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

by Michele Gorman

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Dan said, taking Sophie’s hands and pulling her to him. ‘You’re right, and I apologise. I shouldn’t have shouted.’ She could feel his body against hers. ‘I haven’t wanted to spend this much time with work. It’s just all the emails that I’ve got to stay on top of. I don’t want Jeremy to have to take on my work. He’s got enough going on already. I’m trying to do two things at once, and clearly I’m not doing either one well enough. I’ll barbecue tonight. We’ll open a nice bottle of wine, sit in the garden and relax.’

  Sophie did relax then. Dan had apologised. Maybe things would be all right.

  Chapter 23

  Wednesday

  This time when Harriet stumbled over Owen in the kitchen, she didn’t try to thrash him with a cricket bat. But she was surprised, given that he’d finally gone home yesterday. She hadn’t even noticed him missing. Billie acted like Harriet had forgotten her own child, not a near stranger who was dossing in their holiday home. ‘Back again?’ she asked, watching him reach around the healthy cereals she’d bought to get Sophie’s Frosties from the back of the cabinet. ‘Those are pure sugar, you know.’

  ‘It’s why they taste so good.’ He overfilled the bowl and slopped milk on the worktop. Then he sat opposite James, who was still in his sweatpants, reading his book.

  Owen had barely snatched his bowl out of the way before Harriet was there with her soapy sponge. ‘I didn’t know you were coming back. It’s all right,’ she added, seeing his face fall. ‘It’s fine to be here. I didn’t know, that’s all. Do you want me to wash that for you?’ She hadn’t seen him out of the hoodie since they’d met. It made her glad they’d had a girl. From everything she’d heard from parents of boys, they needed to be prised out of clothing that could stand up on its own. Billie might not wear what Harriet wanted, but at least she was clean.

  But clean or not, she’d barely spoken to Harriet, which thwarted all her plans to be forgiven by her daughter. She couldn’t very well mime her apology. Sad face, tears dripping.

  ‘What are you going to do today?’ she asked Owen. Not that it was really her business. It just felt nice to have at least one teenager talking to her.

  ‘Dunno. Just chill, I guess. What’s Billie doing?’

  The million-dollar question. ‘I wish I knew, Owen.’ Then, when he looked at her oddly, she added, ‘She probably wants to chill, too. Chill is her middle name.’ It wasn’t. It was Charlotte. ‘You can chill together, if you want.’ She wished she could stop saying chill.

  That’s what she had scheduled for today, too, though. To chill with James. First, the London Transport Museum. James had suggested it, which gave her hope that he might enjoy this trip yet. As long as the pace was (don’t say chill) slow enough for him. Then a two-hour session at one of the original 1930s public baths, followed by an early dinner and home to chill some more with the bottle of wine that she’d just put in the fridge to (do not say chill) cool.

  Harriet was looking forward to relaxing, but James would need to hurry. ‘Can you be ready in thirty minutes?’ she asked him.

  ‘Why, are they timed tickets or something?’

  ‘Well, no, but we’ve got a lot to do today.’

  ‘So much for chilling,’ Owen muttered. James nodded, then shrugged when Harriet caught his eye.

  ‘Why don’t we just wander around today?’ James asked. ‘We don’t always have to have a plan.’

  Wander, thought Harriet. He’d forgotten who he was talking to. ‘Where do you want to wander?’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘The recycling centre, then? How about Tesco’s, or the car park behind B&Q? I think it does matter, James. Clearly it does matter.’

  ‘Somewhere nice, then,’ he conceded.

  ‘Good. That’s exactly what we’ll do at the museum.’ They were only going because he wanted to. ‘Look lively, now, or we’ll be late.’

  Owen raised his eyebrow at James. ‘Look lively,’ he mimicked. ‘Have fun chilling.’

  Harriet wasn’t sure what she’d expected of the London Transport Museum – more of a dingy depot, she supposed – but the old Covent Garden flower market building, with its ornate Victorian ironwork pillars and supports and soaring ceiling, was beautiful. As if the huge fan-shaped windows at one end weren’t enough, the entire top storey was walled with glass, which let the sunshine flood in over the brightly painted vehicles below.

