The Holiday Home

12


As soon as he saw Pru in the water, Merlin stopped paddling and put his head to one side, staring at her from under his still-golden eyelashes. He dropped his gaze to her bare shoulders and then down to the water, where he could clearly see she wasn’t wearing any clothes. He lifted the boat’s paddle out of the water and balanced it across the front of the canoe.

‘So. My little Pru has returned.’

‘I think it’s you who have returned.’

He laughed. ‘True, that. I haven’t been to Figgoty’s since you left me.’

Pru snorted in derision. ‘Stop sounding like a schoolboy and leave me alone. I need to get out and get dressed.’

‘Nothing I haven’t seen before, eh, Pru?’

She was shivering in the water now. ‘Bugger off, Merlin.’ She started to swim back to the beach.

He leaned on the paddle and looked thoughtfully up at the sky.

‘You’re not holding a grudge are you, Pru?’

Angrily she stopped swimming and turned to him. ‘Hold a grudge? Whatever for? You are a footnote to my youth, someone Connie and I laugh about.’

He smiled, showing his attractively wonky teeth. ‘If I thought that was true, you’d be breaking my heart.’ He picked up his paddle and put it in the water. ‘You and I are unfinished business. Catch you later.’

She watched as he disappeared around the next headland and then she swam back to shore and into her warm, dry clothes.

The climb from the beach and up the cliffs was hard. Her legs were shaky and her fingers felt weak as she fumbled for handholds in the slate. Seeing Merlin had upset some delicate balance within her. She grasped a good wedge of rock, but as she hauled her weight on to it, it came away in her hand and she slid a little, grazing her shins. Her breath was uneven and painful in her throat. She felt something rising within her – something buried but not dead.

‘Come on, Prudence. It was all a long time ago. Don’t let that idiot under your skin.’

After a while she scrambled from her hands and knees to a bent walk and then, finally, she was standing upright on the grass-tufted path of the clifftop. Pru rubbed her eyes with her T-shirt and looked down to the beach. She saw her own footprints in the bare sand, but of Merlin there was no sight.

There was a weather-beaten bench ahead of her, facing the ocean, and she gratefully walked towards it and sat. She put the palms of her hands over her blue eyes and instantly saw an image of Merlin making love to her for the first time in the little cave up in the valley. The fuggee hole. She remembered the excitement of having given Connie the slip. She remembered how he’d held her hand and guided her through the gap in the earth bank and into the warm pitch-blackness. She could hear the rasp of his lighter and see the candle stubs sitting in solid pools of wax on the floor. She’d watched as he bent and lit their wicks. Now, she could see the tall graceful arch of the rock; white and smooth. It wasn’t dank and slimy like the cave under Atlantic House. Merlin had moved to the back of the cave and collected the bundle of blankets and the faded paisley eiderdown quilt. He’d laid them on the floor, the same as he had that day when Connie had been with them.

‘Do you want to lie down?’

She kicked off her plimsolls and sat on the makeshift bed.

‘I’ve never seen a girl like you before.’ He was kneeling in front of her. Slowly he slid his arms round her waist, all the while gently kissing her neck and shoulders.

‘Is that nice?’ he breathed.

‘Mm,’ she said, her eyes wide open.

She had been kissed by boys before, but had never understood what all the fuss was about. Now, with the warmth of his arms around her and his soft lips on her face, she felt different.

He sat back a moment to look at her. Satisfied that she appeared not to mind, he moved in to kiss her mouth. Unsure how to respond, Pru had parted her lips a little and allowed his tongue inside her mouth. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she let them hang loosely by her side. He pulled away and looked at her.

‘Not shy, are you?’ he asked.

‘No.’

He’d taken her hands and placed them on the belt of his jeans. ‘Undo me,’ he whispered.

She squeezed the palms of her hands tighter over her eyes, remembering the way he’d made love to her and how she had felt. Special. Adult. Wanted. Until …

‘Merlin!’ the sound of that name broke through her reverie. Rubbing her eyes roughly, she uncovered them and sat blinking in the daylight.

