The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters

by Michele Gorman

  ‘Only booked a table for us.’

  ‘In the farmyard?’

  ‘No, James, that would be daft. In the restaurant. In a farmyard.’ She was smiling now, too. It was an inspired idea. It had only taken seventy-five minutes of googling to make it happen. ‘There’s live music, too. Jazz, I think, and maybe we can hang out with the animals first. So you can get your goat fix.’

  She meant that to be a joke, but James’s eyes glazed over with the anticipation of being reunited with the hairy beasts.

  ‘S’pose we shouldn’t be here for Owen’s party anyway,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not a party, it’s just a few of his friends coming over.’

  James pursed his lips but said nothing more.

  The approach to the farm did look rather enchanted, especially after skittering past council estates and wholesale knock-off handbag shops on the way from the Tube.

  Summer’s deep-green trees arched overhead and a myriad of mismatched plant pots, troughs and trellises bloomed with bright flowers along the cobbled path. Harriet noticed tall glass candle lanterns dotted along the way. The scene would be especially magical in flickering candlelight a few hours from now.

  But by then the animals would be tucked up in bed, or hayloft or hutch or whatever they slept in, and they wouldn’t be able to go into the farm. Which would be just fine by Harriet – she wasn’t keen to navigate droppings in open-toed sandals – but tonight wasn’t about her.

  They let themselves in through the large weathered wooden gate and spent a pleasant enough half-hour with the animals as they bobbed and scratched, bleated, hopped, wallowed, mooed, quacked and hee-hawed.

  James caught her looking at the time. ‘How much have you allocated?’

  ‘Thirty minutes.’ She scanned the hay-strewn enclosures. Three fluffy-footed rare-breed chickens scratched in one corner. Another chancer loitered by the pay-over-the-odds-for-a-dusty-handful-of-feed machine. There were more white ducks. Did seven make a team? A raft? A paddling? There’d been four brown floppy-eared rabbits and five, no, six guinea pigs. That made eleven feathered and ten furred. The furs have it. No, she mustn’t get started down that road. ‘You’ve seen everything, so that’s sufficient, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sufficient. On to the next activity,’ he said. ‘Got it.’ He sounded good-natured about keeping to her schedule. So far, so good.

  She wasn’t keeping time for no reason. She’d got them a table for drinks in the cosy open area before their dinner reservation. Starting four minutes ago.

  The waitress wasn’t bothered by their tardiness, though, so Harriet acted like she wasn’t, either. Tonight was all about reminding James how much fun they used to have, not keeping to a strict schedule (at least as far as James knew).

  The outside bit where they sipped their sloe gin fizzes was full of trendy twenty-somethings. Not that she wanted to be that age again, but she would like to roll back from the precipice of forty-five. Forty-five years old. She remembered thinking at twenty that she’d get her lifespan all over again before she reached forty. Now she was past that. All of the life expectancy calculators she’d tried did predict that she’d get another lifespan, but who knew? Without seeing the assumptions that went into their models, she wasn’t sure she could trust them.

  The dinner menu was all velouté this and essence of that. There were at least half a dozen things she wouldn’t put money on knowing what they tasted like.

  ‘What are you having?’ she asked.

  He scanned the entire menu, which he’d just done two minutes ago. ‘Steak and chips or sea bass.’

  ‘Order the steak and I’ll get the sea bass so we can share,’ she said, just to watch his reaction. ‘Only kidding. But I am having the sea bass.’ James hated sharing his food. You’d never think he was an only child the way he guarded every meal. When they first went out, Harriet made the mistake of suggesting tapas restaurants. She loved eating that way, picking the tastiest morsels instead of having to commit to a single dish that just made her envious of what everyone else had.

  That was the sort of thing couples learned about one another early on, she supposed. Sharing plates versus main courses, how they squeezed the toothpaste tube or the way they put the loo paper on the roll. Then there were the million other quirks and habits revealed over a lifetime of living together. Yet, even after so much time, James could still surprise her. She knew that he always put his socks on before his jeans so he didn’t have to pull the legs up over his sturdy calves, but now she also knew that he wore his belt one notch looser than he really needed to. That was because his boxers sometimes shifted uncomfortably while he was working, and he didn’t want to offend Marion by unbuckling to make adjustments. Although a sneaky reach-in probably wasn’t ideal either, it was typically kind of James to want to spare his colleague.

