The Holiday Home

by Fern Britton

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, and Jem, like, catches fish with his bare hands!’

  ‘Does he now? Clever boy.’ She gave him an appreciative look and noticed his glass was empty, ‘Pass me your glass for a little top-up.’

  He held his glass out readily. Abi frowned at him and put a hand over hers.

  Belinda set the bottle back down on the floor. ‘So, who taught you how to fish? Your dad?’

  ‘No, it’s not really his thing. It was Poppa, my grandfather. He loves all that stuff. Have you seen his speedboat yet?’

  ‘No,’ said Belinda, raising her eyebrows. ‘Sounds fun.’

  ‘Oh, it’s wicked. Abi and I are qualified to drive it – soon as we were old enough, we did the course and passed the test and everything. But we only go out when the weather’s good.’

  ‘Of course. Where does he keep it? Trevay?’

  ‘Oh no, it’s under the house.’ Jem told Belinda and Emily all about the hidden cave.

  ‘Coool,’ said Emily. ‘Can I have a ride in it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jem, ‘but I’ll have to check with Poppa and Mum first.’

  ‘OK, but best not bother them today,’ said Belinda, swirling the wine round her glass. ‘Leave it till tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’ said Abi. ‘Has something happened?’

  Abi and Jem sat astonished as Belinda gave them a sanitised account of what had happened earlier.

  ‘… I’m sure they will have sorted things out by now,’ she finished. ‘I wouldn’t let it worry you.’

  The children didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘But why were they arguing?’ asked Jem.

  Belinda shook her head, ‘Family business, from the sound of it. Let’s not talk about it any more.’

  Abi felt she had to apologise. ‘I am so sorry. How embarrassing. God. It’s freaking me out just thinking about it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly – I’m a grown woman who has seen it all. Families can be so complicated. But your mums love each other. Trust me, they’ll work it out.’

  Jem and Abi looked at each other. They weren’t so sure.

  *

  The next morning, Henry and Dorothy were sitting in their warm conservatory sharing a crossword. Henry was in his comfortable armchair and Dorothy was calling out the clues.

  ‘Fifteen down, “Impossible to ignore or avoid.”’

  ‘How many letters?’

  ‘It’s three words. Two, four, four. We’ve got the first letter of the second word, Y.’

  ‘Y for Yankee?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm. Try another clue.’

  ‘OK. “Sheets and pillowcases.” Starts with a B.’

  ‘P?’

  ‘No. B for Breast.’

  ‘Ah … Bedlinen?’

  ‘Yes. Good.’

  ‘Another one.’

  ‘“Silly fool.”’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘No, that’s the clue: “Silly fool.” Four letters starting and ending in T.’

  ‘Doesn’t start with a C, does it?’

  ‘Behave yourself!’

  ‘Twit?’

  ‘That’ll do.’

  A knock on the conservatory glass disturbed them. It was Abi and Jem.

  ‘Hello, kids! Lovely to see you.’ Dorothy stood up to welcome them in, smoothing down her halter-neck sundress.

  Abi went to kiss her. ‘Hey, Granny. You look pretty groovy.’

  ‘Thank you, darling. I try to stay with it. I was about to get our mid-morning coffee and biscuits. Care to join us?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ the kids chorused as they sat on the huge wicker sofa.

  Dorothy looked pointedly at Abi’s bare thighs, revealed by her micro shorts. ‘No biscuits for you, Abi.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, woman!’ Henry frowned. ‘She’s skin and bone.’

  Dorothy tutted and continued on her way to the kitchen.

  Henry looked at his two grandchildren with perceptive eyes. ‘So, what do you want? It’s not just to say hello, is it?’

  Jem laughed. ‘No flies on you, Poppa.’

  ‘Never have been. Never will be, my boy. So what is it?’

  ‘Have you taken the boat out for a run yet this year?’

  ‘A couple of months ago. Got it serviced. Hasn’t been out since. Why?’

  ‘Can we take it out one day? Belinda and Emily want to have a ride.’

  ‘And where will you go?’

  ‘Just along to Trevay and then up the river for a picnic. I won’t go mad.’

