‘Do they actually live here?’ she asked Dan as he came up behind her to put his arms around her waist. She leaned against his chest.
‘It would be a pretty big scam otherwise. Unless they’re really burglars who wait at the airport for gullible families to swap houses with. Maybe that’s how they get their kicks. What do you think? Should we call the police?’
‘Don’t you dare, I never want to leave here.’
His arms tightened. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
She knew by the way he said it that he wasn’t talking about inspecting the bathrooms. ‘I should check on the children.’
‘After,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Come on.’ Strands of hair tickled her neck from his breath.
The children probably wouldn’t die in half an hour. But then again, they might. She couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves in the countryside. They hadn’t even been inside the house yet. ‘Let’s just check on them quickly. First.’
They found Katie and Oliver in one of the airy barns, exactly where they were told not to go, but Sophie’s annoyance disappeared when she saw the goats. They were pure white, and they had babies.
‘They’re kids,’ Katie told her. ‘Saanen kids.’
Oliver pointed at one mother, whose greedy offspring were butting her udder. Every so often their tiny tails wagged madly as they drank. ‘That’s Ophelia,’ he said. ‘And that one over there is Pandora. Is that right?’ he asked the young woman in wellies who stood inside the pen.
‘Other way round, but well remembered. Hi, I’m Marion.’ She held out her hand, first to Sophie, then to Dan, as they made their introductions over the pen’s wooden barrier. She worked with James, she told them. She was in charge of the goats while he was away.
‘It’s a shame you didn’t get the time off, too,’ Sophie said. Her mum’s office used to close when the owners went on holiday, so everyone got the same weeks off. And the week between Christmas and New Year. They’d closed, too, the day of her mum’s funeral.
‘Silly bean,’ Dan said. ‘They can’t exactly turn off the goats whenever it suits them.’
‘Right, of course, they still need milking every day,’ Sophie said. ‘I hadn’t thought.’ The goats were clustered at the edge of their pens, staring at her with their pale hazel eyes. One stood on her back legs with her front ones on the rail.
‘What’s your capacity here?’ Dan asked Marion. He was all business now.
‘Production-wise?’ Marion asked. ‘Forty-one now, plus six bucks and the kids.’
‘And your yield?’
‘Just over eight pounds per day.’ Marion put her hands into the pockets of her dungarees.
‘You make the cheese, too? I’d love to see that. If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘You’re welcome any time,’ she said. ‘I make it every day.’
‘No rest for the farmer, eh?’ Dan grinned. ‘Well, we don’t want to get in your way.’ He turned towards Katie and Oliver. ‘Let’s leave Marion to do her job … unless you want to stay?’
Marion jumped in, just as Dan must have known she would. ‘I don’t mind having them here. If you’re happy then I can even put them to work.’
‘As long as you’re sure it’s no bother,’ Dan said. ‘We’ll just be in the house if you need us. C’mon, Soph.’
Sophie checked over the children’s clothes. Nothing that couldn’t be washed. Besides, she didn’t have the heart to tear Oliver away. ‘I’ll unpack, okay?’ she told Katie. But Katie wasn’t listening.
Dan grabbed her hand as they made their way from the barns. ‘That was easy.’
He was kissing her before they’d even closed the front door. ‘Time to see what’s upstairs.’
‘Let me ring Dad first,’ she said.
‘We don’t need his permission.’
‘Ha ha. Just to tell him we’re here.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ He held his hand out for her phone.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Texting. It’s quicker. If you ring, you know you won’t be able to get off quickly … and you deserve to get off – quickly.’
There was no mistaking what he meant by that. The GP had recommended more exercise, and she wasn’t one to go against sound medical advice. She gave him her phone.
She’d always found Dan so sexy, the way he told her exactly what he wanted in bed. Something about his voice then, low and urgent, never failed to make her quiver. She was one lucky woman, she thought. Soon, though, she wasn’t thinking anything because their lovemaking whisked her off into another world.
