The Holiday Home

13


Connie woke the following morning to the sound of Greg’s alcohol-induced snoring and the pounding of footsteps on the landing.

Doing up her dressing gown, she opened her bedroom door to find Francis tearing down the stairs two at a time.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

Francis had already arrived in the hall, where he was barged out of the way by a furious Pru, who was marching towards the telephone. Picking up the receiver she tapped in a number from a business card in her hand.

She waited while it was answered. ‘Bloody answer phone,’ she hissed, then screeched into the receiver: ‘Merlin, this is Pru Meake at Atlantic House. The kitchen is under six inches of water. If you don’t get here within the next half-hour I am going to sue the arse off you. DO YOU HEAR!’ And she slammed the phone down.

*

Merlin, blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d left behind the night before, was driving along the lane towards Atlantic House and congratulating himself on getting a job at last. Greg was a good lad. They’d had a laugh together. Might take him out for another pint or two, or maybe fishing. It had been fun winding him up about Connie and Pru. One thing was for sure, that family had money and he could screw a sizeable chunk of it out of them.

He’d only recently returned to Cornwall after a spell in Wormwood Scrubs. Three years for a bit of dealing. He’d been properly stitched up. Nevertheless, while being detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure he’d served an apprenticeship in plumbing. As soon as he was released, he’d gone to North Devon to work with an old mate. Everything had been going well, until he’d got a bit too friendly with the old mate’s missus. So, a couple of weeks ago, he’d made tracks back to his old stomping ground, Treviscum Bay. What a stroke of luck that he’d bumped into the Carew girls. Was it really twenty-one summers ago that he’d managed to seduce her? She had been a lovely little maid. Lovely body, but lacking her sister’s fiery passion. He’d soon warmed her up though, when he got her to the fuggee hole. Nice spot that. Warm, dry, romantic and hidden from prying eyes and ears. He wondered whether he could still find it.

*

As he turned his battered van into the drive of Atlantic House he noticed a woman with rosy cheeks, twinkly eyes and golden curly hair worn in a careless up do hanging her washing out in the garden of Dairy Cottage. The thing that really captured his attention was that she was topless. He gave her a long look and pulled the handbrake on stiffly. At the sound she looked up and with no embarrassment smiled. He killed the engine and nonchalantly stepped out on to the gravel. ‘Mornin’.’ He nodded his head and then ignored her as he opened the creaky back doors of his van. He made sure his bottom looked taut and muscular as he reached inside, and when he came out again, slowly peeled off his tight T-shirt to reveal tanned pecs and abs.

‘It’s going to be a hot one today,’ he said, loud enough for her to hear. ‘Things could get rather steamy.’

He allowed himself a glance in Belinda’s direction. She was holding a towel over her breasts flirtatiously. ‘One can only hope,’ she replied, then raised her eyebrows and grinned before turning her back on him and walking towards Dairy Cottage, wobbling her dimpled, bikini’d bottom to great effect.

Suddenly the front door of Atlantic House was thrown open and the sound of raised voices filled the air. As Merlin turned to the source of the noise, Belinda crept back out into the garden and concealed herself behind the dividing hedge so she could watch and listen.

Greg was marching towards Merlin. ‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve turned the stopcock off, but it’s like the bloody Poseidon Adventure in there.’

Merlin looked bemused. ‘What’s happened, G, mate?’

‘Don’t you “G mate” me. The whole house could have flooded, thanks to your incompetence.’

‘You should have called.’

Pru had rushed out now and was squaring up to Merlin. ‘I did, you moron. Don’t you answer your phone?’

‘Terrible coverage round here. Sometimes I don’t get my messages for a week or more.’ He smiled ruefully and started to roll a cigarette. ‘Why don’t we all calm down and I’ll take a look at the damage.’

Pru looked daggers at him and gave a kind of guttural growling sound before turning tail and storming into the house.

Like the figures in a weather house, as she went in, Connie came out. She launched into a tirade aimed at Greg.

‘Greg, we are not spending a penny on this house. Not a penny, or we’ll be paying for Miss High and Mighty and Little Lord Fauntleroy’s future home and seeing no return on our investment.’

‘All I did was what you bloody asked me to do. “Find a plumber,” you said. So I did.’

‘I didn’t mean Merlin Pengelly,’ Connie hurled at him.

Pru had come out of the house again, brandishing a mop and bucket. She rounded on Connie.

‘How dare you call me Miss High and Mighty. And my son is nothing like Little Lord Fauntleroy.’

‘Actually, I was describing your poor henpecked husband,’ screeched Connie.

‘Girls, girls, that is below the belt,’ said Greg. ‘Connie, darling, apologise.’

