Chapter 9
By Susan Brown
Previously…
Right, Samantha, no more snivelling. Pull yourself together girl.’
I had a tissue in my pocket so I wiped my eyes, glad that I hadn’t bothered to use mascara or eye shadow, so no panda eyes, thank goodness! ‘Clever girl.’
I got up and with a last look around the cove and a deep breath,; I went back into the house.
I could hear heavy breathing behind me and realised that Sandy was being my little shadow tonight.
As I entered the kitchen, the other two dogs came up and said hello. Jocasta was baking or something and she looked up from her kneading or whatever and looked at me.
‘Hi, Samantha; everything okay?’
‘Perfect thanks; I must go and see an estate agent tomorrow.’
‘I know just the lady,’ she replied.
‘I thought you might!’
And now the story continues…
It was the birds that wakened me the next morning–about two thousand seagulls appeared to be perched on the roof and they all had something to say!
Yawning, I glanced at my watch; it was seven-thirty, quite early for me really. Normally when I wasn’t going to work I would lie in until at least half past eight, but this was not an ordinary morning. Today I had loads to do.
Picking up the note pad I had borrowed from the ever-inquisitive Jocasta, I looked at the list of things to do that I planned to make a start on this very day.
1. Get up and go for a brisk walk before breakfast.
2. After a healthy breakfast, go and see the estate agent (Jocasta’s friend, Millie).
3. Look at properties (hopefully).
4. Find somewhere I would love to live in. (a girl has to dream!).
5. Speak to solicitor re divorce, (does Jocasta have a solicitor friend? I bet she does).
6. See if the car is okay and confirm when I will get it back–Take J with me to interpret.
7. Go and see the girls’ ponies. (I rashly agreed to go with them before going to bed.)
8. Buy a new mobile.
9. Arrange to have my banking transferred down here.
10. Sleep.
Looking over the list, I wondered if I would get a fraction of that done today. When I said goodnight to Jocasta, she said that she would help me today. I wondered if she knew what she was letting herself in for.
I got out of bed, donned my dressing gown and padded across the hall to the bathroom. It was pretty quiet so I assumed everyone here to be late risers.
Following a quick shower, I returned to my room, put on my panties and bra and slipped in my breast forms. One of the things I wanted to do today was stick them on, but I didn’t include that on the list in case it was seen by someone else; maybe I would have time later.
Checking the weather through the window it looked a bit cloudy and blowy, so I put on a t-shirt and my boot cut jeans, pulled some trainers out of my bag, put on some sports socks and then the trainers. I wouldn’t win any fashion contests, but no way was I going to walk along a windy cliff in a LBD!
I had a waterproof anorak in my case–one of those that folded up and went into a little bag. Looking at the weather, I decided to take it–just in case.
I glanced in the mirror and grimaced; I couldn’t go out without my face on. So I applied some makeup quickly, but not too much because I wasn’t going clubbing and sometimes less is more, if you know what I mean.
Brushing my hair, I wondered if I should go to a salon for what my mum called a hair-do. Nodding my head, I added it to my things to do list and, before I could think of anything else, picked up my purse and the anorak and went downstairs.
As entered the kitchen, the dogs bounded over and sort of mobbed me.
‘Hi, everyone, don’t bark too loudly, you’ll wake the family.’
I would have adored to take them all for a walk, but doubted I could control that many dogs and anyway, I hadn’t a clue where their leads were kept, so with many whispered apologies, I escaped out of the back door and into the lane.
I followed the signs that said; South West Coast Path National Trail and found myself climbing a long, narrow lane, with hedges either side. The sun was still hidden by clouds but I was getting decidedly warm from my exertions. Still, being an intrepid if, rather breathless soul, I continued on my way.
The signs told me to climb over a stile and follow the edge of a field, so that’s what I did, along a cinder path for about two hundred yard. Then the bay suddenly came into view and I caught my breath. I was at the farthest end of the cove and I had a great view of the village and harbour. Being much higher up, everything looked smaller–obvious really. I could see the church and was surprised how far away it was. The sea was not as blue today as there wasn’t much of a reflection from the sky, but it still looked enchanting.
Seagulls were wheeling down below me and I felt like I was on top of the world figuratively and literally.
From my high vantage point, I could see that Penmarris wasn’t a very big village and the houses and cottages at this distance looked all jammed together and rather small–it all gave a meaning to the term, old-world.