  The old taxis, buses, trams and trolleys might not be her cup of tea, but at least James had made the suggestion. Even if he did try to get out of it. ‘I’m glad you wanted to do this,’ she told him. ‘You know, you can plan just as well as I can. It doesn’t always have to be me.’ She had told him that a million times, but maybe, she conceded, in more of an exasperated grumble than a helpful tone. If this holiday had taught her anything, it was that she wasn’t perfect, either. Ha, understatement of the year. ‘I just mean that you can decide what we do any time you like.’

  ‘As long as it fits with your schedule,’ he said. ‘How often does that happen?’

  ‘How often do you bother trying?’ she snapped. ‘I only do a schedule because nobody else lifts a finger.’ So much for helpful tones.

  ‘Maybe we don’t want our fingers bitten off,’ he said.

  This was going downhill fast. ‘Maybe I’m pretty sick and flipping tired of being the only one you all rely on to do every single thing.’

  James stopped them in front of a vintage trolleybus. ‘Are you being serious? That’s how you like it. And you’re so good at it.’

  ‘Of course I’m good at it. I’ve had years of practice.’ She honestly couldn’t pinpoint when James had started taking a back seat. She sighed. ‘I know it’s not all your fault.’

  ‘Well, thanks for that,’ he said.

  ‘And you’re not completely useless.’

  ‘You flatterer.’

  ‘I mean you do do things.’

  He thought for a second. ‘You mean spiders. And pancakes.’

  Harriet nodded. ‘And the barbecue, and the cars.’ She could feel herself softening. ‘You and Billie act like I’m Stalin most of the time, and I understand that it’s easy to snipe about all the planning, but I only do it because nobody else does.’

  A smile played around James’s lips. ‘You only do it because nobody else does? Are you sure it’s not because you want to have complete control over everything?’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to throw away my diary, am I? But yes, I’m saying it would be nice to share some of the planning.’

  ‘I can do that,’ he said. ‘Even if I won’t be as good at it as you.’

  ‘I’d appreciate the effort, anyway,’ she said.

  ‘Do you want to catch spiders, too? I’m willing to share.’

  Harriet gave a shudder.

  Just then, James’s mobile rang. He smiled as he answered. ‘What’s up, sweetheart? Yeah, great, of course. Mum can text you the address.’ He covered his phone with his hand. ‘What time is the spa? Billie wants to come.’

  ‘It’s booked from one thirty to three thirty, but I’ll have to ring to see if I can add another person. She said she didn’t want to come.’

  ‘She does now,’ he said.

  ‘It’s fine, James, I’m not saying she can’t come, only that I need to add her to the booking.’ This might mean a thaw in their relations. Billie wasn’t usually keen on spending time with them any more than she liked being in a swimsuit. Which was silly because she had such a nice figure, but that was beside the point. The point was, Billie must not be too angry with her.

  ‘I can ring the spa to add her if you give me the number,’ said James when he’d hung up.

  Harriet smiled. ‘It’s just as quick for me to do it. This time. But James, it’s not just spas or museums or restaurant bookings. I need you to share the responsibility. Really share it, like we used to. Remember? I feel like I’ve lost my partner. Especially with Billie. Especially now, and I really need it.’
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br />   He was doing his peach stone frown. ‘This has really got to you.’

  ‘It hasn’t got to me.’

  ‘It has. You’re never unsure about things.’

  She was the least unsure person she knew, but this was more important than doing her job or planning holidays or calculating the fastest commute or telling James how to run his business. This was their daughter. ‘You’re right, I am. I’ve got ground to make up. This is bigger than The Bra Incident.’

  That’s what they all called it, always in implied capital letters.

  It marked the exact time and place that Harriet became such an embarrassment to her daughter that she was banned from ever shopping in public with her again. Not that she wasn’t an embarrassment before, just not an unforgivable one.

