The Holiday Home (7 page)

‘Yes. Well, it’s not as if the earth moves
every
time. But it’s the glue that holds a man and woman together in a marriage.’

Pru tipped her head back and laughed. ‘Dear little Connie. It’s as if the feminist movement never happened.’

‘No. It’s not to do with that. It’s …’ Connie felt flustered and hated her elder sister for trying to belittle her.

Dorothy stepped in. ‘Darling, one day you will pray for separate bedrooms. Believe me.’ She stood up and said pointedly, ‘Now, I am off to my peaceful bed in my horrid little bungalow.’ The comment was aimed at Pru, who didn’t react. Dorothy continued: ‘I suggest the pair of you head off for an early night too.’

Both girls tutted in annoyance behind their mother’s retreating back.

Dorothy heard and, without bothering to turn round, added: ‘With luck you’ll be asleep before either of your husbands return.’

*

While the women had been chatting, Henry had been catching up with Greg. He poured them each a large glass of Scotch and motioned for Greg to sit in one of the two armchairs.

‘So, my boy. The business is looking in excellent shape.’

Greg stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Yes, we’ve had a good first half of the year and the Japanese are meeting the delivery dates on the new apps, which I believe will increase our turnover significantly over the next twenty-four months.’

They discussed markets, initiatives and overheads for a while, and then Henry said, ‘You know, my old father wouldn’t recognise the company now. He would have hated all these virtual games. His mantra was always “Nothing can beat the fun—”’

Greg finished it off for him: ‘“—of a family sitting round the table playing Ludo.”’

Henry looked at him in surprise. ‘Have I mentioned that before?’

‘Once or twice.’

‘Well, you’ve been with the company … ooh, how many years is it?’

‘Coming up for twenty-two.’

‘Twenty-two years. My goodness! And look at you now: managing director.’

Every year Greg and Henry had this discussion. Greg had joined the company as a graduate trainee. His excellent degree in business and marketing meant he’d been marked out as management potential, but he’d had the nous to ingratiate himself with his colleagues and bosses, getting noticed as the lad who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty sweeping the shop floor or making a good impression on visiting VIPs. Within a few months, Henry had begun grooming him for bigger things.

Henry liked to have Greg as his eyes and ears among the workers. Greg never pulled any punches. He told Henry who was good, who needed help and who was just plain useless. He also persuaded Henry to make improvements to staff working conditions by loosening up the rosters, smartening up the canteen and improving holiday leave. None of this did him any harm with his workmates or with Henry. One summer he’d received an invitation to a private barbecue at Henry and Dorothy’s house. He could still remember how hard he’d tried not to flirt with Connie. She was almost eighteen and reminded him, in certain lights, of a young Brigitte Bardot.

‘I’ll tell you honestly, Greg,’ Henry said now, ‘I didn’t think you were good enough for Connie when you asked me if you could marry her. But you’ve been a marvellous addition to the family and the company. Cheers!’ They raised their glasses to each other.

Greg had heard this speech many times before.

‘I am lucky to have her and Abi and a job with a company I’m so proud of.’ This answer always achieved a satisfactory end to the conversation. Henry grinned over his empty glass. ‘Get me another of these and let’s see how we’re doing against the West Indies, shall we?’

Henry enjoyed male company. He was fond of his sons-in-law. Both so different, but decent husbands to his girls. He heard the front door open and Francis’s voice called out, ‘Helloo.’

‘Come in, my boy, come in,’ Henry roared. Francis appeared in the sitting room.

‘Hi. Am I disturbing you?’

‘Not at all, old boy. Get yourself a glass of Scotch and sit down.’

Greg shifted his legs so that Francis could get past him to the drinks tray.

‘How are the women?’ Greg asked sardonically.

‘Fine. All having their cup of tea and chatting nicely.’

‘How do you put up with them?’ asked Greg.

Francis looked bemused. ‘I like them. I like women. Between us three, we’ve done pretty well.’

Greg was about to say something horribly misogynistic when it struck him that it might upset his father-in-law. Coughing, he replied, ‘Quite so. Very lucky indeed. Women. God bless them.’ And he raised his glass in salute.

On the television the England team were fielding like demons and the West Indies were falling apart. None of the men found it necessary to talk. This was the pleasure of being a man.

Henry must have dozed off for a moment, because the sound of his wife’s voice woke him with a start.