‘I will not apologise, and thank you so much for backing me up as a husband should,’ Connie replied sarcastically. ‘Furthermore, don’t you “darling” me, you thoughtless ape.’

As Connie was clearly losing control of herself, Pru attempted to claim the moral high ground.

‘Greg, dear, please try to keep your wife under control. She’s always had these temper tantrums. It’s so pathetic.’

Connie rounded on her. ‘You’re the pathetic one. Pretending you have a bad back, getting Francis to do all the dirty work for you, sucking up to Mum and Dad to steal my inheritance.’

As the girls continued venting grievances they’d been storing for decades, Francis appeared on the doorstep with two full buckets of soapy water.

Standing stock-still, listening to the unusually colourful language being employed by his wife and sister-in-law, he looked to Greg for help. Greg shrugged his shoulders.

‘Come on, old man. Leave them to it. This has been brewing all week.’

‘We can’t just leave them.’ Francis put the buckets down and went towards Pru. His timing meant that he walked straight into her hand as she raised it to slap Connie. ‘Ow.’ He fell to the grass on his knees, stunned.

Belinda could take no more. Francis needed her. In seconds she was in their garden and had drenched both women with one of the buckets of water. Before they had a chance to recover, she pushed Connie towards Greg and Pru towards Francis. Standing with her hands on her hips, she gave the sorry-looking, sopping-wet group a disappointed stare. ‘Do you want your kids to hear you airing your dirty laundry in public? Now shake hands, the pair of you.’

The sisters looked at each other with undisguised aggression. Had they been cats, their tails would have been lashing the air.

‘I said, shake hands,’ growled Belinda.

The men let their women go and the sisters managed the briefest of hand contact.

‘Good,’ said Belinda. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now, I don’t want to hear another word from either of you.’

She turned towards the men. ‘And what are you gormless chumps gawking at? Never seen a woman break up an argument before?’

Merlin took a long draw on his cigarette. Francis stared at his feet, his cheeks colouring. Greg gave a suggestive laugh and said, ‘Oh, many times, Belinda. But never topless.’

*

An hour later and a composed Belinda had showered and was pouring herself a deserved glass of perfectly chilled white wine in the kitchen of Dairy Cottage.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Hi, kids. Come in.’

‘Hi, Mum,’ said Emily. ‘Can Abi and Jem come in too?’

‘Absolutely. More the merrier.’ Belinda kissed them all and directed them to the parlour. ‘What’ll you have to drink, Jem? Abi? Glass of wine?’

‘Yes, please,’ said a hopeful Emily.

‘Not you,’ replied her mother.

Grabbing a couple of extra wine glasses, the chilled bottle, a family bag of Twiglets, and a tin of Coke for Emily, she settled down with the kids.

‘What you been up to today?’

Emily, her mouth full of Twiglets, told her mother all the places that Jem and Abi had taken her to during their walk to the village. ‘I got a tattoo, look.’ She rolled up the sleeve of her T-shirt and at the top of her arm was a small mermaid coloured in pink and green with a dusting of glitter over it.

Belinda played the game. ‘Is it a real one?’

‘Don’t be daft – you have to be eighteen.’

‘How long does that one last then?’

‘A week.’

‘It’s very cool.’

‘Yeah. And afterwards we got ice creams and went and sat on the beach, then we had a swim and went rock-pooling.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, and Jem, like, catches fish with his bare hands!’

‘Does he now? Clever boy.’ She gave him an appreciative look and noticed his glass was empty, ‘Pass me your glass for a little top-up.’

He held his glass out readily. Abi frowned at him and put a hand over hers.

Belinda set the bottle back down on the floor. ‘So, who taught you how to fish? Your dad?’

‘No, it’s not really his thing. It was Poppa, my grandfather. He loves all that stuff. Have you seen his speedboat yet?’

‘No,’ said Belinda, raising her eyebrows. ‘Sounds fun.’

‘Oh, it’s wicked. Abi and I are qualified to drive it – soon as we were old enough, we did the course and passed the test and everything. But we only go out when the weather’s good.’

‘Of course. Where does he keep it? Trevay?’

‘Oh no, it’s under the house.’ Jem told Belinda and Emily all about the hidden cave.

‘Coool,’ said Emily. ‘Can I have a ride in it?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jem, ‘but I’ll have to check with Poppa and Mum first.’

‘OK, but best not bother them today,’ said Belinda, swirling the wine round her glass. ‘Leave it till tomorrow.’

‘Why?’ said Abi. ‘Has something happened?’

Abi and Jem sat astonished as Belinda gave them a sanitised account of what had happened earlier.

‘… I’m sure they will have sorted things out by now,’ she finished. ‘I wouldn’t let it worry you.’

The children didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘But why were they arguing?’ asked Jem.