  It was two days after Billie’s fourteenth birthday and they’d gone to Cheltenham shopping. Harriet wouldn’t have needed to rush them to get back in time for Zumba if they hadn’t got such a late start because Billie refused to get out of bed. But she never admitted to her part in their little drama. If they’d had more time then Harriet wouldn’t have been so impatient for Billie to try things on instead of talking with the group of friends she’d run into. Friends she saw every day at school, and who surely could have done the oh-my-god-what-are-you-doing-here-no-what-are-you-doing-here script a little quicker.

  She still didn’t see what the big problem had been. Her friends knew she wore a bra – they’d been changing with her for PE all year – so what was so horrible about bringing a few choices over to where they stood talking? Billie seemed to have no appreciation that they were in a rush. Just because it had been in the shop’s café, and she may have been a bit far away when she held them up for Billie to see, she didn’t need to act like Harriet had turned up modelling the lingerie over her jumper.

  Billie still made Harriet buy all her bras online.

  The spa was all that Harriet hoped it would be – retro and hot – but before they’d even started sweating properly, she had annoyed Billie.

  ‘Jesus, Mum.’ Billie shifted her towel further along the tiled bench where she, Harriet and James sat.

  ‘What? All I said was that she’s pretty.’ Even whispering, Harriet’s words echoed around the walls of the hammam.

  Billie’s already flushed face went redder. ‘Keep your voice down. Jesus.’ She scooted further away from Harriet.

  Harriet followed. ‘Stop Jesusing me, I’m taking an interest.’

  ‘In women?’ Billie hissed. ‘Thanks, but you don’t need to pimp for me.’

  She couldn’t win. When she’d shown her surprise about Billie being gay, she got cross. Now she was telling her how cool she was with it, yet Billie was still cross. ‘I’m confused. Do you not want me to bring it up?’

  ‘Do you want me to bring up your sex life?’ Billie snapped.

  ‘That’s different. I didn’t announce it to you.’

  ‘Thank God. I’m going in the steam room.’ She threw her towel over her shoulder. ‘Don’t follow me.’ She left the hammam.

  ‘I was only trying to show my support,’ Harriet murmured as she stared after her daughter.

  When James carried his towel to where she’d scooted in pursuit of their daughter, Harriet realised she’d covered quite a bit of ground. ‘Don’t fret, love,’ he said, ‘just give her time.’

  But Harriet didn’t think she had time. She could feel her daughter pulling away.

  She ran her fingers under her eyes. Hopefully anyone looking at her would assume it was only perspiration she was wiping.

  ‘But James, now she thinks I want to pimp her out to some sweaty woman.’ When the sweaty woman frowned at her, she said, ‘Sorry, no offence. I think there are extra towels in reception, though.’

  James patted her thigh. ‘Going after her right now won’t help.’

  She knew that, but she had to make things better before they got any worse. ‘I’ll just see that she’s okay,’ she said, taking her towel with her.

  Harriet hated steam rooms, with their drippy walls, lung-stifling air and chewing gum reek. Billie probably knew that, she realised, as she opened the heavy glass door.

  The steam was so thick that it took her a few seconds before she could even make out vague figures inside. ‘Billie? I just want to make sure you’re okay. Are you okay? Do you need anything?’

  ‘Close the door,’ came a manly whisper, ‘you’re letting the steam out.’

  ‘I’m looking for my daughter,’ Harriet explained.

  More hisses. ‘Close the door!’

  Reluctantly, she stepped into the wall of steam. It was as bad as she remembered. ‘Billie?’ Sweat rivulets started trickling down her scalp. ‘I can’t see. Are you in here?’ Gingerly she stepped further into the room, but it was so dim that she could barely see her own feet, let alone anyone else’s. ‘Billie?’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said someone, ‘Billie, answer the woman if you’re in here.’

  Harriet caught a swift movement from the corner of the room. ‘Way to go, Mum,’ Billie snapped as she stormed out of the steam room.

  ‘Excuse me for wanting to be sure you’re okay.’ Harriet trailed after her to the changing room. ‘You’re not leaving?’