The coastal path was well used, judging by the state of the path; well worn with ridges in places. I followed it and was all too aware of the jagged rocks below. I was away from Penmarris Bay now and the cliffs were shear. The sea was choppier today with lots of white horses. I sat on one of the bench seats dotted along the way and watched the waves crash over the rocky outcrops. The sea was white with foam and the sound of waves was refreshing and invigorating. There were low bushes and pretty plants in flower all around me. I decided that I would come up here when I wanted some peace and quiet, with my sketch book and try to recapture the breathtaking scenes before me.
Checking my watch, I remembered I had plenty to do today, so reluctantly made my way back to the vicarage.
I passed several people walking up the path as I returned, some with dogs and others just strolling and taking in the fresh sea air. Everyone said, ‘hello,’ or nodded and it was nice to see the friendliness of everyone.
It didn’t take me long to return to the vicarage as it was all downhill and I smiled as I heard the dogs and constant chatter of the children as I approached the kitchen door.
Everyone looked up as I came in and said hello. The dogs did the same in their own way and almost instantly I was sitting down with a steaming mug of tea cradled in my hands.
All thoughts of a healthy breakfast were dashed when a plate was put in front of me that defied belief.
There were two sausages and eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, several rashers of bacon, sauté potatoes, fried bread and a round slice of sausagy-looking stuff, about three inches in diameter that I did not recognise.
‘B–but I can’t possibly manage to eat all this!’ I gasped. ‘And what’s this?’ I added pointing to the “sausage thingy”.
‘Of course you can, a little stick insect like you. You need feeding up. Oh and that’s Devonshire or Dartmoor Hogs Pudding–a local speciality.* We buy it from Mr Tregeagle, our butcher, who “hand-knits” it himself, here in Penmarris.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Jen added. ‘We all love it.’
‘But, Jocasta, think of all the calories and my arteries!’
‘You need lagging up, my girl. We’ve a lot to get through today so eat up and stop whinging.’
Casting my eyes around me, I noticed that everyone had the same mega-meal. I wondered why they weren’t all overweight with a diet like this. I didn’t want to rock the boat so I just gave in and ate up. Mind you it was gorgeous, especially the hogs pudding which was absolutely delicious.
The girls were wearing their school uniform comprising a white blouse, grey pleated skirt, striped tie and blazer. They soon Hoovered up the food and were gone with a quick goodbye and a peck on the cheek for everyone–including me, which was nice. They were to catch the school bus at the top of the lane and were almost running late.
Then David had to sort out some wedding arrangements, so that just left Jocasta and me. After loading the dish washer, I went upstairs to change. The clouds had broken and the sun was out. I needed to wear something a little less hot.
Amongst my things, I found a peach halter dress. Slipping off my jeans and t-shirt, I quickly changed and put on my white sandals. I felt much cooler after that and in next to no time, I was back in the kitchen waiting for Jocasta to appear.
The front door bell rang. I could hear Jocasta calling from upstairs asking if I wouldn’t mind answering it.
I pulled the heavy door open and there in front of me stood a rather forbidding looking woman I took to be in her late sixties. She wore a twin set and pearls, had an enormous handbag and her hat was something with dead bird feathers in it. I was rather surprised that she didn’t have a fox fur, but that was probably because the temperature was now in the low seventies.
‘And you are?’ demanded the apparition.
‘Pardon?’ I said.
‘Your name, girl; are you stupid?’
‘Erm, Samantha Smart.’
‘I don’t know you.’
‘No.’
‘Why don’t I know you? I know everyone in the village.’
‘I…I’m new.’
‘Oh, some sort of help are you?’
She said “help” as though I was something nasty that she had stepped on. I was beginning to become somewhat annoyed.
‘No, I’m just staying here for a few days.’
‘Staying here?’ she said in a voice similar to way that Dame Edith Evans declaimed, “A HAND-bag,” in The Importance of Being Ernest.**
‘Yes, for a few days, while I find my own place.’
‘I wasn’t told. I don’t know…’
‘Ah, Lady Fairbairn, you’ve met Samantha, I see.’
‘Hmm. Well I have very little time today, Jocasta so I’ll come to the point. I’m not happy with the flowers.’
‘Flowers?’
‘Yes, Mrs Crowland’s arrangements in the church will just not do. We don’t want to end up like St Winifred’s, do we?’
‘No, Lady Fairbairn, I’ll speak to Gillian later.’
‘Mmm,’ she said looking me up and down as though I was not quite the thing.
‘Well, I’ll know you the next time we meet, Miss err…’ she said in a voice that still showed mega-disapproval. I wondered if she realised my secret, somehow, those eyes looked like they had x-ray vision or something.
She sailed off down the path, like a galleon under full sail, leaving me with my mouth wide open and Jocasta quietly giggling behind me.