‘That’s it, boys.’ Dorothy stepped over their sprawled legs and reached for the remote control. ‘I’m turning this off.’

‘We were enjoying that!’ protested Henry.

She sniffed the air. ‘You’ve been enjoying too much whisky – I can smell it. Come on, chop chop. You’ve all got beds to go to.’

The men slowly stood and stretched. Henry shook hands with Greg and Francis and slapped them both on the shoulders. ‘Good to see you, fellas. Sleep well. Sorry about She Who Must Be Obeyed.’

‘I heard that!’ came his wife’s voice from the hallway.

After closing the door on ‘the boys’, Henry went to the kitchen where his wife was making two cups of Ovaltine. ‘Nice lads,’ he said. ‘The girls are happy enough, aren’t they?’

‘I think so.’

‘Lucky fellas to have such good wives.’ He patted her bottom. ‘And I’m lucky to have you.’

She handed him his mug of Ovaltine. ‘Down, boy!’

5

I
t was the first morning of the holiday proper. Francis loved this time. He had got up early and gone for a walk on the cliff path. The sun was promising a warm day and as he felt its heat on his muscles, he broke into a gentle jog which felt really good. He was of medium height, slim build and thinning hair. An average-looking man, but with a kind face and expressive eyes. His mouth was regular and he had exceptional teeth. White and even. Flossed every morning. He stopped on a stretch of springy grass and lay on the turf, closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face. The phone in his pocket vibrated, signalling a text message.

Call me! x

It was from Belinda.

Francis looked around, guiltily, and deleted the message. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket he headed for home.

He let himself quietly back into the house and tried to focus on his chores. He emptied the dishwasher, set up a recycling station, emptied the kitchen bin and put the coffee on. Then he sat down with the previous day’s crossword and attempted to put Belinda out of his mind. He almost leapt out of his skin when Jeremy and Abigail appeared with a cheery ‘Morning.’

‘Oh.’ His hands shook as he straightened his reading specs. ‘You made me jump.’

Abigail gave him a squeeze on her way to the fridge, ‘Soz, Unc. Didn’t mean to!’

Jeremy looked at his father. ‘You all right, Dad – feeling OK? You look a bit pale.’

‘Erm, yes.’ Francis laughed self-consciously. ‘Do I? Gosh, no, nothing wrong. Just a tad preoccupied, that’s all.’

‘With what – not worrying about tonight’s dinner, are you? Lentils and broccoli stir-fry or quinoa and broad bean stew? God, please let Aunt Con cook tonight, Dad – we’re wasting away!’

‘Don’t be cheeky,’ Francis said, aiming a swipe at his son with a tea towel.

Abi swung a large bottle of orange juice towards Jem. ‘Want some?’

‘Yuh. Thanks.’ Jeremy sat at the breakfast table, expecting his cousin to sort it out for him.

‘Can I cook you some scrambled eggs?’ his father asked.

‘Nah. Abi, get me some crunchy nut cornflakes, would you?’

‘What did your last servant die of?’ Abi replied, bashing him on the head with a teaspoon as she passed.

‘So, kids, what are you up to today?’ Francis asked, reaching for the box of cereal.

*

The cousins found themselves a warm spot in the dunes. The tide was on its way in and the sea was calm and glistening.

Abigail stretched her arms above her head and took a deep breath. ‘I love the first day of the holidays, don’t you?’

Jeremy, who had been watching a gorgeous redhead wriggle into her bikini while attempting to keep her towel round her, gave a distracted, ‘Mmm.’

Abigail followed his eyeline. ‘You’re punching way above your weight there, boy.’

Jeremy pretended to be confused. ‘What? Hmm? Oh, the ginger? Hadn’t noticed her. But now you mention it she’s all right, I suppose.’

The pair of them lay watching the girl as she carefully applied sun cream to her generous bosom and milky thighs.

Jeremy sighed lustily. ‘Do you suppose she’d like some help with that?’

Abigail giggled. ‘Men! Don’t you think of anything else?’

‘No.’

The pair laughed, enjoying the friendship they had always shared. More like brother and sister than cousins.

Abi settled down to read her gossip magazine and Jeremy’s attention was now drawn from the redhead to the rest of the beach. There were a lot of gorgeous girls about this summer, he thought longingly. But how was he going to meet one? He would be seventeen next year and girls occupied his every waking moment and his dreams too. He turned on his side towards Abi and, shielding his eyes from the sun, asked, ‘Any of your mates coming down this year?’

