‘There was a gentle knock on the door.
‘Please leave me alone.’
‘Samantha, it’s me–Jo. Please let me come in.’

Changes
Chapter 11
By Susan Brown

Previously…

‘Nigel, I have no intention of coming back..’

‘What the fu–’

‘You’ve had your say, so listen to me. Did your precious daughter tell you why I left? She was having sex in my house on one of my beds, not with me, but with another man. The only reason I worked for you was because it made Olivia happy for me to have what she termed a proper job. She busted up this marriage, not me. I resign with immediate effect and you can tell your daughter that I am commencing divorce proceedings citing her adultery as the cause. Oh, and by the way, I have an excellent photograph of her having sex with her lover on my ’phone so if you want publicity, tell her to contest–goodbye.’

I threw the ’phone out of the open window and fell on the bed, sobbing.

It had been a strange day–and yet somehow liberating.

And now the story continues…

There was a gentle knock on the door.

‘Please leave me alone.’

‘Samantha, it’s me–Jo. Please let me come in.’

I would never be able to forget how kind she and her family had been to me, so I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes with a tissue, had a look at the horror in the mirror and then, with a sigh, opened the door.

Jocasta was standing there looking concerned.

‘Oh Lord, what’s happened?’

I promptly burst into tears again as I sat down on the bed. I couldn’t believe how emotional I had been lately. I seemed to cry very easily.

Jocasta put her arm around me.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘You…you, must be f—f—fed up with me. I’ve b—brought nothing but tr—trouble.’

‘Nonsense, my dear, you aren’t any trouble and anyway, I like to help. Now, tell Auntie Jo all about it…’

I told her about the phone call from Olivia’s father.

‘You’re kidding me?’

‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’

‘No–No, you don’t. Now listen, Samantha, you need a good talking too, so pin back your ears or what Jen, rather crudely, calls your lug ’oles and listen. I’m not normally judgemental and I know that I have only heard your side of things, and you may well have been a pain to live with but I know that it takes two to make an argument. But and this is a big but, I cannot see any reason for you to reproach yourself over this. Olivia knew the score about you when you married, and ever since, you have gone along with her wishes–to keep a happy marriage. Then she goes and does something totally disgusting to you and she’s angry. Then her father, who appears to be a nasty piece of work, immediately takes her side and treats you like dirt. If I were you, I would get out of that marriage as soon as you can and as this is coming from a vicar’s wife, I don’t say that lightly.’

‘It must be partly my fault; I didn’t live up to her expectations. I obviously wasn’t man enough for her…’

‘Enough of that rubbish. Let me make this clear and I’m sorry if I’m being forward in this. You–are–not–to–blame. The victim often thinks that it’s their fault. You’ve been kind and loving and have gone the extra mile to make things work in your marriage. Not everyone is aggressive and forward. You are sweet and sensitive and your femininity shines through. Olivia is what gives us women a bad name sometimes; demanding, manipulative and downright nasty. Judging by what you have said of her father, I can see where she gets it from. What’s her mother like?’

‘She died shortly after Olivia was born.’

‘So, her entire life’s been influenced by her nasty, vindicate, spiteful father. I don’t know if I pity her, but not knowing her, I can’t give an opinion. Anyway, Samantha, don’t feel responsible for this because it’s you who’s the victim in this and not her.’

I don’t know…’

‘Well I do. Look, it doesn’t do you any good to beat yourself up over this. You have to move on otherwise it will take you over and consume you. Do you want that?’

I shook my head.

‘Right, dear, dry your eyes and we’ll go out for a walk. I find that the sea air here has mysterious restorative qualities. On top of that I rather fancy a G&T with a nice view.’

‘What about your mothers’ meeting?’ I sniffed.

‘It was a young wives’ meeting, dear, and was only a quick natter about the next bring and buy sale.’

‘Oh.’

‘Right, you’ve got ten minutes and then we’re going down the village for a drink. You’ll like our local.’

‘What, the Crab and Lobster?’

‘God no, that’s full of ancient locals around the age of ninety and even I can’t understand a word of what they’re talking about sometimes. Do you know that they still scatter sawdust on the floor? No, we’ll go to the Toad and Tart, it’s–’

‘The what?’

She laughed, ‘don’t ask; no one knows where the name came from; I think one of the previous landlords, back in the mists of time, had a strange sense of humour!’

She left me to tidy myself up. Gazing at my red eyes in the bathroom mirror, reminded me how upset I had been over the conversation with Nigel. I wiped off my rather smeary makeup, then washed my face, splashing water in my eyes to help get rid of the puffiness. After drying myself with a fluffy towel, I quickly reapplied my makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, looking almost human, I was downstairs again and, in no time at all, Jocasta and I were heading down to the village. The way things were going, I would get healthy rather quickly with all this walking!

‘Right,’ said Jocasta as we set off, ‘Pack up your troubles for a little while and let’s just enjoy ourselves.’

‘Okay.’ I replied smiling somewhat doubtfully.

Once again as we followed the steepish lane leading down to the village. We were accosted by several people who wanted to chat and I could see how the village gossip spread like wildfire.

Eventually we arrived on the quay and turned right. Not having been in this direction before, I took in the scene with interest. There were a few gift shops, a restaurant called the Lobster Pot, a fish and chip shop that should have been banned because the smell wafting out of it was mouth-watering in the extreme. I promised myself that I would have some cod and chips complete with salt and vinegar as soon as I had settled in. You can’t beat fish and chips out of newspaper, sitting somewhere with pleasant view and this place had more than most.

I had cheered up considerably, as you can probably tell. Then I stopped.