  Inside, the restaurant was more canteen than cosy, but with three empty sloe gin fizz glasses before they’d even sniffed the wine, it didn’t matter. ‘You should hear what Sophie told me today,’ she confided as their burrata starters turned up – oozy, creamy, buttery-tasting perfection.

  James clasped his big hands to his knees. ‘Do tell me!’

  ‘Don’t make fun or I won’t.’ But she did.

  The mirth in James’s expression drained away. ‘That poor woman. What will she do?’

  ‘I hope nothing drastic until she’s thought everything through,’ Harriet said. Not that she shouldn’t leave the bastard once she had a solid plan. ‘She’s only now realised how long it’s been happening. Evidently this holiday triggered something.’ It was a good thing Harriet wasn’t a superstitious person, who might wonder whether relationships went to die in their village.

  They watched the jazz quartet setting up around the upright piano on the stage area that took up one corner. ‘Now she’s looking all the way back at their entire marriage,’ she added. ‘He stopped her from working, you know. Not directly, but the way he undermined her makes it more sinister.’

  They were quiet while they finished their starters. Then the singer introduced the quartet to the groovy tsth-tsth-tsth-tsth-tsth of the drummer’s snare and bwow wow wow of the upright bass. ‘Do you think anyone ever remembers the musicians’ names?’ Harriet wondered once they’d begun playing properly and their main courses arrived.

  ‘Nope,’ he said, ‘they’re just those guys we heard that time at that place.’ They watched a few couples get up to dance. ‘I am sorry about Sophie.’

  ‘Me too, but it’s better she knows something’s wrong now. There’s no sense in living in la-la land.’ She swallowed down a thought that was too close to home. ‘How’s your steak?’ Get back on target, Harriet.

  Instead of answering, James carefully cut another piece and swirled it around in the Béarnaise sauce. Then he held the fork across the table. ‘Try.’

  ‘Seriously?’ What had got into him tonight? She opened her mouth so he could feed her the steak. ‘Mmm.’ But it was much more than flavoursome goodness that she was savouring.

  Their plates were cleared when James asked her to dance. ‘Your toes are tapping,’ he said. ‘Want to?’

  ‘What’s brought all this on?’ she teased. ‘Sharing your food, volunteering to dance? I feel like I don’t even know who you are any more.’

  He caught her smile and lobbed it back. ‘I know I don’t always seem like I appreciate all the effort you go to. Like tonight. You wouldn’t eat at a farm in a million years if it weren’t for me. Just because it’s not always my thing doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate how hard you try to make everything perfect. I do.’ He stood up and held his hand out to her. ‘Let’s dance.’

  They could barely move with all the other couples on the floor, but there, folded into his arms, she never wanted to lose this. Nose whistling, slow talking, filthy rucksack wearing, Waitrose rejecting aside, James was a good egg. She only had to think about the way he’d handled Billie’s news to know that. ‘This reminds me of when we used to like each other,’ sh
e murmured.

  ‘Me too.’ His arms tightened around her.

  Chapter 26

  Thursday / Friday

  Harriet and James walked together onto Sophie’s road behind three lively teens. The boys’ glances darted back at them like they feared being robbed. That must mean she had street cred! But her delight ebbed away as they followed the boys through Sophie’s wrought-iron gate, up her steps and into her front hall.

  The house was heaving with kids. ‘This is bad,’ she shouted to James. She could feel the music thumping in her chest.

  ‘Bad as in good?’ he shouted back.

  ‘Bad as in liability. It’s not even our house!’ Then she spotted Owen heading for the kitchen. ‘Owen!’

  Instead of slinking away from the danger in her voice, he bounded up to her and clasped her in his arms. Then he threw his arms around James. ‘Come and join the party!’

  ‘Owen, we thought you were just having a few friends over,’ she said.

  ‘I know, it’s bangin’! Look how many friends I’ve got!’ he gurned at them.