‘No. They’re all busy. I wanted Clemmie to come, but her mum’s getting married again or something, so she can’t.’

Jem was sorry to hear this. Clemmie was hot. He said, with some wisdom, ‘Parents enjoy ruining kids’ plans.’

‘Yeah.’ Abi turned on her side to face Jeremy. ‘How were your GCSEs?’

‘All right, I think. Mum tried her best to bribe me into getting straight As.’ Here he imitated his mother’s voice: ‘“One hundred pounds for every A you get, young man.”’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘Well, we’ll see.’ He shifted his weight to get more comfortable. ‘By the way, what are you going to do for your birthday this summer?’

Abi’s birthday, falling in August, was always spent in Cornwall. Usually her parents organised a barbecue in the garden with local kids and any holidaying children Abi and Jem had befriended on the beach. But this year would be her seventeenth and she was hoping for something better.

‘I want to have an all-night party, on the beach. Dancing till dawn, no parents, sexy boys and plenty of booze.’

Jem sniggered. ‘Yeah, right. And Auntie Connie’s agreed to that, has she?’

‘She doesn’t know yet. She might never know. Maybe you and I could organise it without her or Dad ever finding out …’

*

It was almost midday and Francis was at the kitchen table writing a shopping list when Connie came in.

‘Morning, Francis.’ She kissed the top of his head.

‘Morning, Connie. Good lie-in?’

‘Marvellous. I’ve been reading. It’s bliss not to have to get up for anything. Greg’s still asleep. I’ve left him to it.’

‘There’s coffee in the pot. Would you like me to make some toast?’ he asked.

‘You’re a darling, Francis. Yes please.’ She slumped into a chair. ‘How’s my hypochondriacal sister’s back this morning?’

The two of them shared a smile at their mutual understanding of Pru’s ruse. Connie knew that Francis had his wife’s number, but he was far too loyal (and too smart) to ever criticise his wife. Pru was lucky to have him, but Connie doubted that her sister appreciated the things Francis did for her, the sacrifices he’d made.

‘A lot better, I think. I’ve run her a hot bath to loosen it.’

‘Yes. I noticed there was no hot water.’ Connie sighed and stretched her arms above her, watching her brother-in-law as he popped two slices of bread in the toaster. ‘Francis?’

‘Ye-es?’ He was chewing the end of his biro now and looking at his very long shopping list.

‘You must be glad of this summer break. How have things been?’

‘Oh, you know. Busy running around ferrying Jem to and from his various social activities – I was pretty strict about making sure that he found time to study – but lately it’s been all work and no play, what with his GCSEs.’

Connie nodded. ‘I know what you mean. I seem to spend all my time chauffeuring Abi. I worry about her. She’s so beautiful, I can’t help being afraid that she’ll be lured away from the straight and narrow.’ She brushed at a couple of Jeremy’s cornflake crumbs left on the table. ‘She’ll be seventeen soon. My little girl is almost grown up.’

‘You can’t hold them back, Con. Do you remember how you were at that age?’

‘Christ – I don’t want to remember!’ She laughed and swept the cornflakes into her hand before getting up and putting them in the bin. ‘How are things with the PTA? Last time we talked, you were really getting stuck into all that stuff.’

Francis gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, pretty much what you’d expect: so far so boring!’ He hurried to change the subject: ‘But Pru’s the one with the stress, not me.’

‘You work hard too, though, looking after the house and Jeremy.’

The toaster popped and Francis grabbed a plate, a knife and the butter dish, then put it all down in front of Connie.

She thanked him. ‘Greg’s always putting in long hours at work, so I’m in the same boat as you. Being the one who stays home, keeping things running smoothly – that’s important work too. I like to think I’m providing a sanctuary for him to escape to, leave the stress behind.’

Connie ploughed on: ‘He and Pru are lucky to have us. It’s the little things, isn’t it? Making sure the fridge is stocked with their favourite food. A well-ordered house with clean towels and a comfy bed.’

Francis was still distracted. ‘Well, yes …’

Connie went for the big one: ‘A nice cuddle in the marital bed at the end of a long day.’ She stopped to observe his reaction to the last comment. Apart from a slight pause in writing his list, Francis made no response.

‘Greg and I have been married for twenty years, and the physical side of our relationship is terribly important. Good sex keeps a couple together, don’t you think?’