Her heartbeat finally slowed again as they lay together on the huge bed. Dan drew slow circles on her bare tummy, sending more shivers through her.
‘How many blokes can still perform like that after sixteen years?’ His chest was puffed up to chocolate soufflé proportions.
‘It’s because I still turn you on,’ she said, glancing sideways to see his reaction.
‘Even after two children, you’ve still got it, Soph.’
She play-slapped his hand away. Then she started to get up.
‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘You need to relax.’ He kissed her deeply, then grabbed his jeans.
‘I can’t. What will the children think if they come back?’
‘They’ll think you’re resting. And you are. Now’s the time to indulge yourself, Soph.’ He reached beneath her to pull out the pillow that she’d crushed. He fluffed it before adjusting it behind her back. ‘Where’s your book?’
Sophie stretched. She could get used to this. ‘In my little bag, there.’
He put on her glasses for her, poking the arms behind her ears. They were crooked but she didn’t adjust them. ‘Have a read. Or a nap,’ he said.
‘Nice idea, but we need to get food. You saw the fridge.’ Completely empty and cleaned to within an inch of its life. Again, she thought of her vegetable drawer.
‘Why don’t I go into town?’ Dan offered. ‘I’ll take the kids with me. Marion will probably be sick of them by now.’
She probably could manage a little nap. They’d been up at dawn to get to the airport. Had all this really happened since this morning?
Dan buttoned his shirt. Then he brushed the front to smooth it. ‘I can do the cooking, so just leave everything to me.’
‘Or we could make it easy and get takeaway tonight,’ she suggested. ‘And Harriet said there’s a cook in the village. I bet she could come to us from tomorrow if we ring her now.’
‘I don’t need some stranger cooking when I’m taking care of you now, Soph. I’ll cook.’
‘That’s not much of a holiday for you.’ It wasn’t much of holiday for her, either, if she was honest. Dan cooking was better than her having to do it, like she did most days, but she’d looked forward to tasting some new dishes.
‘I don’t mind,’ Dan said. ‘I want to.’
That seemed to settle that. Sophie wasn’t about to look a gift chef in the mouth. She stretched again and snuggled further down under the duvet.
She’d barely started to drift off when Dan’s voice floated through the window from below. He must have gone outside to ring the office. Typically thoughtful.
‘We’re in the fucking English countryside,’ she heard him say. Her skin began to prickle. Fucking English countryside? He’d seemed as excited to be here as she was.
‘But the good news is, we’ve landed on our feet,’ he went on. ‘And then some. Sophie loves this place. It’s straight out of a film. Now that I’ll be in the UK you can ring any time something comes up, okay? How’s everything?’
Sophie wished he’d at least waited a little while before talking to Laxmi. She ran his entire office, and that made her worth her weight in the artisan chocolate that he bought by the caseload for her every Christmas. But she was as much a workaholic as Dan.
‘What do you mean, carry on for me?’ Dan’s voice was tense now. Sophie wondered if that made Laxmi as anxious as it did her. ‘I told you, Laxmi, nobo
dy is to touch my cases. It doesn’t matter. If anyone needs anything, anything, you ring me, okay? I’m handling my cases. It makes no difference that I’m not in the office. All right. I will. I’ll talk to you later.’
So much for Dan getting a break from work, thought Sophie.
Chapter 5
Thursday
If only Harriet had packed her labelmaker! How annoying that she hadn’t predicted needing it, even though she couldn’t think of a single scenario in Rome where it would have been handy.
It wasn’t just handy in Sophie’s house, it was necessary. By Harriet’s yardstick, anyway.
She didn’t need anyone to point out that her love of orderliness was a bit OTT. She’d always been like that. She recalled being surprised that her friends didn’t have an inventory for their toys like she had. She could still clearly remember the sturdy little journal with her neat lettering on the front. Signing Out Book for Toys (and Games). How else could they be sure they never lost anything?
