The Holiday Home

20


As they watched Belinda’s car disappear down the lane, Dorothy found the spare set of keys to Atlantic House.

‘Come on, Henry – we’re going to check on the roofer and take a look at what they’ve been up to next door.’

The moment they unlocked the door, the smell of fresh polish and washing powder hit them with a pleasing strength. They wandered from room to room, Henry checking that the television was still working and that the woodwork was being rubbed down and properly prepared for painting. Dorothy went into every corner, trying to spot anything that had been missed by duster or vacuum. When the downstairs passed the inspection with flying colours, she made her way upstairs. The curtains in one of the bedrooms were missing, still at the cleaners, but the carpets were newly shampooed and pristine.

Dorothy checked her old en-suite bathroom, now used by Pru and Francis. The basin tap was dripping.

‘Henry?’ she called. ‘Has that bloody plumber finished? Only the tap is still dripping up here.’

Henry’s muffled voice came from somewhere downstairs, possibly outside. She caught the words ‘boiler’ and ‘leak’ and ‘damn cowboy’ and went to find him.

He wasn’t in the kitchen, but the back door was open. As she walked through it and out into the garden, she found him coming out of the top cellar that led down to the cave.

‘That useless bugger! Look in here.’ He went back through the old fortified door and she followed.

‘Oh my God!’ she said. The floor was six inches deep in water.

‘Quite. That stupid idiot hasn’t tightened the joints on the piping. Well, I hope he’s not expecting to be paid for this.’

They heard the sound of whistling outside. Henry moved faster than a man half his age.

‘That’s the bugger now! Let me deal with him.’

Merlin took Henry’s furious rant with annoying calm, rolling a leisurely cigarette all the while. When Henry had run out of steam, Merlin lit up and asked, ‘What would you like me to do to make it all better?’

Henry returned to the boil again. ‘It’s bloody obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Righto, Mr Carew, I’ll see to it directly. I’ll have to turn the water off at the mains for now. Then I’ll be back Monday.’

Henry stood aghast at the brass neck of the man. ‘Monday? It’s Wednesday today. We can’t go without water for that long!’

‘Ah, but I’m a busy man. Got a job on at Higher Barton, see.’

‘Buggering up their plumbing too?’ blasted Henry. ‘In that case, I’ll get a proper plumber in to sort this out. Don’t bother sending me any bills as I shan’t be paying them.’

Dorothy, worried that they might not be able to find a plumber, stepped in. ‘Merlin, please. Whatever it costs, do it today.’

‘Well, now, that’ll be double time and cancellation of my other job, so …’

‘I’ll give you two hundred in cash, provided it’s done by tonight.’ Dorothy held her hand out for Merlin to shake.

He hesitated for a second then took her hand. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mrs Carew.’

Henry walked away before he blew his top at his wife’s profligate waste of money.

Dorothy continued: ‘I see your friend hasn’t repaired the tiles on the roof.’

‘He’ll be here directly, and he’ll do a proper job up there. Just one or two bits to tidy up in the attic. I was going to attend to them today, but I can do them next week an’ all. OK?’

Not waiting for an answer, Merlin jumped athletically into the cab of his van and drove off as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Dorothy turned to Henry, who was staring in horrified fascination at the retreating van, and said soothingly, ‘Now then, I’m taking you out to the pub for lunch. You could do with a drink.’

*

The beautiful historic pub restaurant, built to lean over the small river that ran through Polperro, was cool and welcoming. Pru chose a table for them, and called for the menus.

‘I’ll have the deep-fried brie with gooseberry marmalade, please,’ said Connie, handing her menu back to the young waiter.

Pru gave her order: ‘Dressed crab with a plain green salad, thank you. And the same for my husband.’

‘I was thinking about the courgette soup and chargrilled quorn burger,’ said Francis.

‘You’ll prefer the crab.’ Pru looked over Francis’s head to Greg. ‘Greg, what’ll you have?’

‘When did pubs stop serving proper pub food?’ Greg grumbled, ‘I’ll have the steak, very rare, with chips, fried mushrooms and grilled tomatoes, please.’

‘Very good, sir. Would you like your French fries chunky or skinny?’

‘I don’t know. What do I like, Con?’

‘Chunky.’

‘Chunky, please.’