  ‘It’s not exactly relaxing, is it? You should stay.’ She found her locker.

  ‘Tell me how to make this right. Please.’

  Billie sat on one of the benches with her clothes balled up in her hands. ‘I don’t know, Mum. Be normal. Why can’t you just be normal instead of trying to make this about how you react instead of about how I’m living? I’d prefer it if you’d shouted or, I don’t know, told me God disapproves.’

  ‘I’d never do those things.’

  ‘Some of my friends’ parents have. Look, all you have to do is accept it. That’s all. Not follow me around trying to fix … I don’t even know what you’re trying to fix. Hopefully not me.’

  ‘No! Not you. Me.’

  ‘Then that’s your deal to work on. This is me. Just accept that it’s my life. Can you do that?’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Go back to Dad,’ Billie said when Harriet tried to hug her. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Harriet went home with wide open pores, a headache from the heat and an idea forming in her mind.

  ‘Sophie rang, and I missed it!’ she said when she turned her phone back on. She’d left her a voicemail before heading off to the museum. She must not be angry any more. But as she listened to the message, her smile faded. Owen had texted, Sophie relayed, asking if he could have a few friends over for his birthday. Sophie had told him it was fine with her but that Harriet might find it too messy, so he needed to check.

  She ended the call with nothing more than a curt thank you.

  Of course a teenager’s party would be too messy, but that wasn’t the point. Owen could stage the ultimate cage fight in their kitchen and Harriet wouldn’t object, if it meant getting back into Sophie’s good books.

  Chapter 24

  Thursday

  Sophie peered again through the front window to be doubly sure that Dan was still out on his run. Then she crept into the office and eased the door closed behind her. Like the rest of the house, the room was countrified chic, kitted out with expensive-looking rugs and a few tasteful paintings. The muted shades of green of the curtains and reading chairs gave it a sense of calm, and there wasn’t so much as a stray paper in sight. The few items on the dark old oak desk – a pen, stapler, in-tray – were perfectly lined up.

  It wasn’t James’s office after all. Of course it wasn’t. She’d been in James’s office in the barn. This was Harriet’s. It hadn’t occurred to her because … because she’d assumed the office would be the man’s domain. She was ashamed of herself.

  At first, she didn’t see Dan’s briefcase. She had to open nearly every cabinet and drawer until she found it. She glanced again at the door. She shouldn’t be doing this. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.

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nbsp; She hoisted the heavy leather case over to the desk and opened it. The Khan file was right at the front. The one he’d told Laxmi to sign out. And behind it were Mason and Cipriani.

  Dan had taken the files from his office. That’s exactly what had landed him in court, according to Harriet.

  She didn’t know what he was doing, but he definitely shouldn’t be doing it.

  She could make all the excuses she wanted. She could mentally float Harriet down every stream between here and London. She couldn’t avoid the truth any more.

  Her hands shook as she tapped Dan’s name into her phone’s Google search. At first, only links to Dan’s firm and a few articles about notable trials he’d (mostly) won came up. She added a few more search terms. Awful-sounding ones like intimidation. Accused. Destroying evidence.

  It was all there. The names matched. The firm matched. Her husband matched. Her heart sank further with every result she clicked on: Dan being investigated over missing witness statements. Dan being cleared – reluctantly from the sound of the quotes from the magistrate. Most importantly, Dan not telling her a word about it.

  Carefully replacing the case, she made sure nothing else was disturbed and left the office.

  Because she didn’t know what else to do, she grabbed the car keys from the kitchen table. It was best if she wasn’t here when Dan got back. Otherwise she might call him Dodgy Dan. ‘Let’s go horse riding,’ she told Katie. ‘Come on, Oliver, we’ll get a lesson for you, too. I don’t need to be back for my treatment till after lunchtime.’ They were staring at her like she’d just split the atom. ‘I bet you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a stable around here. Oh, sweetheart,’ she said when she saw Oliver’s expression, ‘it’s just a figure of speech, I’m sorry. I promise there are no dead cats involved.’