  Henry looked at Jem for a couple of moments, considering the request. ‘OK – as long as I can come too. You can be skipper though.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ Jem’s face split into a huge grin.

  Henry continued: ‘How about we take your parents, too? There’s room for everyone.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Abi. ‘That was the other thing we wanted to talk to you about.’

  Jem and Abi told Henry about the argument. ‘We don’t know what it was about, but the atmosphere today is awful.’

  ‘Hmm. And how are Greg and Francis?’

  ‘Dad’s got a red mark on his cheek to match the bruise he got when he knocked himself out the other day. Apparently Mum accidentally hit him when he tried to stop them arguing,’ said Jem.

  Henry sat for a moment, deep in thought. ‘And you have no idea what this is all about?’

  Both kids shook their heads.

  ‘I’ll have a word and see if I can’t get to the bottom of it.’ Henry sat forward in his chair. ‘Now bring that table a little closer – Granny’s here with the coffee.’

  Dorothy poured the coffee from the cafetière and handed round the mugs. ‘Do you know what you want for your birthday?’ she asked Abi.

  ‘Yes. There’s something, I really, really want … but I don’t think I’ll be allowed to have it.’

  Dorothy passed the plate of shortbread to Jem, bypassing Abi.

  ‘Oh yes? What’s that?’

  ‘A party on the beach. All my friends. Boys and girls. Barbecue. Some wine. Music. But Mum and Dad want to do the usual thing in the garden.’

  Henry and Dorothy both chuckled. ‘I’m sure they do,’ said Henry. ‘Would you like me to work on them? No promises, mind.’

  ‘Would you?’ pleaded Abi. ‘I would love you for ever!’

  Henry laughed again. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He picked up the plate of biscuits. ‘Here, Abi, have one of these.’

  ‘Thanks, Poppa.’

  Jem and Abi left looking much happier than when they’d arrived.

  Dorothy waved them off from the front door then rejoined her husband. ‘The trouble with you, Henry Carew, is that you are a soft touch.’

  ‘I can’t have my grandchildren made miserable. It’s her seventeenth birthday, for God’s sake.’ He winked at his wife. ‘Now then, give me that last clue.’

  ‘Fly into Portugal. Four letters. First letter F for—’

  ‘Faro.’

  ‘Well, it fits.’

  14

  Back at Atlantic House, sitting round the breakfast table were four, unwashed, sullen adults. They were waiting for Merlin and the return of hot water, to arrive. He was not answering his phone. Connie made an effort to be cheerful.

  ‘Well, at least we’ve got electricity!’

  Greg was ostentatiously working at his computer, tapping noisily on the keys. He replied absently, ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘I said at least we’ve got electricity,’ repeated Connie with what she hoped was a relaxed smile.

  Francis, who was writing out one of his endless shopping lists, picked up her tone and agreed. ‘Yes. We’re lucky, really.’

  Pru, who was sitting as far away from Connie as possible, gave her sister and husband a scathing look before returning to her paper.

  The silence lingered on until Francis cleared his throat. The rest looked up expectantly.

  ‘I have noticed that we need some more loo rolls. Any preference in co
lour?’ he asked.

  Pru rattled her broadsheet pages and spoke very clearly. ‘No.’

  Francis bent back to his list. ‘OK, I’ll get the white then.’

  The silence returned. Only the scraping of Francis’s chair as he stood up to stock-take in the larder disturbed them.

  This was how Henry found them when he knocked on the patio doors.

  Pru leapt up before Connie and hurried to welcome him in. ‘Hi, Dad.’ She kissed him.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said sternly, surveying the four of them with a look that the girls remembered from childhood. All four felt a chill in their stomachs. They were in for a telling off.

  ‘Morning, Daddy,’ Connie said in a small voice.

  ‘I hear you two have been arguing –’ he studied Francis’s sore face – ‘and Francis has come off worst, by the look of things. Mind telling me what it was about?’

  The sisters looked anywhere but at each other or their father.

  Henry bellowed at them, ‘I am going to remain here until this is sorted out. What’s been going on?’

