The Holiday Home (20 page)

She smiled when he told her how much he loved her. He was sleeping now. Once again she thought how lucky she was to have a husband she could trust. It had taken a long time for the pain of Merlin’s betrayal to fade.

*

Pru watched Francis as he got himself ready for bed. She tried to see him with fresh eyes. He had strong legs and only a tiny bit of belly. His face was pleasing. His kind eyes were large and well set, his nose of average length and straight. His teeth were good and his hair, although slightly receding, was otherwise thick and cut well. Handsome? She supposed he was, but that wasn’t what had attracted her. It was the man inside that mattered. She knew they were a team. A partnership. They could rely on each other. She looked again at his familiar face.

‘Francis?’

‘Hmm?’ He was concentrating on applying athlete’s foot powder to his toes.

‘I think you have an admirer.’

He froze but managed to say, ‘Oh yes?’ in a tight voice.

‘Yes – Belinda! How funny is that!’

17

T
he following morning found Abi, in her pyjamas, lolling on Jem’s bed.

‘Like, it’s so
unfair.
Mum and Dad have always paid for my birthday parties. Why won’t they pay for this one? They know I haven’t got any money.’ She sighed, twirling her hair round her finger and then picking at the split ends.

Jem was trying to sleep. He hadn’t moved since she’d come in a couple of minutes earlier. Drool had made the pillow wet under his open mouth.

She continued: ‘Where am I supposed to get a job? This is my holiday. I’m supposed to be relaxing after my ASs and building my strength for the A2s.’

‘Uh,’ Jem managed.

‘It’s so mean of them. I’ve worked hard at school and everything and I’m tired. I really need my holiday. They just don’t get it.’

Jem turned over and grunted again.

‘It’s not like I can ask people to bring their own food and drink, is it? So-o-o not cool. I’m seventeen, for crying out loud.’ She tossed the lock of hair behind her shoulder and started picking at her chipped nail polish. ‘I can’t wait to be eighteen and outta here.’

‘Uh.’

‘So what should I do?’

Jem rubbed his eye and farted.

‘Go and look for a job?’

‘Oh, you’re so gross,’ said Abi, wafting a hand under her nose. ‘And anyway, where am I supposed to look for a job?’

Jem knew she wouldn’t let him sleep any longer, so he gave in and opened his eyes. ‘We’ll go to Trevay and ask around.’

‘Will you come with me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘When?’

‘When you’ve left me alone so I can get up and get dressed. Go and put the kettle on and I’ll be down. Put some toast on too.’

Abi gave him a hug. ‘Thanks, Cuz.’

In the kitchen she found her father.

He smiled at her. ‘Good morning, darling daughter. You’re up early this merry morning.’

‘Stop with the sarcasm, OK.’

‘Well, it is only ten forty-five.’

‘Stop having a go at me.’ She glared at him and he continued typing one-handed on his laptop. ‘I’m, like, gonna look for a job … to pay for my birthday party, since you won’t, ’cos you’re too mean.’

‘Correction: I’d happily pay for the usual party in the garden. I’m not happy to pay for a load of drunken teenagers I don’t even know.’

‘I’ve told you I don’t want party games in the garden eating your horrible barbecue sausages. I want a proper party on the beach.’

‘Then you must pay for it.’ Greg snapped shut his computer, stood up, ruffled her fringe and went off towards the garden.

‘Arsehole,’ muttered Abi after him.

Greg reversed through the kitchen door. ‘I heard that.’ He turned to face her. ‘Tell you what – any money you manage to raise, I’ll match it. OK?’

‘Really?’ asked Abi.

‘Yes. Really. That way you’ll learn the value of hard-earned cash.’

‘I know the value of money.’ She sighed theatrically.

‘No you don’t. But you soon will, once you’ve worked eight hours for a tenner.’

*

Trevay was humming with holidaymakers, holidaymakers’ kids and holidaymakers’ dogs. It was just after midday and the cafés and takeaways were doing a roaring trade.

Jem and Abi tried to ask about casual work in three or four places, but the harassed staff simply shrugged their shoulders and either told them that there were no jobs or to come back when it was quieter.

They walked up to the Starfish Hotel but didn’t get beyond the receptionist, who directed them to the hotel website where job vacancies were advertised, but warned that there was nothing going at the moment.

They wandered limply down to the harbourfront and sat on a bench.

‘Fat lot of good that was,’ huffed Abi.