‘What?’ said Jocasta as she was in the middle of trying to persuade me against cod in favour of haddock for environmental reasons.

‘My phone.’

‘What about it?’

‘Erm, I chucked it out of the bedroom window after my little chat with my delightful father-in-law.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Millie might be trying to contact me about the cottage.’

‘Don’t worry, if she can’t get you, she’ll ring me.’

‘That’s good.’

‘We had better look for your phone when we get back; it’s probably on the lawn somewhere.’

‘Okay.’ I said as we turned a corner and climbed some stone steps that led to yet another narrow lane. I was out of puff again but Jocasta seemed unaffected. After passing several small cottages with front doors leading directly off the street, we turned another corner.

I stopped, as there in front of us was a pub–the Toad and Tart. I had thought that Jocasta was joking but there it was as large as life.

It looked rather old, the bricks were worn in places and the building had a slightly tilted look to it. The church had a steeple that was leaning slightly and so did this. It looked like the area suffered from a degree of subsidence and I suppose being at the edge of the sea didn’t help much. It wasn’t very large as pubs go, but was on two levels. We walked through the very low doorway, built for when the patrons were a lot smaller. Immediately in front of us was a bar, with several people nursing drinks and talking. The man behind the bar, who I took to be the landlord, looked up from drying glasses and smiled. It went quiet as everyone turned to stare at us. But only for a second as we got a series of hellos. Everyone seemed to know Jocasta and apparently any friend of hers was a friend of theirs.

‘I hope we’ll see you all in church on Sunday?’

There was something of a pregnant pause after which everyone seemed to be inspecting their drinks rather closely.

Jocasta and I looked at each other and giggled as we moved past the drinkers and went up a flight of wooden stairs.

At the top was another, smaller, bar and a terrace. There were fewer people here but I paid little attention until I was led out on the terrace–where there was a superb view of the whole cove. The beach was in front us, with clean golden sand that glinted almost white in the sun. To the left was the quay with large crowds doing the holidaymaker thing. The harbour had a plethora of boats, large and small, rising and falling to the gentle swell. Further away, the other beach looked rather more crowded than earlier. It was a picture postcard scene and I rather wished I had brought my sketchbook with me.

I sat at one of the tables and surveyed the scene while Jocasta fetched our drinks.

The ever-present seagulls were making their cacophonous presence felt around the harbour as a fishing boat came in, it’s diesel motor chugging as it approached the quay. The birds were obviously in the right place at the right time as things were being thrown off the boat and into the harbour. Being a bit squeamish, I didn’t really want to know what those things were.

Soon, Jocasta returned with our drinks and a packet of cheese and onion crisps each.

‘Drink that,’ she ordered.

‘Yes, Miss.’

I sipped the ice cold gin and tonic and I’m glad to say it hit the right spot almost immediately.

‘Mmm.’ I said appreciatively.

‘So, what d’you think of the Toad and Tart?’

‘Gorgeous, but I can’t get over the name.’

‘You get used to it.’ she replied laughing.

‘It is lovely here.’

‘Yes, as far as we know, there’s been a pub on this site since the thirteenth century. We think this one was built sometime in the seventeenth century. Evidently it was a smugglers inn at one time; there’s a passage that leads down to the rocks on the other side of the cove. Rumour has it that the excise men never managed to catch anyone smuggling tea, brandy, gin, rum and tobacco, mainly because the local squire, who just happened to be an ancestor of Lady Fairbairn was in on it. There are caves and tunnels everywhere leading to some of the old cottages. They must have been wild times then.’

‘It sounds like it. What’s it like here in the winter?’

‘It’s beautiful in a different way. Oh, we get our fair share of storms, bringing in extra high tides and ships in distress, but apart than that, the cove is comparatively sheltered so we manage to avoid the worst of it.’

We sat there for another hour, watching people playing, bathing or just sleeping on the beach. It was restful and helped me relax. Mind you the three G&T’s probably helped!

Eventually and reluctantly we finally left and made our, slightly tiddley, way back to the vicarage. It seemed to be getting easier going up that hill, maybe I was getting stronger? We arrived back just before four o’clock. The girls were due back from school, but they wouldn’t be stopping as they had to go to the stables to exercise their ponies.

David was in his study writing his next sermon and Jocasta had to do something about the parish magazine, so I went out to the garden to search for my phone. All three dogs came out and helped–or was that hindered–me?

Eventually I found it and was impressed by how far I had thrown it. Picking it up, I was surprised to discover it was still working and that I had a message.

I pressed the button, dreading that it might be from Olivia or Nigel, but it was from Millie.

Pls ring me
Millie

‘A girl of few words.’ I thought. I rang her back using the card she had given me.

‘Hi Millie? It’s Samantha.’

‘Hi, thanks for getting back. I couldn’t get you on your mobile and Jo’s wasn’t answering. We have funny reception in this area. Anyway, I’ve spoken to old Mr Mogg–God, he’s hard work–deaf as a post and more interested in staring down my cleavage than talking about his cottage. Anyway, I finally got his attention and he said that it was alright to look at his place. I have the keys, so do you fancy meeting me there?’

‘Yes, that’ll be fine, but how do I get there?’

‘Go down the hill from the Vicarage, take the first left and then second right; it’s about a hundred yards from the junction. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes, okay?’

‘Fine, I’ll see you there.’

Jocasta had gone down to the shops and David was still sorting out his sermon, so I went to have a look at Mr Mogg’s cottage on my own. As I made my way down the hill, I wondered what the cottage would be like and if it would be the answer to my dreams?

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

There is a Toad and Tart and it's not in Devon but in St Thomas in the US Virgin Islands.

http://www.toadandtart.com/