  Connie leapt in: ‘Pru said that you and Mummy would be leaving Atlantic House to her instead of sharing it out between us. And then Greg got that idiot Merlin Pengelly to look at the boiler and we had a flood and now we’re waiting for Merlin to come back with the spare parts because we still don’t have any hot water.’

  Henry pursed his lips. ‘Let’s deal with the plumbing first. Merlin Pengelly – is he that bugger who made a mess of our summer twenty-odd years ago?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Connie. ‘And now Greg’s got him to mess up the plumbing as well.’

  Greg spoke: ‘Come on, I was only doing my bit. You asked me to find a plumber and I did.’

  ‘How did you manage to come up with that waste of space? He’s not even a plumber!’ boomed Henry.

  Greg reached across to a pile of discarded newspapers and pulled out a copy of the parish magazine. ‘Here, it says: “Merlin’s Magic Plumbing Services. No job too big or small.”’

  ‘Oh,’ said Pru nastily, ‘it wasn’t too onerous a task for you to track him down then? All you had to do was read through the recycling. Well done.’

  Greg clenched his hands. ‘I can do without your sarcasm, Pru. And if it wasn’t for you plotting to con Connie out of her inheritance, we wouldn’t be in the situation we find ourselves in. Would we?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Connie threw a spiteful look at her sister and then laid her hand on Greg’s. ‘Well said, darling.’

  ‘I see,’ said Henry. ‘Tell me, Pru, what is this about you inheriting Atlantic House?’ He looked her straight in the eyes.

  She dropped her gaze under his scrutiny and whispered, ‘That’s not quite what I said.’

  Connie shot back, ‘It’s exactly what you said.’

  Henry raised his hands to silence them both.

  ‘Did you say that, Pru?’

  Pru squirmed. ‘In a way, but—’

  ‘But what? Since when do you decide how I divvy up my home and worldly goods?’

  Pru, shame-faced, didn’t answer.

  Connie chipped in: ‘Exactly, Daddy. She wants all the good stuff and she’s trying to cut me out.’

  Now Henry’s stony gaze turned on Connie.

  ‘“All the good stuff”? What do you think the firm is? I made your husband managing director. Carew Family Board Games has made me what I am today, what Greg is today and what you are today. Without the factory and the business, there would be no Atlantic House.’

  Connie opened her mouth as if to say something, but Greg caught her eye and shook his head, so she closed it again.

  Henry placed his hands palms down on the table. ‘So, my two venal, selfish daughters, you want to know how much you’ll be worth when I’m dead and gone?’ He waved away their vehement protests. ‘Yes, you do. And the answer is that I don’t know. Your mother and I intend to go on living for a while yet. And we may as well indulge ourselves a little, since neither of you have done anything to deserve Atlantic House or the company.’

  Greg, looking aggrieved, protested, ‘Hold on, Henry, I’m keeping the money coming into the firm.’

  ‘True. But I would expect nothing less, you are a salaried managing director with a generous annual bonus, a pension scheme and a family home bought and paid for by the firm. You are not – I’m sorry to be blunt here – my son. You are my daughter’s husband. Two different things.’

  Greg looked with fury at his father-in-law and chairman, but wisely kept his temper under control and fought the urge to respond.

  Henry continued: ‘In all the years you’ve been coming here, have you ever helped your mother prepare the house for these long, free family holidays? Have you ever offered to pay for the fuel or water bills that you run up so profligately? Or chipped in to help with running repairs?’

  He looked around at the guilty faces before him. ‘No. So, if Dorothy and I decide to sell up, go to Las Vegas and put all the money on red, we shall.’

  A silence so dense you could see it, fell upon them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ said Connie, clearly shaken.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Pru.

  ‘You can all start pulling your weight around here and not expecting it to land in your lap. I worked hard for everything you enjoy in life. And my father worked hard before me. I’ve been too soft on you all. I suggest you begin by sorting out the plumbing – which, by the way, you will pay for as a sign of goodwill. Do I make myself clear?’ Henry saw their nodding heads and then turned to leave. When he reached the French doors, he paused and said sadly, ‘You have really disappointed me.’

  *

  The four adults felt very small indeed.