A little round dog followed by a little round man barrelled towards her.

‘Here, Merlin!’ the man called in a Midlands accent. ‘Quiet, you’ve disturbed this lady. Mind if I share the seat with you?’ He sat down before she could answer. ‘Beautiful up here, isn’t it? I’m going to be scattered up here when I die.’

Without saying a word, Pru stood up and walked away as fast as she could. Behind her, she heard the man say, ‘Well. Some people, eh, Merlin?’ Her walk turned into a trot which turned into a run. She had to get back to the real world. To Francis and security.

*

‘Mum … Muuuuum?’ Abigail was shouting from upstairs.

Connie, who had only just sat down after clearing up the supper things, was in the drawing room with Greg. Her mind had drifted back to the initials carved in the rock wall. She took a deep breath and blew it loudly through her lips. ‘What?’ she yelled.

‘There’s no hot water. And I’ve got shampoo in my hair.’

‘Well, use the cold tap.’

‘It’s cold.’

‘Exactly.’

A short silence ensued. Connie picked up her glass of wine and waited.

‘Daaaad?’

Connie looked over at Greg, who was trying to watch the news.

‘Whaat?’ he bellowed.

‘There’s no hot water and …’

‘… You’ve got shampoo in your hair?’ he chorused with her.

‘Yes. Help.’

He flicked the TV off and stood up, quietly swearing.

Connie heard him go upstairs, followed by Abi’s protestations that he couldn’t come in the bathroom because ‘I haven’t any clothes on.’

‘I’ve seen you without clothes on since you were born. Now open this door.’

After another five minutes or so Greg came downstairs and into the drawing room.

‘There’s no hot water,’ he announced.

Pru and Francis stuck their heads round the door. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any hot water, Connie.’

Connie looked at them as if they were all mad. ‘Really? You don’t say? What do you expect me to do about it?’

‘Oh, don’t get all huffy. We’re only saying,’ said Pru.

‘And I’m only saying why are you all asking me? I don’t know what to do.’

The four of them stood, pathetically, trying to come up with a solution.

‘We’ll have to talk to Dad in the morning. He’ll know a plumber. In fact, Mum and Dad need to do a bit of maintenance on the old place.’

‘That’s true.’ Pru looked at Francis. ‘The tap in our en-suite basin is still dripping.’

The following morning, a delegation of Connie and Pru knocked on the door of The Bungalow.

Dorothy opened it in her dressing gown.

‘It’s terribly early. What do you want?’

Connie poked Pru in the back, which Pru took as a signal, correctly, for her to open the conversation.

‘It’s almost ten. Can we come in?’

‘Oh yes.’ Dorothy opened the door wider. ‘I hope you don’t want breakfast.’

‘We’ve had breakfast. We just want to have a chat with you and Daddy.’

‘Oh God. Sounds ominous. Henry!’ she called. ‘The children want to speak to you.’

A muffled, ‘One moment,’ came from his bedroom. They heard movement, then he opened his door and walked out to greet them, tying the belt of his silk dressing gown.

‘Good morning, all. To what do we owe this pleasure? Come into the lounge and sit down. Dorothy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Put some coffee on, would you?’

Dorothy went to the kitchen, grumbling.

Henry sat in his armchair and smoothed his hair with his hands.

‘What’s the matter?’

Connie turned to Pru, who started: ‘Daddy, when did you last have the boiler checked? It’s broken down and there are several taps dripping.’

‘Only to be expected in an old house,’ he replied, smiling.

‘Yes.’ Pru had hit her stride. ‘But it’s nigh on twenty-five years since you and Mummy renovated the old place. Don’t you think it’s about time it had a bit of an overhaul? Maybe some decorating too – it’s looking rather dated.’

Dorothy arrived with coffee and mugs on a tray, which she banged down on the table. ‘Dated? It’s perfect.’

