coffee or a meal. Annabel often teased that her social life was busier than her own, but was relieved that she was still able to keep busy and enjoy company. So many people became so isolated in old age, but Dotty seemed determined to keep going and stay interested in the world around her.
She had been blessed with remarkably good health, she admitted, never having broken a bone or needed a trip to hospital. Hearing her contemporaries discuss their medication and various ailments was always a tedious experience for her, not to mention a conversation in which she could not join. For at the ripe old age of one hundred, Dotty was, amazingly, medication free. She still managed to live independently in her beloved farmhouse, even managing the stairs to her bedroom and pooh-poohing Noel’s suggestion of setting up a downstairs bedroom. He had briefly floated the idea of sheltered housing a couple of years ago, but such was the dressing-down from his mother that he never dared mention it again.
However, they had reached a compromise, with Noel arranging for a ‘cleaner’ to pop in every day, under the guise of doing the tedious jobs, such as vacuuming and doing the laundry and washing up. But really, she was there to keep an eye on things for Noel, who felt horribly torn between his golfing retirement in the sun and his dear old ma back home. Dotty had resented the daily intrusion at first, but had eventually warmed to Lizzie, the cheerful retired nurse who was in her late fifties. Noel felt relief the first time Dotty mentioned having had a cup of coffee with Lizzie after she’d finished her chores.
Every day, come rain or shine, Dotty walked the half mile to the village post office to buy her newspaper and have a chat with Pam, the postmistress. She liked to keep up to date with the news and do the daily crossword, but, more importantly, the routine and the company kept her going. ‘The day I stop moving is the day this old body will pack up!’ she had told Annabel.
Such was Dotty’s popularity that today it was standing room only in the conservatory. Several guests had spilled out onto thepatio beyond, where trestle tables had been set up for the buffet lunch later. Annabel looked out and smiled. She never tired of the view from the house and today it was nothing short of spectacular. There wasn’t a cloud in the azure sky, and fluffy white lambs skipped and jumped in the fields that led down to the sea, sparkling in the distance. It was a perfect Cornish spring day.
The Lord Lieutenant of Cornwall, Colonel Edward Tremayne, arrived at 12 p.m. on the dot. He was a handsome man in his late sixties, with silver-grey hair and piercing blue eyes. Dressed in his full military regalia and with a charming greeting for everyone, he set a few elderly pulses racing. ‘I suppose this is the OAP’s equivalent of ordering a stripper for a twenty-first!’ William whispered to Annabel as the colonel stood up to address the audience, causing her to snort and earn a reproachful look from their mother.
Congratulations were given and snippets of Dotty’s life story (provided to him by Noel, via email) were shared, then it was the moment they had all been waiting for: the birthday card from the Queen. It had arrived in the mail a couple of days earlier and Dotty had been under strict instructions not to open it, but to wait until the official presentation.
A hush fell as Colonel Tremayne handed the white envelope to Dotty with due pomp and ceremony and said, ‘Mrs Dotty Penrose, it is my very great honour to be here with you and your loved ones today. I have been instructed by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, to wish you a very happy birthday!’ There was a round of applause and Annabel looked up to see a wall of cameras and mobile phones; everyone wanted to capture the special moment.