‘Very good.’ The waiter made a note on his pad – probably something insulting, thought Greg – before enquiring, ‘And to drink …?’

When the small party was finally settled and the drinks had arrived, Greg raised his pint to Pru and Connie. ‘Cheers, girls! Thank you for looking after the house and two old crocks of husbands.’

They all chinked their glasses.

‘Lovely spot,’ remarked Francis.

‘Isn’t it,’ said Connie fondly. ‘Greg brought me here when we were first together.’

‘How did you find it?’ asked Francis, curious.

‘The old AA book recommended it.’

‘It’s amazing you made it here at all,’ sniffed Pru, ‘if your sense of direction was as bad then as it was today.’

‘That junction said Tadcombe left,’ protested Greg. ‘I can’t be held responsible for the mysteries of Cornish signposting.’

‘OK, children. Stop now,’ pleaded Connie, anxious to quell any further debate on the subject.

The food arrived and was eaten in near silence. The sound of the river running playfully outside and the view of its fern-lined banks was enough to keep them occupied with safe topics of conversation to the end of the meal.

*

As Greg paid for the meal, which Pru noticed went on his Carew company credit card, Connie asked him, ‘Would you come with me down to the harbour? We can take the cliff path and look at the view, the same as we did all those years ago.’ She snuggled against his cast as he used his good arm to put his wallet back into his trouser pocket.

Connie’s intention was to spend a bit of time alone with her husband, but once again she was to be thwarted.

‘OK,’ sighed Pru. ‘As long as it’s not too far.’

*

The view from the cliffs was worth the walk. To the left was the open sea and to the right the ancient fishing harbour. They found a bench and sat watching the sea as it curled over itself and sent wisps of spray flying like smoke in the wind. Then they turned their attention to the harbour and watched as a woman and a teenager, presumably her daughter, drove a Land Rover towing a small motorboat down a slipway. At the water’s edge the Land Rover reversed to the water and the daughter jumped out. In a few minutes, she had detached the boat and eased it into the waves.

‘Abi’s party is going to be great fun,’ said Francis. ‘Belinda is taking her role as party organiser very seriously.’

‘Isn’t she just?’ Connie winced, then continued: ‘My baby – seventeen. She wants to learn to drive, but I’m not keen on encouraging that.’

‘She’ll have to one day,’ said Greg.

‘I know. But seventeen is too young. I mean, the roads at home are so busy and narrow.’

They were still watching the girl and her motorboat. The older woman had driven up the slipway and off down the road. Meanwhile the girl climbed aboard and started the boat’s engine. Within minutes she was heading confidently out to sea.

‘That’s very cool,’ said Greg. ‘What a nice little boat.’

‘And a beautiful day to take it out,’ said Francis.

Connie watched her husband with pursed lips. ‘No. You are not having a boat.’

‘Not for me! A birthday present for Abi. Give her some adventure without the dangers of the road. It’ll be fun for us all.’

*

On the journey home from Polperro, Greg and Connie bickered over the proposed new boat.

‘What would she do with a boat?’ Connie argued.

‘She’d use it for fun and water skiing with her friends.’

‘She doesn’t water ski.’

‘Precisely. Now she can learn.’

‘She’s got the Dorothy if she wants a boat.’

‘You know what Henry’s like about that thing. He won’t let anyone take it out without him. She needs some freedom.’

‘But I don’t want her to have that sort of freedom.’

On and on they went while, in the back, Francis read his Kindle and Pru gently snored.

*

‘Helloooo!’ Belinda was bellowing from the front door.

‘In the kitchen,’ called Connie, noticing Francis scuttle out to the garden.

Belinda pushed her way into the room with armfuls of bags. Her bracelets were tight on her podgy wrists, the buttons on her shirt mostly undone, revealing her tanned bosom and a pink bra. Her tiny mini skirt was riding up over freckled thighs.

‘Where’s Francis? I have some ideas on the party food.’

Catching sight of Francis scampering across the lawn towards the beach gate, Connie summoned him in a loud voice: ‘Francis! Belinda is here and would like to speak to you.’

He stopped running and turned towards the house, knowing when he was defeated.

‘Look at all this lovely stuff Belinda has bought for the party, Francis!’