They sat and watched the boats in the harbour. Several motor yachts had strings of washing tied to the rigging, others were languishing empty, waiting for their owners.

There was a brisk trade in speedboat trips. Apprehensive children with eager dads were queuing up to take the high-speed trip around the coast, leaving exhausted-looking mums on the quay, keeping an eye on their over-packed buggies.

A bigger boat, the
Puffin Boy
, slowly entered the harbour and tied up, disgorging its sunburnt passengers.

One of the crewmen was helping some elderly ladies and a woman with a baby in a pushchair, on to the safety of dry land. Once everyone was off, he put out a sandwich board on which were the departure times and details of the next sailings.

He started calling to passers-by: ‘One-hour trip around the bay. You don’t come back, you don’t pay!’

A young couple and their two children stopped and had a conversation with him. After a few moments, they climbed aboard. The crewman started again.

‘See the dolphins and the seals round our beautiful coastline. One hour’s trip. Refreshments served on board.’ A large family group stopped, spoke to the man, then embarked, smiling, making their way to the open seats at the back of the boat.

Jeremy and Abi watched with fond memories. ‘Remember that trip we took on
Puffin Boy
when we were little? I was sick all over Dad,’ laughed Jem.

‘God, yes! Mum and I threw up over the side, but only because Dad held our heads down so we wouldn’t vom on his new deck shoes,’ Abigail remembered, giggling.

‘I’d never do it to my kids,’ said Jem.

‘You’ll have the
Dorothy
by then, though, won’t you,’ Abi stated.

Jem looked at his cousin’s sad face. ‘Look, whatever Mum and Auntie Connie inherit from Poppa, we’ll share. Shake?’

He put his hand out. Abi smiled at him. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘Yep. Let’s you and I make a pact that when they’ve dropped off the perch and we are grown up, we’ll share everything out between us.’ He put his hand out to Abi, who took it and shook.

‘Deal.’

Jem stood up. ‘I wonder if there are any jobs going on
Puffin Boy
.’

The crewman was only too pleased to hear that Jem wanted a job. ‘Got any experience of being at sea?’

‘Yeah. My grandad has a boat: the
Dorothy
.’

The crewman was impressed. ‘You mean the Riva? Mr Carew’s boat?’

‘Yeah.’

‘She’s a beauty. Worth a fortune. And he lets you drive her?’

‘Since I was twelve, yeah.’

The crewman considered this.

‘Can you shout loud enough to call the punters in?’

‘Er, yeah, I’ll, like, try.’

‘Give it a go then.’

Jem cleared his throat: ‘Roll up, roll up for the adventure of a lifetime. The good ship
Puffin Boy
is patrolling for pirates, dolphins and mermaids. Can you help us find them? Roll up, roll up.’

Abi was pink with embarrassment for her cousin but couldn’t stop giggling.

‘Right,’ said the crewman. ‘My name’s Robbie and you’ve got yourself a job. Thirty quid a day. Take it or leave it.’

Jem didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘OK. See you first thing tomorrow. Eight thirty sharp. Time and tide wait for no man.’

*

To celebrate, Abi and Jem cycled back to Treviscum, where Jem scraped up enough cash to buy them a big bag of chips from the burger van in the beach car park.

‘How come you find a job first go and I, who really need one, can’t find one?’ Abi licked her salty fingers.

Jem was in too good a mood to let Abi bring him down. ‘We’ll get you one too, don’t worry. And my birthday present to you will be two days’ pay towards your party.’

‘Would you really do that?’

‘Yep.’

‘How much cider will sixty quid buy?’

‘Almost enough for you. Don’t know about the others though,’ laughed Jem. Balling up his chip paper and searching in his shorts pockets for some more coins, he asked, ‘Want an ice cream for pudding?’

On the sand dunes above the beach was perched a gaily coloured caravan with an awning advertising
Pearl’s Ice Creams
.

Pearl was one of many young women who’d fallen in love while on holiday and decided to stay. Over the long winter, she and her coastguard lover had secured the rental pitch above the beach and invested two hundred pounds in a thirty-year-old caravan.

Gone were the Formica pine-effect worktops and the sofa and pull-out bed.

The interior now housed a state-of-the-art freezer and tea- and coffee-making equipment. Everything was painted white, apart from the ceiling, which was covered in Friesian cow sticky wallpaper. An old but comfy armchair in the corner had a small puppy curled up on it.

The outside was painted in pink-and-white stripes and had wind chimes and driftwood hanging from the sun blind.