Belinda shook her head, ‘Family business, from the sound of it. Let’s not talk about it any more.’

Abi felt she had to apologise. ‘I am so sorry. How embarrassing. God. It’s freaking me out just thinking about it.’

‘Don’t be silly – I’m a grown woman who has seen it all. Families can be so complicated. But your mums love each other. Trust me, they’ll work it out.’

Jem and Abi looked at each other. They weren’t so sure.

*

The next morning, Henry and Dorothy were sitting in their warm conservatory sharing a crossword. Henry was in his comfortable armchair and Dorothy was calling out the clues.

‘Fifteen down, “Impossible to ignore or avoid.”’

‘How many letters?’

‘It’s three words. Two, four, four. We’ve got the first letter of the second word, Y.’

‘Y for Yankee?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm. Try another clue.’

‘OK. “Sheets and pillowcases.” Starts with a B.’

‘P?’

‘No. B for Breast.’

‘Ah … Bedlinen?’

‘Yes. Good.’

‘Another one.’

‘“Silly fool.”’

‘I am not.’

‘No, that’s the clue: “Silly fool.” Four letters starting and ending in T.’

‘Doesn’t start with a C, does it?’

‘Behave yourself!’

‘Twit?’

‘That’ll do.’

A knock on the conservatory glass disturbed them. It was Abi and Jem.

‘Hello, kids! Lovely to see you.’ Dorothy stood up to welcome them in, smoothing down her halter-neck sundress.

Abi went to kiss her. ‘Hey, Granny. You look pretty groovy.’

‘Thank you, darling. I try to stay with it. I was about to get our mid-morning coffee and biscuits. Care to join us?’

‘Yes, please,’ the kids chorused as they sat on the huge wicker sofa.

Dorothy looked pointedly at Abi’s bare thighs, revealed by her micro shorts. ‘No biscuits for you, Abi.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, woman!’ Henry frowned. ‘She’s skin and bone.’

Dorothy tutted and continued on her way to the kitchen.

Henry looked at his two grandchildren with perceptive eyes. ‘So, what do you want? It’s not just to say hello, is it?’

Jem laughed. ‘No flies on you, Poppa.’

‘Never have been. Never will be, my boy. So what is it?’

‘Have you taken the boat out for a run yet this year?’

‘A couple of months ago. Got it serviced. Hasn’t been out since. Why?’

‘Can we take it out one day? Belinda and Emily want to have a ride.’

‘And where will you go?’

‘Just along to Trevay and then up the river for a picnic. I won’t go mad.’

Henry looked at Jem for a couple of moments, considering the request. ‘OK – as long as I can come too. You can be skipper though.’

‘Fantastic!’ Jem’s face split into a huge grin.

Henry continued: ‘How about we take your parents, too? There’s room for everyone.’

‘Ah,’ said Abi. ‘That was the other thing we wanted to talk to you about.’

Jem and Abi told Henry about the argument. ‘We don’t know what it was about, but the atmosphere today is awful.’

‘Hmm. And how are Greg and Francis?’

‘Dad’s got a red mark on his cheek to match the bruise he got when he knocked himself out the other day. Apparently Mum accidentally hit him when he tried to stop them arguing,’ said Jem.

Henry sat for a moment, deep in thought. ‘And you have no idea what this is all about?’

Both kids shook their heads.

‘I’ll have a word and see if I can’t get to the bottom of it.’ Henry sat forward in his chair. ‘Now bring that table a little closer – Granny’s here with the coffee.’

Dorothy poured the coffee from the cafetière and handed round the mugs. ‘Do you know what you want for your birthday?’ she asked Abi.

‘Yes. There’s something, I really, really want … but I don’t think I’ll be allowed to have it.’

Dorothy passed the plate of shortbread to Jem, bypassing Abi.

‘Oh yes? What’s that?’

‘A party on the beach. All my friends. Boys and girls. Barbecue. Some wine. Music. But Mum and Dad want to do the usual thing in the garden.’

Henry and Dorothy both chuckled. ‘I’m sure they do,’ said Henry. ‘Would you like me to work on them? No promises, mind.’

‘Would you?’ pleaded Abi. ‘I would love you for ever!’

Henry laughed again. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He picked up the plate of biscuits. ‘Here, Abi, have one of these.’

‘Thanks, Poppa.’

Jem and Abi left looking much happier than when they’d arrived.

Dorothy waved them off from the front door then rejoined her husband. ‘The trouble with you, Henry Carew, is that you are a soft touch.’

‘I can’t have my grandchildren made miserable. It’s her seventeenth birthday, for God’s sake.’ He winked at his wife. ‘Now then, give me that last clue.’

‘Fly into Portugal. Four letters. First letter F for—’

‘Faro.’

‘Well, it fits.’