‘Of course, of course,’ soothed Connie. ‘But a lick of paint would brighten it up.’

‘Who for?’ said Henry. ‘The only people who come to the house are you lot. Are you saying we’re not up to your standards?’

Connie blushed. ‘No, Daddy. It’s wonderful and we love coming down. Really, it’s only the hot water that needs looking at.’

Henry sat back in his chair. ‘So get it looked at.’

*

As the girls left The Bungalow, the light drizzle developed into a cloudburst. They ran across the squelching grass and through the French windows of Atlantic House’s kitchen.

Greg and Francis were reading their respective papers.

‘Careful,’ said Greg crossly as Connie shook her dripping cardigan. ‘You’ll get my paper soggy.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Pru, handing her wet sweatshirt to Francis, who carefully draped it on the Aga. ‘You two need to find a plumber. Daddy’s quite happy for us to get the plumbing system overhauled.’

‘Who’s paying?’ asked Greg suspiciously.

‘Well he hasn’t said as much but Daddy, of course! We’re just supervising,’ said Pru, sitting down. ‘Right, Connie. You and I shall spend the day in Truro looking at paint. Maybe some new cushions.’

‘We could do with new loo brushes,’ Francis chipped in.

‘Good idea.’ Pru smiled. ‘Connie, make a list.’

*

Truro was wet and grey. Holidaymakers shuffled about staring into shop windows before sitting in overcrowded cafés with their anoraks gently steaming.

The sisters found a parking spot in Lemon Street and made a dash for Marks and Spencer. They enjoyed their browse round the store and then went on to a very smart interior design shop where they chose several cushions and collected some paint and wallpaper samples. Then they drifted through a couple of boutiques, each buying small holiday essentials that neither husband need know about.

Over a late lunch at Mannings restaurant, their conversation turned to their parents and Atlantic House.

‘The whole place could do with redecorating. It hasn’t been touched since Mum did it up all those years ago.’ Connie took a sip of her Pimm’s.

‘That’s the trouble with older people: they get so stuck in their ways,’ Pru replied through a mouthful of focaccia.

‘Mummy’s still quite with it. She’s not seventy yet. Mind you, Daddy is starting to show his age. Have you noticed how he’s slowed down? And he can’t hear anything.’

Pru sipped her red wine. ‘Yep.’ She tapped at the side of her head. ‘Still all there though. But I’m worried about him driving.’

‘Me too.’

The waitress came with their food and they dived in. Sharing each other’s dishes and enjoying their own company. As the plates were cleared away, and the atmosphere grew warmer, Pru felt it was a good time to bring up the subject of their parents’ will.

‘Now, Connie,’ Pru dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, ‘when Mum and Dad are no longer with us, I want you to know that you can come to Atlantic House, and stay in The Bungalow, whenever you want. It’ll still be your home.’

Connie looked up sharply. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You and Greg and Abi will always be welcome. I don’t want any awkwardness between us.’ Pru beamed at her.

Connie felt cold inside.

‘Has Daddy or Mummy told you they are leaving Atlantic House to you?’

‘No, not in so many words. But I am the elder child – and you have Greg, who’s virtually running the family business. I shan’t be interfering in that.’

Connie shook her head a couple of times. ‘Hang on. You think you’re getting the house and The Bungalow, outright, while Greg runs the company yet doesn’t own it?’

‘Well, the shareholders own it, of course. But I’m sure Daddy will hand his shares over to Greg at some stage, so you’ll be set up.’

‘Set up?’

‘Yes. Comfortably off, with a Cornish bungalow that you can holiday in at any time.’

‘No, no. Not this time, Pru. You always want what’s mine, but you are not taking Atlantic House from me.’

Pru sat back in her chair and looked at her sister contemptuously. ‘I have two words to say to you, Connie. Grow. Up.’

Connie raised her voice, causing other diners to turn and stare. ‘Oh, not this again! Grow up? Let me remind you, you were the childish one, always taking the best of everything. Always wanting whatever I had. The blue bedroom, for instance.’