‘What do you think of her?’
‘Stuck up Bit…sorry.’
‘I know what you think, but you’d be surprised. Believe it or not, under that tough rhino hide, she’s a bit of a sweetie, although it took nearly a year and the fact that Phillipa fell off her pony and ended up in hospital for us to find it out. But I won’t influence you as you’ll soon discover who’s who and be able make your mind up for yourself.’
‘Okaaaay!’ I said without much conviction.
Shortly after that, we left the vicarage and headed towards the harbour. We were going to meet Jocasta’s estate agent friend.
It took us about half an hour longer than it should have done to get where we were going, because Jocasta had to stop every few yards to pass the time of day with friends and acquaintances. If I wasn’t known by everyone when we departed the vicarage, I was certainly known by a goodly portion of the populace, either directly or indirectly, by the time we were sitting drinking coffee outside the Copper Kettle on Harbour Wharf.
The place was getting busy with holidaymakers, slick with sun cream and weighed down with beach furniture, rubber rings, buckets and spades and other detritus, making their way to the beaches. I like people-watching and there were lots to look at as we sipped our drinks.
‘Hello, girls,’ said a cheerful voice.
I looked up, squinting in the sunshine and saw a youngish woman, blond, thin, wearing sun glasses and a woman’s business suit, but with her jacket on her arm, looking down at us.
‘Hi, Millie, this is Samantha.’
She sat down at the table.
‘Hello, Samantha,’ she said smiling, ‘how are you?’
‘Fine thanks.’
‘Well, Jo, what can I do for you?’
‘Not me, Samantha here; she’s looking for somewhere to rent.’
She looked at me.
‘Okay, I’m your girl. Do you want short or long term?’
‘Long term, I think, but I’m not sure you can find exactly what I want.’
‘Hang on a mo,’ she looked around and caught the eye of a waitress.
‘Connie, love, may I have a coke please?’
‘Okay, Millie, with or without ice?’
‘With please.’
‘Coming up.’
Millie returned her attention to me. ‘Right, I’m all ears, what exactly are you looking for?’
‘Well…’
_________________________
* http://www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk/hoggs_pudd.htm
** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyuoUwxCLMs
To Be Continued...
Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue
Comments
Hoggs pudding
I could deffinately go for one of them although the 1 egg is a let down and I'm not keen on merlot. going by the weblink
BIG fan of cooking while drinking though
:)
Samantha
Hogs Pudding for breakfast!
Hogs Pudding for breakfast and a Devonshire Cream Tea in the afternoon...Now thats what i call living!!! Who cares about calories...Sometimes a girl has just got to enjoy herself!!
Hugs Kirri
Get Smart;)
If Maxwell Smart from C.O.N.T.R.O.L. ever shows up, poor Sam is in trouble. Seems to me that sooner or later that Sam will put that snob in her place. She reminds me of that B.B.C. character Mrs. bucket.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
Settling in Nicely
Cool. It really looks like Samantha is just starting to settle in. I hope she finds a nice place to rent. I guess I'll find out in the next chapter.
This is such a nice, light, easy to read story with lots of subtle, juicy details. It's perfect for naughty stop ups like me. I should've been in bed hours ago. *sigh*
I'm lucky to have a British girlfriend. She's helped me understand the lingo. I didn't have to look up any words (the hogs pudding doesn't count - I'm not keen on puddings except for Yorkshire pudding). But I have to wonder why you gave the temperature in degrees Fahrenheit ("low seventies"). Shouldn't it be Celsius over there? I've only seen weather reports give temperatures in degress Celsius when I'm visiting. Oh well.
Thanks for the chapter. Please keep up the good work.
- Terry
Not a cliff hanger
As Samantha was taking her coastal walk and the description referred to rocky outcrops and shear cliffs, I began to worry that we were going to have a real "cliff hanger" of an episode with the poor girl actually hanging onto the cliff face by her finger tips! Luckily it didn't happen and she was able to return in time to meet the formidable Lady Fairbairn who seemed nearly as scary herself.
In answer to Terry's point about temperature scales - the UK Met Office does indeed work in Celsius and uses it in most forecasts, but will often include one or two conversions to Fahrenheit. There are still a lot of people in the UK that regard the metric system as something imposed by the EU which should be resisted at all costs! Certain newspapers like to encourage these ideas, especially during a heatwave when they can quote temperatures over a hundred Fahrenheit, as it looks more impressive. When I was a weather forecaster, I was so used to having to handle both scales that I had most of the values in my head and could quote the Fahrenheit equivalent when needed.
