by Fern Britton
‘Which reminds me,’ continued Connie, ‘how are we going to share the cost of all this spring cleaning and renovation?’
‘Keep the receipts, give them all to me and I’ll tot them up and split the bill down the middle.’
‘But suppose Greg and I spend more than you and Francis?’ Connie queried.
Pru tightened her lips, ‘Well, write your name on each receipt so I’ll know who’s paid what. OK?’
‘OK.’
Pru straightened up and put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m not trying to do you out of anything, Connie. I’m not going to get Daddy drunk and make him sign a will giving me everything.’
‘Hmm,’ murmured Connie as Pru turned away. She turned back quickly.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing,’ trilled Connie. ‘Just pass me a bin bag and I’ll pop the curtains into it.’
For the next fifteen minutes neither of them said a word. While Connie balanced on a kitchen chair to unhook the curtains, Pru busied herself removing the loose covers from the sofas and armchairs.
When they had everything bundled up into seven or eight bin liners, they carried the first couple to Pru’s car.
Outside the front door, Francis and Greg were doing something with the guttering.
‘Let’s start with the roof and clear the gutters,’ Francis had suggested earlier. ‘A sound roof is the best basis for a sound house.’
‘Is it?’ said Greg. ‘What about good footings, a damp-proof course and solid brickwork?’
‘Well, of course, those are all important too, but they need to be kept dry by a sound roof.’
‘OK,’ said Greg, who knew as little about building as Francis but couldn’t be bothered to argue the point. ‘Who’s going up the ladder? You or me?’
‘I’m not good at heights,’ admitted Francis. ‘I’ll keep the bottom steady for you.’
‘Righto. Here I go.’
At the top of the ladder, Greg had a breathtaking view of the rolling fields and the rolling flesh of Belinda, who was in her garden, hula hooping in a bikini, with Emily.
Her invitingly wobbly bosoms and folds of comely stomach and hips were much more appealing than listening to Francis, who was standing at the foot of the ladder wittering about cracked slates.
Greg’s pleasant reverie was interrupted by Connie calling from below: ‘Greg, would you help me carry these bags into the car, please?’
‘No can do. I’m busy.’
‘I’ll help,’ said Francis.
Greg felt the ladder give slightly as Francis let go.
‘You’ll be all right up there, won’t you? I’ll only be a mo.’
‘Of course, old man,’ he called down.
He waited until the tops of his wife and brother-in-law’s heads had disappeared into the house, then seized his chance.
‘Morning, neighbour,’ he called from his perch.
Belinda, very aware that he had been watching her for the last ten minutes, pretended not to know where the voice was coming from, and turned her head from side to side before looking up and feigning surprise. She caught her hula hoop and let it fall to her ankles.
‘Ah! Hello again. You’re looking busy.’
‘And you’re looking hot.’
She gave him an impish grin. ‘Cheeky!’
He hurriedly continued, ‘I mean, hot doing all that hula hooping.’
She smiled again and in a faux Cornish accent replied, ‘Ooh, sir! Thank you.’
‘You look as if you could do with a cold glass of something.’
Connie, coming out of the house with another heavy bag, peered up at her husband and said, ‘I’d love a cold glass of something, darling. That’s thoughtful of you. But since you’re busy up there, I’ll sort it out. Fruit juice OK?’
She dropped the bag by Pru’s car and went back inside.
Belinda giggled. ‘You’re a naughty man,’ she said in a stage whisper.
Connie returned minutes later with a jug of juice and a tall glass with several ice cubes in it. Greg began whistling nonchalantly, giving the guttering his undivided attention.
Connie called up to him, ‘I’ll put the jug here for you.’ She was setting it down on the bench under the rose arbour when Francis came staggering out with two more bags. ‘Put those on the back seat, would you?’ she instructed him, and then walked back into the house.
Belinda had now left her garden and was standing in the drive. ‘Hello, Frankie.’ She moved forward and embraced him. ‘Greg was just saying I looked hot. And could do with a cold drink. I was about to make up a jug of Pimm’s. Want some?’