He could see a lot of shimmering net fabric and boxes of fairy lights bursting out of the carrier bags Belinda was dumping on the kitchen table.

Plucking some of the netting out of the bag, she walked towards Francis and wrapped it around his shoulders. ‘You’d make a wonderful sea nymph, Frankie.’

He tried to smile and shrug the fabric off himself at the same time, but he wasn’t quick enough.

‘Uh-uh. Stay there. Let me find …’ She dug in the bag again. ‘Ah, here we are!’ She pulled out a necklace made of winkle shells and put it round his neck. ‘There we are! Give us a kiss.’

‘Francis, what are you doing?’ Pru had come in from the hallway.

Belinda threw her arms round Francis’s neck and chanted, ‘I am under the spell of the mighty sea god, Frankie. There is nothing I can do …’ And she slid down Francis’s thighs and draped herself about his knees.

Connie hooted with laughter.

Pru felt that peculiar draught catch her heart again. Noticing the change in her expression, Francis quickly took off the shells and stepped over the prostrate Belinda towards his wife. ‘Pru, Belinda is just showing us some of the stuff she got for Abi’s party.’

Belinda stood up.

‘I’ve decided on a sea-fairy theme. Green, blue and pink. Wait till you see the lights and candles and costumes I’ve bought!’

‘Abi’s not keen on pink,’ Connie ventured.

‘Not keen on pink!’ Belinda shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Every girl loves pink. Get me a cold drink would you, Con? It’s so hot. Is Abi in?’

Connie was at the fridge, pouring a beaker of juice. She put it into Belinda’s outstretched hand.

‘Oh, that’s better. Thank you.’

‘Abi’s not home yet. I’m expecting her around six-ish.’

‘Right, I’ll wait for her. What’s for tea? I’ll help you make it. You don’t mind me and Emily joining you, do you?’

Connie had no say in the matter. Before she knew it, Belinda was knocking up a bolognese sauce and leaving a trail of saucepans for Connie to wash up.

*

‘Belinda! I love it! It’s going to look amazing. Isn’t she clever, Mum?’ Abi had come in from work more animated than Connie had seen her in ages. All the family were watching as Belinda pulled out one extraordinary thing after another.

‘Yes,’ said Connie, wanly, trying to clear the table and lay it up for eight. ‘So clever. I didn’t think you liked pink.’

‘Pppffff! Of course I like pink! Who doesn’t! Honestly, Mum, where did you get that idea from!’

‘Oh, you know your mother,’ said Greg, standing over Belinda and topping up her glass while trying to get a good gander down her cleavage. ‘She’s very good at getting the wrong end of the stick.’

‘I am not,’ huffed Connie.

‘Yes, you are,’ chorused Abi, Greg and Pru.

Connie felt crushed. She had to dig the nails of her right hand into the palm of her left to stop herself from crying.

‘Can I help you dish up, Con?’ asked Francis kindly.

Eventually everybody was seated and munching their supper.

‘This spaghetti bolognese is delicious,’ said Francis, smiling at Belinda.

‘One of my own recipes, Frankie. Glad you like it,’ shrieked a wine-filled Belinda. ‘I’ll give it to you, if you like?’ she leered.

Greg laughed raucously. ‘Ooh, now that’s a promise I couldn’t turn down, Francis! Ha ha ha.’

Connie turned to him. ‘Sit down, Greg. You’ve had too much wine.’

‘Yes, and you, Francis. I think you’ve had quite enough.’ Pru looked sternly across the table at him.

‘I’ve only had one glass.’

‘Yes, but after all that fresh air today, it’s gone to your head.’ Pru stood up decisively and put the bottles of open wine away. ‘Thank you, Belinda, for a lovely supper. I’m sure you need to get Emily to bed.’

‘But it’s almost nine …’

‘Quite,’ said Pru determinedly.

‘Oh. I see.’ Belinda stood up, ‘Come on, Emily. We need to leave the family to themselves and get back to Dairy Cottage.’

‘I was going to watch TV with Abi and Jem.’ Emily couldn’t hide her disappointment.

Belinda was gathering up bags and bits. ‘You must always leave people wanting more. Never overstay the hospitality of others. Now come on.’

They left and the room was instantly quieter.

Pru started to stack the plates. ‘Thank God she’s gone.’