‘Yes. And you, Miss Bloody Self-righteous, you’re not so squeaky clean yourself, are you? We all know what you’re capable of when “poor baby sis” can’t get what she wants,’ spat Pru.

‘Oh! Now who needs to grow up! We were barely more than kids – I did you a favour!’

‘A favour? How dare you!’

‘I’ll tell you one thing, you are not having Atlantic House, I shall make damn sure of that. And if you think I’m going to let Daddy spend good money putting in new curtains and getting the old house up to scratch for you to enjoy, you have another think coming.’

*

The journey home was frosty, to say the least. Both women were on the edge of a precipice where their relationship was concerned. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge that the appearance of Merlin might have had something to do with it.

As soon as they got back to the house, Connie went in search of Greg. She found him playing with his bloody emails again. He hurriedly put the laptop lid down and smiled innocently.

‘Darling! Cup of tea? How was Truro?’

Connie ran into his arms and started to sob.

‘I love this house.’ She rubbed her dripping nose on Greg’s shoulder and turned her face towards his. ‘Pru can’t take it away from me.’

Nonplussed, Greg kissed her nose and reassured her. ‘Course she’s not going to take this house from you. In fact, do you want the good news, or the good news?’

She stopped crying and held his hand tight. ‘The good news, please.’

He smiled. ‘I’ve found a plumber. And he’s here right now, looking at the boiler.’

Connie became demented, shouting, ‘Stop him, stop him!’ She ran into the hall and on to the stairs. ‘We are not doing any repairs until we’ve sorted out who is going to get this house.’

Greg ran after her and pulled her back. ‘It’s too late.’

A Cornish voice sounded from the top of the stairs: ‘I’ve done a temporary job on the thermostat. I’ll be back tomorrow to put the new parts in and then I’ll make a start on the rest of the house.’

A familiar, sunburnt face leaned over the banisters. ‘Hello, Connie. I’m working as a plumber now. Greg and I have been having a good old chat about the old days.’

Connie watched aghast as Merlin descended the stairs.

Greg was beaming. ‘Top man, Merlin.’

‘My pleasure, G.’ Merlin took his phone from his pocket and checked the time. ‘Is that the time? Beer o’clock already. Fancy a pint?’

Greg’s face lit up with the offer and he picked up his keys from the hall table. ‘Great idea. Where are we going?’

‘Bar up the road – the Dog House.’

Connie stood aghast for a moment then, gathering her senses, she stepped forward. ‘If you go, you’ll be in the bloody dog house, Greg. I’m warning you.’

Merlin laughed. ‘Still the little firecracker, eh! Come on, Greg. See you later, Connie.’

*

It was past eleven and supper had long since been eaten and washed up when Greg finally arrived home. Connie, waiting for him in the kitchen, could smell the beer on his breath as soon as he walked into the room.

‘Nice chap,’ said Greg. ‘Very fond of you, Connie.’

Connie froze. ‘What did he say?’

‘That you and Pru and he had had a terrific summer when you were all young, and that I was a lucky bloke to have you.’ He put his arm round Connie. ‘Mind you, he clearly had a soft spot for Pru too. From what he was saying she was a bit of a goer in her time.’

Connie pushed her chair back noisily and crossed her arms and legs. ‘Really? Well that’s something he’d know all about.’

‘Hey hey, Con. You weren’t jealous of old Pru and Merlin, were you? Did he fancy her more than you?’ Greg walked towards her and knelt in front of her. He steadied himself on her knees. ‘My poor little Connie.’ He put his finger to his lips and blew a beery ‘Sshh’ through his teeth. ‘Better not tell old Francis, eh?’ He tapped the side of his nose and heaved himself back on to his feet. ‘I think it’s time to go up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Come on, my poor old girl. At least I fancy you.’

Connie gave Greg a mean look and without saying a word marched upstairs to the blue room. On reaching the sanctuary of her bedroom, she slammed the door and fell on the bed sobbing.