She’d tidied up Sophie’s house a lot, but she could still see too much clutter. Every extra kitchen appliance that didn’t fit into the overfull cabinets, each pair of shoes that had to live in the hall (neatly arranged, but still), made her teeth clench.
Harriet needed a little sit-down when she opened the linen cupboard.
She assumed it was the linen cupboard, though t-shirts and kitchen cleaning products were also stuffed onto the shelves along with a pair of wellies and, as she excavated further, an array of winter coats. The sheets that were folded – and that wasn’t a given, either – didn’t even lie flat. They’d just been pushed up against the already teetering piles.
The labelmaker that Harriet ordered online was just what Sophie needed. She’d found an identical one to hers, the original and best, with the spinny alphabet embossing wheel. It would be one of tomorrow’s projects. And how happy would Sophie be when she saw everything neatly labelled! Though much of the fun came from making them: the satisfaction of aligning each letter on the wheel. Feeling the faint click as the letter lined up. Working her thumbnail under the back to peel off the stiff label and then running her finger over the raised letters on shiny red tape and, finally, seeing it stuck perfectly centred and level on the edge of its shelf.
When she went downstairs, her family were in the same places she’d left them in the living room.
‘Ready for dinner?’ They didn’t usually eat this late. James was up with the goats, so he had an excuse for eating like a farmer. Harriet and Billie had fallen into the same early habits.
Well, now they were out of their routines.
Billie glanced up from her phone but said nothing.
‘Good idea,’ James said.
‘Good, let’s go.’
‘Where?’ Billie wanted to know.
‘We’ll find something. Close.’ Harriet added this last bit especially for Billie. She was so like James, and it was a blessing, she supposed, that she hadn’t inherited Harriet’s pinging mind. Billie seemed happy sitting for hours doing nothing. ‘Just being’, she claimed. Harriet wasn’t interested in just being when she could be just doing. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Why can’t we order in?’ Billie looked at James, not Harriet.
‘Mm, yeah, let’s order in. We could get anything we want,’ James said. He’d been just being, too, reading a book about trees.
‘We’re in London! We can get anything we want by walking out the front door. Honestly. Get up. We’re going out for dinner like civilised humans do.’
Massive inconvenience was written all over Billie’s face as she unfolded herself from the armchair. ‘You win.’
‘We all win,’ Harriet reminded her.
Sophie had been right: they were in the middle of everything, which made it doubly annoying when Billie wanted to stop at the very first restaurant they passed. Harriet didn’t break her stride as she said no. The second? No. Third, fourth and fifth? ‘It’s not like home,’ she snapped. ‘We actually have choices here.’
‘And you’re making us walk past every single one before you decide,’ Billie grumbled back.
‘Fine, have it your way.’ Harriet yanked open the door to a passable-looking Italian. ‘Just don’t complain to me if it’s not good.’
Inside, Harriet considered her family across the small table. They loved to think they were so flexible, but they were creatures of habit, too. Who didn’t enjoy the comfort of sameness? Eating the same breakfast, stopping at the same café, standing in the same spot waiting for the train, listening to the same radio stations, checking the same websites and apps online. Harriet was just aware enough to admit that she preferred living in an orderly world.
Billie happily tucked into the bread basket like she always did. James was running his finger down the menu. Harriet knew what he was doing. James was an includer when it came to ordering. He gathered together all of the options he thought he’d like, then chose the most appealing. That way, if the waiter said they’d run out of his first choice, he’d still be happy with his next one.
Harriet, on the other hand, was an excluder. Whenever a menu choice had an ingredient that she didn’t fancy, she knocked it out of the running. Then she picked from what was left over.
They both got what they wanted in the end, but from opposite positions.
Story of their lives, really.
If only her family would be the tiniest bit grateful for the effort she was making. No matter what activities she offered over dinner: the Natural History Museum and London Zoo for James, a West End show that Billie had mentioned wanting to see, guided walks by the river or through some of London’s historic areas, their reaction was only slightly warmer than a proposed trip to the supermarket on a Saturday morning.