  Francis, who’d been doodling on his shopping list, lifted his head and said quietly but firmly, ‘If we’re not careful we’re going to ruin this holiday for your parents and our children. Henry has a point. We do all take this house and Dorothy’s hospitality for granted.’ He looked around the table. ‘I propose we make a concerted effort to smarten the old place up. And pay for it too. All those in favour, raise their hands.’

  Pru sniggered, ‘You’re not at a PTA meeting now, Francis.’

  ‘Are you saying you are not in favour?’

  ‘No, I’m—’

  ‘Then raise your hand.’

  Three hands went up and Francis added his. ‘Motion carried. Excellent. Greg? Where’s yesterday’s maintenance list? You and I will do an inventory of work that needs to be carried out on the exterior of the building. Connie and Pru, you go through each room inside the house, noting if anything needs repairing or repainting, and then give everything a good spring clean. OK?’

  Everyone nodded, stunned at the transformation in Francis.

  ‘Yessir!’ said Greg. ‘But let’s have a brew first.’

  ‘Did I hear you’re making a brew?’ Merlin walked into the kitchen looking rather rough and undeniably handsome in his overalls.

  ‘Ah, morning, Merlin.’ Francis got up. ‘I could think of one or two other elusive figures you might more aptly have been named after. Houdini for one and the Scarlet Pimpernel for another.’

  ‘Is that an up-country joke?’ said Merlin with a short laugh.

  ‘No. You are a West Country joke, Merlin. You are not leaving this house today until you’ve repaired the boiler, fixed the leak under the sink – which was second only to Niagara Falls last night – and replaced the washer in the dripping tap of our en-suite. Do you understand?’

  ‘Handsome. No worries,’ responded Merlin, the insults rolling off him like mercury on glass.

  Pru, glass of cranberry juice in hand, edged her way past Merlin, saying, ‘I’m off to make a start in the drawing room.’ Merlin goosed her as she went by. She scowled at him and called her sister. ‘Come along, Connie.’

  Connie hurried past an innocent-looking Merlin. He goosed her too. She gave him a cold glare, but he merely smiled his beatific smile and turned to Greg and Francis. ‘Right,
chaps. I’ll start on the bottom and work my way up, shall I?’

  *

  In the drawing room, Connie and Pru finally spoke to each other.

  ‘I haven’t seen Dad that angry for a long time,’ said Pru, running her fingers through her hair.

  ‘I can’t believe Greg got Merlin in to do the work!’ exclaimed Connie.

  ‘A horrible coincidence,’ agreed Pru.

  ‘Ghastly,’ replied Connie. ‘And, Pru …’

  ‘Hmm?’ Pru was gazing around the room, taking in the faded curtains and stained rug.

  ‘… I’m sorry about yesterday.’

  Pru stopped her mental inventory and looked at her sister. ‘Me too. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.’

  ‘It did, though. And it made me angry.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So, we’re back on a level playing field? For the house and everything.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They gave each other a short hug, but a residual resentment remained – simmering away under the surface.

  ‘Mind you,’ said Pru, ‘there’ll be bugger-all left if we don’t look after it.’

  Connie smiled, trying to shake it off. ‘Help me shift this sofa, would you?’

  The castors hadn’t been moved for years and it took an effort to budge them. Eventually they dragged the sofa out, revealing a dusty but cleaner patch of carpet.

  Pru surveyed the floor.

  ‘God, this is filthy. Look at the difference!’

  Connie bent down to pick up two old biros, a marble and a rubber band from among the balls of fluff that had lain under the sofa for decades.

  ‘We’d better hire a carpet-shampoo machine. Do you suppose Mr Pomeroy’s in Higher Barton would have one?’

  Pru wiped her hands on her I’D RATHER BE SURFING apron and threw the bits of rubbish into a black bin liner. ‘Bound to. Old Pomeroy does everything from Alka-Seltzer to wellingtons via sunbeds and lipgloss, as far as I can remember.’

  Connie picked at a dead moth stuck in the brocade of the heavy curtains. ‘If I take these down, you could pop them into the dry cleaners. I think the one next to Pomeroy’s is still there. Oh look, a fifty-pence piece.’ She stooped to pick it up. ‘We can use that for parking.’

  She flipped it to her sister, who caught it neatly.