  ‘It is bangin’!’ James said.

  ‘You don’t even know what you’re saying,’ she told James.

  ‘That’s very nice, Owen,’ she said, ‘but what I meant was, we didn’t think it was going to be this big.’

  Owen shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’

  ‘Where’s Billie?’

  Owen gestured down the hall. ‘Hey, you’ll love this.’ He shook two pills from a little plastic bag and dropped them into James’s hand. They had smiley faces on them.

  ‘What is it?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘E.’

  She looked up just in time to see Billie watching them. ‘My parents doing drugs. I never thought I’d see it.’

  ‘We are not, and you’d better not be, either.’

  ‘I don’t do drugs, Mum. But Jesus, I wish you would. Please, I beg you. You need them.’

  ‘You’d better not be,’ Harriet repeated.

  Billie put her face close to Harriet’s. ‘Look at my eyes. Normal pupils, see? Now look at Owen’s.’ She pulled a compliant Owen in front of her. Owen’s nearly black eyes gazed happily into Harriet’s face. ‘Huge pupils. That’s drugs versus no drugs. You’re welcome. But seriously, do it, Mum.’ With that she walked back towards the kitchen.

  ‘Should we?’ James asked when their daughter was definitely out of earshot.

  Harriet scoffed.

  ‘Come on, have you ever?’

  He knew she hadn’t. That was definitely an early-on couples conversation.

  He grasped her hand. ‘Let’s do it. Nothing will happen. We’re safe in the house. What do you say?’

  Harriet examined her stance on drugs. She wasn’t anti, per se, as long as it wasn’t Billie doing them. They’d never held any appeal for her, tripping or toking or snorting or whatever it was called. Harriet didn’t need to be out of control to feel good. Quite the opposite, actually.

  Although being in control hadn’t done her any favours lately, either, had it? ‘How do we know it’s safe?’

  ‘Look at everyone else. I think they’re all on them.’

  Harriet glanced into the faces nearby. Huge pupils looked back. ‘Maybe a half.’ She couldn’t believe she was about to take drugs! ‘Let’s get a drink first.’

  ‘If there’s anything left,’ James said.

  But most of the kids clutched cans or bottles. She didn’t see anyone drinking wine. That was, they discovered when they went upstairs, because Owen had stashed their bottles from the kitchen up in their bedroom. Harriet pushed the door closed behind them, muffling the music from below and hopefully keeping their daughter from seeing her parents do drugs.

  James broke the smiley-faced pill in two. ‘You take the bigger half,’ she said. ‘You’re bigger. Ready, steady, go!’ They both swallowed the pills down with grimaces. ‘I hope the high is better than the taste,’ James said.

  ‘No glasses,’ she said as James picked up a bottle of red.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, grabbing their toothbrush mugs from the bathroom. ‘How’s that for ingenuity?’

  ‘Nice one, but give them a wash first.’ She wasn’t keen on shiraz with notes of minty freshness.

  They sat together on Sophie’s quacky bed sipping their wine. It was better being upstairs anyway. Nobody wanted parents like them hanging around. And it was Owen’s birthday. She wondered if anyone had bought him a cake. Hopefully so, although he probably wouldn’t be too upset without one tonight. ‘They don’t seem like bad kids,’ she mused. ‘Normal.’ Then she cringed. What did she mean by normal these days, anyway? ‘Are we being irresponsible?’ The bass was pounding through the floorboards.

  ‘Why? Just because we’re on drugs while kids drink in our house?’ James laughed. ‘This isn’t like us.’

  ‘I kind of like it,’ she said.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Why don’t I run us a bath?’ She’d meant to schedule in a sexy bathscapade earlier in the week. Sophie had one of those Jacuzzi jobs with the water jets.

  When she came out of the en suite, James asked, ‘What’s Ecstasy supposed to feel like?’

  She bounced back onto the bed beside him. ‘Why? Do you feel something? What is it? It’s a happy pill, isn’t it?’

  ‘Supposed to be,’ he said. He didn’t look any happier than usual.