Pru came out now and elbowed her way past Belinda and Francis with the last of the bags. ‘Not for the boys, thank you. Alcohol and ladders don’t mix.’
She got into the car and with a small wheel spin, accelerated up the lane in a cloud of sand and grit.
‘God, I wish she wouldn’t drive like a maniac,’ muttered Francis.
‘If you change your mind about the Pimm’s …’ Belinda winked at both men, ‘I’ll be next door.’
Connie came out again with another bin bag. ‘Has Pru gone?’
‘Yes,’ said Francis, tearing his eyes away from Belinda. ‘You just missed her.’
Connie shrugged and set the bag down. ‘Oh, hi, Belinda.’
‘Hi there. Want a Pimm’s? I’ve asked the boys, but Pru said they weren’t to have any alcohol.’
Connie laughed. ‘That’s my sister, all right. I’d love a Pimm’s!’
‘You’re my kind of girl. Come on over and I’ll make you one.’
‘I should be getting on in the house. We’ve got loads to do. Especially since the flood.’
‘Then why don’t I bring the jug to you and give you a hand?’
‘Thanks!’
Connie darted back inside the house and Belinda smiled wickedly at Greg and Francis. ‘What a lovely family you are! I can see Connie and I will get along famously.’
*
The two women worked well together. It wasn’t long before, tongues loosened by the Pimm’s, Belinda began questioning Connie about Pru and Francis.
‘They’re a bit of an odd couple,’ she said.
‘You’re telling me!’ Connie laughed. ‘My sister, much as I love her, is a total control freak. If things aren’t done her way there’s hell to pay. Poor Francis.’
‘He’s such a lovely man,’ said Belinda. ‘Whereas she seems a bit … forceful.’
‘God, yes!’ Connie took another sip of Pimm’s. ‘Do you know, she told me that having sex was immature. She hasn’t given Francis any in years.’
Belinda thought about this for a moment. ‘Really?’
Connie nodded her head vigorously, her eyes wide and shocked.
‘Poor Frankie. We all need affection, don’t we?’
‘Oh quite.’ Connie was hitting her stride. ‘I make sure that Greg has no need to go elsewhere.’
Belinda thought about the Greg she had observed. Very flirtatious and with a definite twinkle in his eye. ‘So neither of you has ever been tempted?’
Connie shook her head vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I’m a very lucky woman.’
‘You certainly are. What about Frankie? Has he ever strayed?’
Connie, mid swig of Pimm’s, spluttered a laugh, ‘Good God no! He’s lovely and all that, but he’s not exactly sexy, is he?’
Belinda frowned. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’
Connie looked at her with widening eyes. ‘Do you fancy him?’
‘I think he’s a nice bloke.’
‘Oh wow! How hilarious. That would put the cat among the pigeons. Poor old Pru. What would she say if you and Francis were to have a passionate affair! Hilarious!’ Connie burst into peals of laughter and Belinda tried to join in.
15
A couple of hours later, after the pair of them had sobered up a bit and finished the drawing room and rumpus room together, Belinda took herself and her empty jug back to Dairy Cottage.
‘Right, boys. I shan’t be long. By the time I get back I want to see all those gutters clear and empty. OK?’
‘Jawohl, mein littlen Battenburg cake,’ said Greg, with a pantomime salute.
Connie looked unamused. ‘It frightens me to say it, but you are in charge till I get back. Keep an eye on Merlin, too. I heard him opening the door to the loft.’
‘No problem, my love. Everything will be fine. Toodle-oo.’ And he waved Connie off.
‘Right, old man. Look out below!’ Greg tossed down two great handfuls of foul-smelling detritus that had been clogging up the guttering.
Francis, steadfast at his post holding the ladder, barely had time to duck before the murky mess landed at his feet.
‘Careful, Greg. You nearly got me.’
‘Hmm? What?’ Another avalanche of brackish dead leaves was tipped out on to the lawn.
‘How am I going to get this off the grass?’ Francis called up. ‘Should I fetch an old sheet or something for you to throw it on to?’
‘No, no, we’ll rake it up later,’ said Greg dismissively. ‘Hang on, there’s a couple of tiles loose here.’