Great story Sue, love the way you are describing the village and introducing us to its inhabitants.
Pleione
Temperature Scales
While Fahrenheit temperatures are the norm in the U.S., we could do well by adopting Celsius temperatures for cooking. Fahrenheit for weather and Celsius for cooking makes a lot of sense. Please observe that in both cases temperatures stay very conveniently in the 0 to 100 degree range, for the most part.
A numerical oddity is -40 degrees, the same on both scales, which happens to be the freezing point of Mercury.
G/R
Where Ya To?
The local dialect will soon overcome Samantha. She will have to learn. It's years since I've been down there but it's a wonderful part of the world. I can just picture the village nestled into a steep cove. The people where I went were friendly with a bit of reservation. If you weren't a day-tripper they were great. As soon as they knew I was from Australia they couldn't do enough for me.
My only problem was understanding what they were saying!
Joanne
Loved Lady Heartburn.
All things seem to be racing downhill from the vickerage, Sue.
Can't wait to see the first time that someone 'reads' her, or
that she finds out that everyone has, and that there are just
the biggest bunch of nice people since Atlantis sank into the
sea!
Love the story, Sue. Don't usually like thing that move a
little fast like this as much. I do still love your writing.
I see this as a throughly modern day fairytale. A throughly
lovely story about a character who could be just about anyone
who is really nice. Throughly entertaining. Cookie for you.
Sarah Lynn Morgin.
The Importance Of Being
Nice to see Samantha looking forward and organizing her life with some enthusiasm. It makes this a lovely tale. The interaction with the people of the village so far has been on a par with the best of the television sitcoms!
Channelling Oscar Wilde's Lady Bracknell in the character of Lady Fairbairn is a nice flourish! I see some great fun down the road. I suspect that's not the only similarity here, either. In the play, our friend Ernest is an alter-ego as well.
A HANDbag?! Indeed!
Better think again...
Reading the list, I don't think Samantha wants to hire a local solicitor to handle her divorce; she will have to give her male name and divorces are not private things, they are listed in public records and can be posted in the local rag. She should do that back at her old old home and make the trip back there when she needs to be physically present. Most documents can be signed electronically now, or there is always the post, to mail the docs back and forth. Then there is the bank thing. She really doesn't need to transfer her money, she can do all her banking electronically as well. If she tries to open a bank account, she will have to do it in her legal name and that will blow everything out into the open.
I am guessing that Samantha one of the magical ones that was born lucky? Does Samantha have narrow shoulders, wide hips, no Adam's apple (???), no hint of a brow ridge, etc. that people will put together she has male bits? Samantha either has to be very careful, with all the busy bodies around, or not care and when someone guesses, then just do the short explanation that she is trans and let it go. I don't see a need to tell anyone unless they put it together and ask her. Of course once one knows, the whole village will know.
Your a great storyteller
and one of the authors I look for when browsing this site. I have not left a comment on your stories before, but truly enjoy them. Thanks for sharing!
Music is the language of the soul.
Music is the language of the soul.
I like to cook with wine
I have been known to put in the food, after testing it, of course.
Another fine 'Sue Brown Saga'. I've only just caught up with this; I don't know why I didn't spot it earlier. Anyway, you've got me hooked as usual.
I'll be very interested to see how Samantha handles (a) the divorce and (b) the local doctor.
Susie
I suspect hog's pudding ...
... is closely related to black pudding which is supposed to be dried blood but I'm quite sure it's snot :) I'll stick to my unsweetened muesli with a slice of wholemeal toast and home made marmalade, I think.
As a retired engineer, I always use Celsius (or K) as temperature readings and have done for over 50 years. I just wish we'd scrap those old-fashioned (Roman) Imperial units as well, bite the bullet and drag ourselves into the 21st century.
This is a lovely story, Sue, needing only a small amount of belief suspension. Sadly, the most unrealistic part of the story is not Samantha's deception but the chance of finding a village like Penmaris Bay with real Cornish people still living there but even that doesn't matter. I also think that it would be a mistake to use a very local solicitor - Samantha's secret soon wouldn't be.
Thanks
Geoff
intimidating....
.... but very believable new character..... don't see her becoming Samantha's love interest!! :)
When I make lists...
I lose them, and by the time I find the "safe place" I stored them, There's not enough time to finish the list!
Lady Fairbairn - I immediately thought of the famous revue of Tallulah Bankhead playing Cleopatra: "Tallulah Bankhead barged down the Nile last night as Cleopatra – and sank."
Ole
We are each exactly as God made us. God does not make mistakes!
Gender rights are the new civil rights!