It didn’t seem too much to ask that her family try to enjoy themselves in one of the greatest cities in the world, when she’d spent the last three years’ holidays bumping her head on the low beams of the most remote cottages she could find, because she knew how much James loved being in the middle of nowhere. She’d even gone walking every day with him and Billie, slogging up mountainsides laden with packed sandwiches and extra plasters, maps, trail mix, mosquito repellent, sunscreen, the wireless phone charger, emergency water bottles and half a dozen extra layers for when everyone got cold or wet or the wind picked up.
‘Listen,’ she said, poking her tiramisu spoon across the table at them, ‘we’re going to treat London as a holiday whether you like it or not. Otherwise why did we come here?’
‘Because you wanted to,’ James said.
She shot a dirty look first at her husband in general, then at the chocolate powder in one corner of his mouth. ‘So did Billie, if I remember correctly.’ Harriet always remembered correctly. ‘I believe she thought the idea was wicked. There’s nothing wicked about sitting in someone else’s house doing nothing, so I suggest you both get on board with this, because it’s happening. You can either be happy or unhappy about it. Your choice.’
‘Our choice?’ said James. ‘Since when is anything our choice?’
‘Come on, James, please. Can’t you even appreciate that I’m trying to make it a nice holiday for everyone?’ She knew she pushed them sometimes, but they wouldn’t do anything otherwise. And she really was doing her very best to accommodate them.
‘I know you are.’ James started to reach for her non-tiramisu hand, but stopped. ‘Only you could manoeuvre your way around a continent-wide natural disaster and get a holiday out of it. We can do a museum tomorrow if you want.’ He searched her face. ‘And a walk,’ he added. ‘What do you say, Billie? For Mum’s sake.’ He pushed his chair back. ‘’Scuse me, I’ll just pop to the loo.’
‘We’re nearly finished. Why not go at the house?’
But he was already out of his chair. ‘Won’t take a minute. Grab the waiter for the bill if you see him.’
She knew exactly why he didn’t wait till they got back. It would be harder to use his phone with her around. She couldn’t
very well burst in on him here like she sometimes did at home. Not all the time, obviously. A person does need their privacy in toilet habits. She only did it when she knew he was in there faffing with his phone. Perusing Goat Monthly or Farmer’s Bazaar or some such ridiculous website. That man couldn’t stop thinking about his animals for one minute. It drove her mad.
Not to mention the questionable hygiene of handling phones in loos.
Her eyes drifted to the huge wall of wine bottles behind the narrow bar at the back of the restaurant. There was room for three bottles by four in each square, eight squares across by six squares high was forty-eight, times twelve was 576, minus … she counted the few empty spaces until James returned to the table.
‘Get your fix?’ she asked.
His eyes darted to the loo and back. ‘What do you mean?’
Then his phone chimed. Harriet saw Persephone’s name flash on his screen. James put the phone back in his pocket.
‘Never mind,’ she said.
Harriet waited until after breakfast the next morning to ring Sophie. ‘Your house is so beautiful!’ Sophie gushed when she answered. ‘It’s perfect, the whole area, the village and everything, it’s just stunning. You are so lucky.’
Try living there, Harriet thought. But instead she said, ‘Your house is … very central. We went to the Italian place near you for dinner last night. It was tasty. I’m afraid you won’t find any Italian in our village except for ASK Pizza.’
‘That’s okay, we want to eat locally. Dan did a little shop yesterday at the butcher’s. Does everyone here know each other?’
Harriet sighed. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s lovely. We’ve lived in our house for ten years and I still don’t know all my neighbours.’
What a heavenly thought.
‘It was such an inspired idea to swap houses,’ Sophie went on. ‘Although I’m afraid we left ours in a bit of a tip in our rush to catch the flight. I’m sorry about that. Especially since yours is so tidy. Feel free to shove anything out of the way while you’re there, of course.’
The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters Page 5