Francis looked up and got a face full of slate chippings.
‘Stop! I’ve got something in my eye,’ he yelled, blinking painfully. But Greg wasn’t listening.
‘I’ll climb up the roof a bit and check how much of a problem it is,’ he shouted down.
Francis, unable to see through his blurred and teary eye, felt the weight of Greg leave the top rung and guessed that he had climbed on to the roof.
‘Careful, Greg. You don’t know whether the beams are strong enough.’
‘I’m fine, old man. Just a little bit furth—’
Francis heard rather than saw his brother-in-law fall, knees first, through the roof.
‘Aaargh … God help me … my arm … arrgh.’
Francis let go of the ladder and, half-blind, ran indoors and up towards the attic.
*
Merlin, who had been making up some hours lolling against a roof truss with a comfy pile of old dust sheets under his bum, was snoozing with the Daily Mirror.
The sudden noise gave him a fright and he leapt up, banging his head on a wooden crossbar. Once the dust had cleared, through the shaft of sunlight pouring through the new hole in the roof, he saw Greg, lying prone on the rafters and swearing.
‘’Ello there, boy,’ he chuckled. ‘Nice of you to drop in.’
‘Help me up, you idiot. I think I’ve broken my arm.’
Merlin lifted Greg easily and hooked his arm under Greg’s shoulder. ‘D’ye reckon you can make the loft ladder?’
Wincing, Greg replied through gritted teeth, ‘I’ll give it a try.’
‘Hellooo?’ Francis was on the landing below. ‘Greg. Can you hear me?’
‘’E can hear you, all right. It’s ’is arm that’s hurt, not his ears.’
Slowly Merlin eased Greg through the loft hatch and on to the ladder.
When the three of them finally made it to the kitchen, Merlin assessed the damage. Greg’s arm was looking misshapen and his face had gone very pale with a tinge of green.
‘Does that hurt?’ Merlin asked, trying to straighten the arm out.
‘Aaaarrrggghhh! What the hell do you think?’ shrieked Greg.
‘Stop screamin’ like a girl and sit quiet a minute while I look at Francis’s eye.’
Francis’s eye could barely open and was all raw and red.
‘I’m not going to touch that,’ shuddered Merlin. ‘Might make it worse. I’d better get you both down the hospital. Your eye could do with washing out and you’ll need an X-ray on that arm, G.’
‘Is there a Bupa clinic nearby?’ moaned Greg.
‘Nope. But we’ve got very good vets in Cornwall.’
*
‘I cannot for the life of me understand how you managed to make such a mess of everything.’
Connie had no sympathy for the two wounded soldiers sitting in the drawing room on the coverless sofas.
‘I mean, look at the pair of you. One with an arm in plaster, the other with an eye patch. Together you could go to a fancy-dress party as Nelson!’
Greg smiled ruefully. ‘That’s rather good, old girl.’
‘It’s not a joke, it’s a bloody disaster,’ huffed Pru. ‘A disgrace. You were supposed to be clearing the gutter – instead you go and make a bloody great hole in the roof.’
Greg was defensive: ‘I was trying to help you and your family. And look where it got me: an NHS casualty department with a brutish male nurse and an arm broken in two places. And not so much as a thank you!’
‘Thank you for what?’ Pru rounded on him. ‘Thank you for half-blinding my husband? You should have left the roof to the professionals. Surely you could have found the phone number for a roofer in the parish magazine?’ Greg felt the arrow of her sarcasm fully pierce his ego.
Francis spoke, ‘Pru, be fair, it wasn’t Greg’s fault. We were trying to help.’
‘And you’ve been left with a severe laceration to the cornea. You have been very lucky, Francis. Very lucky indeed.’ Pru swept her hands through her short dark hair and looked at Connie, who was trying to figure out how to work the carpet-shampoo machine.
‘There’s nothing else for it, Connie. You and I will have to take the maintenance work while the men look after the children and the cooking.’
*
The following days saw Connie and Pru working from dawn till dusk, cleaning the house. Woodwork was washed, curtains and windows cleaned, every nook and cranny vacuumed and dusted. From time to time Dorothy would pop in to annoy them. One morning, while the girls were shampooing the stair carpet, Dorothy called up to them from the hall:
‘Whatever you do, don’t touch this chandelier. It needs professional cleaning.’