  She read aloud the information she found on Google – wondering if she could get into trouble for going on websites about illegal drugs – but neither of them could definitively say they were high.

  Harriet was starting to feel something, though. Confidence, maybe, that everything would turn out okay. And anticipation tickling her tummy. Whether that was the drug, or just having been on a great night out together, she wasn’t sure.

  It had been a great night, she thought, gazing at James. His eyes were more beautifully blue than usual. They were certainly darker, with only her bedside reading lamp turned on.

  The lamp wasn’t the only thing that was turned on. Objectively, there wasn’t anything sexy about James reclining like that, propped up against the pillows with his long legs stretched out. He had his shoes on the bed, for goodness’ sake! Yet he looked so relaxed and happy. Even dirtying the duvet, he was everything she wanted him to be. She could just eat him up. ‘Want a bath?’ she asked.

  Bathing together always looked sexy in films, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable for normal-sized adults. Even in Sophie’s big tub, getting both their bodies under the water took some effort.

  James sat with his chin on his knees. Harriet’s bum squeaked on the bottom when she leaned forward to turn on the hot water tap. ‘That wasn’t me.’ She turned the tap off a little. Otherwise the tub would overflow.

  All of a sudden, the tickle in her tummy swelled, travelling up her body until it enveloped her entire head. She let out an enormous sigh as euphoria flooded, flooded, flooded her. She giggled. When she looked at James, he was grinning.

  ‘You too?’

  It was happening!

  The most enormous feeling of calm washed over her, as if she was being cushioned inside a warm loaf of bread. It pressed down on her. She sighed again. ‘Wow.’

  ‘This is … wow!’ James said.

  Harriet squeezed some bubble bath into the tub. She could feel James’s foot against her shin. The water was beginning to heat up. The bubbles churned as she shifted around so that she could lie with her back against James’s chest. When his arms enveloped her, it felt so good. His hands caressing her body sent shivers through her.

  Then his hand found the Jacuzzi control panel on the side of the tub. The jets were unnervingly well-aimed, but not unpleasant. ‘It’s like being in a car wash!’ They both started to laugh as the bubbles multiplied.

  The foam grew. And grew and grew. If she wasn’t laughing so much, she might have turned off the jets. Then again, she might not have, because who was she to try to control bubbles?

  Something else was growing along with t
he bubbles. ‘James, are you happy to see me?’

  ‘It seems so.’ His voice was low behind her ear.

  But with the best will in the world, they weren’t going to have sex in that position. She squeaked again – her heel, this time – as they got themselves out of the tub.

  They didn’t even bother drying off. It didn’t seem to matter that the sheets would get soaked. They could always wash them tomorrow.

  They fell, kissing, into bed, their bodies sliding against one another in the most delicious way, languid, exploring. They had all night. No need to rush. Every touch seemed to ignite nerve endings she’d forgotten she had.

  Just as Harriet started to level off, another wave of euphoria hit her. They both found themselves laughing for absolutely no reason other than it was wonderful to be alive at that very moment, and together. It was wonderful to be together.

  Harriet did hear people on the stairs, but she didn’t pay much attention. It was a party. There were dozens of kids in the house. Of course it was noisy.

  ‘This is above the kitchen!’ she heard someone cry. Though the sound was muffled because she was under the covers. James clamped her head with his hands as he bolted upright.

  ‘What the hell, Owen!’ James said.

  Harriet scrambled up his torso to peep out over the top of the duvet.

  Half a dozen kids stood in their bedroom. No, seven, eight, nine. More were crowding in.

  She had to agree with James. ‘What the hell, Owen!’

  But Owen wasn’t listening. He went straight into the bathroom with the first of the other kids. ‘It’s the bath!’ he shouted out. ‘Shit!’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Harriet was aware that she was naked under the duvet.

  Owen’s feet were dripping with suds when he came out with an armload of towels. ‘You left the tap on.’

  That’s when Harriet noticed the water spreading across the bedroom floor. Thank goodness it wasn’t carpeted.

  Harriet and James creased up with laughter as soon as they looked at each other.

  ‘Nice one, Mum,’ Billie said. ‘So irresponsible.’ But she was smiling.