A hand-painted menu offered many delicious flavours of ice cream.

At least a dozen hot holidaymakers were queuing.

Pearl was busy: ‘A double rum and raisin with fudge sauce and a chocolate flake for you,’ she said, passing the cone to a middle-aged mum.

‘Two large 99s with extra clotted cream for you,’ she said, handing them to a couple of kids. ‘And a strong coffee for you.’ She poured one for the dad of the family. He took it and handed her a ten-pound note.

‘Keep the change.’

‘Ah, thanks, sir.’ She put the cash in a small pot on the counter and looked at Jem and Abi. ‘Yes, my loves. What can I get you?’

‘Two 99s, please. And would you like a paid helper?’ Jem steamed straight in.

Pearl grinned. ‘Why? Do you want a job?’

‘No, but my cousin Abi does.’

Abi blushed furiously as Pearl laughed with delight.

‘How fabulous! Can you keep an eye on the dog, look after any stray kids, watch the deckchairs and make a decent ice-cream scoop?’

Jeremy nudged Abi into answering. ‘Er. Yes. Well, I mean, I, like, have never done it before, but I’ll try.’

‘Fair enough. You turn up tomorrow, nine thirty, and I’ll show you the ropes. If you’re no good, I’ll pay you what I owe you – thirty quid – and we’ll part friends. However, if you are any good, the job’s yours till the end of the season. Do you have to go off to college or anything?’

‘I go back to school at the beginning of September.’

‘Perfect.’ Pearl passed them their ice creams. ‘On the house. Be here in the morning, on time, and don’t let me down.’

Abi smiled up at this warm and lovely young woman. ‘Thank you. I won’t.’

*

They skipped up the path to the back gate of Atlantic House chanting, ‘We’ve got j-obs. We’ve got j-obs.’

In the garden, Greg, Connie and Dorothy were gently snoozing. They woke as soon as the gate swung on its hinge.

‘We’ve got jobs!’ shouted Abi, running towards her father and falling on to his prone body.

Greg struggled to catch his breath. ‘Have you? Doing what?’

Abi told them all about it.

‘Fantastic!’ said Greg. ‘I am very impressed.’

‘Well done, darling,’ said Connie.

‘Don’t eat the profits,’ said Dorothy, peering over her sunglasses and looking pointedly at Abi’s thighs.

18

J
em and Abi were almost late for their first day at work. Completely out of practice at waking up to an alarm, they didn’t even remember to
set
an alarm.

Francis woke Jeremy at seven forty-five and made him eat some cereal before handing him a packed lunch and waving him off on his bike, bleary-eyed and with shorts drooping dangerously from his hips and exposing an unfortunate amount of pants and buttocks.

‘Bye, son. Good luck,’ Francis called. Back in the kitchen he cleared the Weetabix crumbs from the table, unstacked the dishwasher and restacked the dirty cereal bowl and spoon. He made himself a cup of coffee and thought about Jeremy. He was full of paternal pride for this young man, sixteen, taller than he, but with his father’s kindness and his mother’s brains. Francis would have loved a large clutch of children. He had been an only child himself. At least Jem had Abi.

Abi? He looked up at the clock. Eight thirty-five. He’d better get her up.

Holding a steaming cup of tea in one hand, he knocked gently at her bedroom door.

‘Come in,’ called a sleepy voice.

He opened the door and saw a body shrouded in bedclothes.

‘Abi, it’s eight forty-five. You’ll be late for work.’

A small hand with green-painted fingernails poked out of the duvet and pulled it down, revealing a dozy Abi.

‘Oh,’ she managed as she watched her uncle move various makeup-stained tissues, her phone, and a dirty hairbrush to one side of her bedside table in order to find a place for the mug.

‘Why didn’t anyone wake me?’

‘Well, everyone is still asleep. Did you forget to set your alarm?’

She sank back on to the pillows, closing her eyes with a small frown. ‘Oh. Yuh. Thanks, Uncle Francis.’

‘Get up quickly and I’ll have some breakfast ready for you.’

When she came down, Francis had made her a fried-egg sandwich and a packed lunch.

‘Thanks, Unc. You’re, like, the best.’

They hugged one another and she set off across the lawn and through the private gate to the beach. He watched her go. Hair piled up in a bird’s nest, caught with a tortoiseshell comb, walking with a rumpled, exhausted pace. Lovely Abi. His favourite niece. Technically, his only niece, but he thought that even if there were other nieces she’d still be his favourite.