Connie turned off the machine and gritted her teeth. ‘Mum, all it needs is a quick rub with some wet wipes to get it sparkling again. We don’t need to spend a fortune on a professional cleaner.’
‘Wet wipes?’ Dorothy pointed indignantly at the chandelier above her head. ‘That’s Venetian glass, I’ll have you know.’
‘Yes, we do know, Mum. We were there when you bought it, remember?’ grumbled Pru, recalling the oppressive heat of an Italian August. She and Connie had pleaded to go on a gondola ride, but Dorothy had insisted on dragging them around the glass factories of Murano instead. Visiting the furnaces had been like stepping into an inferno. She shuddered at the memory.
Dorothy sniffed. ‘In that case, you’ll remember how much money Daddy paid for it. The chandelier must be cleaned professionally.’
‘OK, whatever you say,’ sighed Connie. ‘Who do you use? I’ll give them a ring.’
‘I have never had it cleaned,’ Dorothy replied breezily. ‘I’ll have a look on Daddy’s computer web net thing. You can find anyone on there, you know.’
Pru and Connie smiled fondly at their mother. ‘Yes. We do know.’
‘Right. Well. I’ll go and do that now then.’
‘OK, Mum,’ the girls chorused.
As soon as she had gone, Connie said to Pru, ‘Pass me the wet wipes.’
*
While the girls did their chores, Greg and Francis kept their heads down and tried to run the domestic side of things as smoothly as they could. The kitchen became their domain. Francis was in his element, taking charge of all the cooking.
‘What do you fancy for supper tonight, Greg?’ he asked. ‘How about some lobsters?’
‘Where will you get them from, old man?’
‘Down in Trevay at the fish market.’
‘And how do you propose to get there when neither of us can drive?’ Seeing his brother-in
-law’s shoulders slump in defeat, Greg tried to make amends for his sharp tone. ‘I know. Give me a moment and I’ll sort you out a taxi.’
Minutes later he was back, smiling broadly. ‘Francis, your chariot awaits! Be at the front door in five. Belinda said she’ll be only too happy to have you to herself for a couple of hours.’
Francis blanched. ‘No – no need. I’ll call the mini-cab place in town. Go and tell her no.’
They heard the front door creak open and Belinda’s voice calling, ‘Yoo-hoo.’
‘Too late!’ Greg gathered up Francis’s horseshoe-shaped leather purse and a bundle of jute sustainable shopping bags, and in a low voice said, ‘Come on, old man, give yourself a treat. Take her out for lunch.’
‘But Pru and Connie – what will they think? I’m supposed to be fixing their lunch,’ Francis whimpered.
‘I’ll cover for you.’ Greg dropped his voice further still. ‘Strictly entre nous, I’m expecting a call from Janie shortly, so I could do with the privacy.’ He pushed Francis out into the hall. ‘Ah, Belinda! This is so very kind of you,’ he gushed, propelling them both towards the front door. ‘Francis says he’s going to treat you to lunch as a thank you. Off you go now. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Ha ha ha. Bye!’
As he slammed the front door shut behind them, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate.
*
Belinda insisted on taking Francis’s arm and helping him into her 2CV. In the footwell, his feet rested on several cardboard coffee mugs and a carpet of chocolate-bar wrappers.
‘Sorry about the mess. It’s Emily and her mates. I haven’t had time to clean it out. Now, let me just do up your seat belt.’
Francis sat, helpless as a toddler, as she leaned across him, smothering his face with her magnificent breasts. He breathed in her musky, sun-warmed smell. She really was extremely attractive. As she clicked his seat belt into place and moved back out of the car, he flicked his one good eye nervously up towards the windows of the house. Thank goodness Pru and Connie were cleaning the bedrooms on the other side this morning.
Belinda eased her sun-tanned flesh into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She laid her hand on his knee and patted it. ‘How’s your poor eye today?’
‘A little better, I think. The doc says the patch can come off in a day or two.’