The Holiday Home (17 page)

*

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.

‘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.

Connie, realising she had used the last clean duster and was running low on bleach and wood polish, gathered up her handbag and car keys and walked out to the drive. She called to the boys, who had by this time made their way round to the stretch of guttering at the far end of the house.

‘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.