The Holiday Home

by Fern Britton

  Later he was aware of a softness beneath his horizontal body. He heard voices talking quietly nearby.

  Belinda first: ‘I saw him sitting there, probably waiting for me, bless him. Then he hit his head on one of those branches and was out cold.’

  Greg’s voice: ‘My dear, what a terrible shock for you. Let me get you a brandy.’

  Belinda again: ‘Don’t mind if I do. I feel a bit shaky.’

  Greg: ‘And I’ll join you, naturally. I’d never let a lady drink on her own.’

  He heard footsteps on the front porch, then Pru’s voice: ‘Francis! For God’s sake, get up. You’ll get damp through lying on the grass like that.’

  Belinda: ‘He’s had a nasty knock. This gentleman helped me get him flat. Frankie’s bumped his head on the stone, look.’

  Pru’s voice now; loud and close in his ear: ‘Francis! Get up.’

  Belinda: ‘He’s hurt. We’ve called an ambulance.’

  Pru’s voice, cold: ‘Who are you?’

  Pru was scanning the woman in front of her. She was on the pretty side – if overweight could be pretty – and overtly girly and feminine. Pru felt rather sorry for her.

  ‘My name’s Belinda. I work with Frankie.’

  ‘Ah! Belinda. My name is Pru and I am married to Frankie.’ She corrected herself: ‘Francis.’

  Belinda: ‘How do you do.’

  Greg again: ‘Here, get this brandy down.’

  Pru: ‘Francis doesn’t like brandy.’

  Greg: ‘Oh, he does. But only when you’re not around. Besides, this is for Belinda and me.’

  Somewhere above the sound of talk and seagulls Francis could hear a siren. The ambulance, he supposed, as he drifted off back into darkness.

  *

  The hospital discharged him a few hours later, when they were quite sure the bump on his head was nothing serious. They gave him a leaflet to read on watching out for signs of concussion, a box of paracetamol and advised bed rest.

  ‘Bed rest! He seems perfectly fine,’ interjected Pru as the doctor tended to her husband.

  ‘Your blood pressure is a little high, Mr Meake. Are you under a lot of stress?’

  ‘My husband is not stressed or anxious. If anyone is, it’s me. My masseur says she’s never felt such tense and knotted shoulders as mine.’

  The doctor ignored her and spoke to Francis.

  ‘What about your diet? You’re a bit underweight.’

  ‘His diet would make Gwyneth Paltrow look as if she’s been on the Hobnobs!’ answered Pru, as though Francis were a small child unable to answer for himself.

  The doctor admonished her: ‘Please, Mrs Meake, let your husband answer.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Francis.

  ‘Well, you have a nasty bump on the head and it appears from the blood tests that you are also a little anaemic. I want you to eat lots of leafy green vegetables, dried fruits, nuts. Try a steak every now and then, if you can. And try not to worry about things. Take it easy for the next day or two. OK?’

  Pru, who had followed the ambulance to hospital in her own car, was driving him back to Atlantic House now.

  ‘I’m sorry about all the fuss and bother,’ Francis said.

  ‘I think it’s your friend, Belinda, you should apologise to. You gave her quite a shock.’

  ‘I was surprised to see her.’ He looked down at his grazed knuckles.

  ‘She claimed she works with you,’ Pru snorted, and gave him a short glance.

  ‘That’s something of an exaggeration. I told you, she’s on the PTA and is a bit of a busybody.’

  ‘She called you Frankie.’

  Francis started to feel sick – his head throbbed. ‘Yes. It’s very annoying.’

  They settled into a familiar silence. Francis leaned his head on the half-open window, taking deep breaths.

  The car rolled into Higher Barton and finally down the narrow, sweet-smelling lane leading to Treviscum Bay and Atlantic House. Pru helped Francis out and up to their room. As he cleaned his teeth he saw the graze on his cheekbone and the swelling above his eye.

  ‘That’ll be a shiner tomorrow,’ said Pru, behind him. ‘Come on, Frankie, let’s get you into bed.’ She passed him a glass of water and his tablet.

  ‘Thank you, Pru.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘For looking after me.’

  ‘Hmm. Don’t get used to it. Get some sleep and I’ll try not to wake you when I come up.’ She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Sleep well.’

  *

  He woke the next morning to a gentle shake of his shoulder and a cup of tea from Jeremy.

  ‘Here you are, Dad.’

  ‘Thanks, Jem.’ Francis sat up feeling very groggy while his son set the mug down on the bedside table and perched on the bed.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘We’re all worried about you. Maybe we should look after you for a bit, instead of the other way round, eh?’

  Francis smiled at his beloved son. ‘I’m fine. You know me, I enjoy looking after you and Mum.’

  ‘Yeah, well, stay in bed a bit. Mum says she can get her own breakfast today.’

  Father and son smiled at each other, sharing the joke.

  Jeremy stood up and walked to the door. ‘Shout if there’s anything I can get you. Oh, nearly forgot, your friend Belinda says she’ll be over to see you in a minute.’

  Francis didn’t have time to take evasive action. No sooner had Jem left the room than he heard Belinda’s trilled ‘Morning’ through the always unlocked front door.

  He sat rigid in bed, his ears straining for any sound, above that of the noisy thumping of his heart, that might suggest she would stay downstairs. No. He could hear her armfuls of jingly bracelets jangling on the banisters, the squeak of the top landing floorboard, the turn of the bedroom doorknob.

  ‘Frankie!’ She filled the room with her hips and bosoms and burnished curls caught up in an adolescent posy of silk poppies.

  ‘You poor thing.’ Now she was on the bed, opening carrier bags full of Lucozade, magazines and sweets.

  ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’ She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. Am I interrupting something?’

  Greg was standing at the open door, giving Francis a sly wink.

  ‘I have been sent by Pru –’ he smiled archly at Belinda – ‘that’s Francis’s wife, to see if you would like a tea or coffee?’

  Belinda looked innocently at Greg. ‘How very kind of her. A coffee would be nice.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll be back in a moment.’ He shot Francis a knowing look under raised eyebrows before departing.

  Belinda continued where she had left off. ‘I am so glad I was there when you had your accident. Thank goodness Greg heard me call. He’s your brother-in-law, is he?’

  ‘Yes,’ Francis replied limply.

  ‘Well, he was wonderful. Gave me a brandy and really calmed me down.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Now then, when you are up and about, I’m going to have a barbecue in the cottage garden, for all of you.’

  ‘That’s very kind, but no need. There are a lot of us …’

  ‘Yes! I’ve met them all downstairs. Aren’t Jem and Abi sweet? They’ve taken my Emily under their wings. They’re going to go down to the beach and look at the rock pools together.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  Belinda patted his hand. ‘Emily and I were so lucky to get into Dairy Cottage early. It’s lovely.’

  ‘How did you know this was where I was staying?’

  ‘Ooh. That bump on the head must be worse than we thought! You told me.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ His headache was worsening and he looked around for the painkillers the hospital had given him.

  She got to them first and popped two out of the blister pack, then handed him a glass of water.<
br />
  ‘Emily and I needed a holiday and it was sheer coincidence that I found Dairy Cottage on the Internet.’ He swallowed down the tablets and passed the glass back to her. She took it and frowned. ‘I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you think.’

  He tried to laugh and shake his head but it hurt.

  She looked with great concern into Francis’s face.

  ‘Frankie, you do look pale.’

  ‘My head aches a bit.’

  ‘Well, I’ll cancel my coffee and let you rest.’ She picked up her large sequin-spangled handbag. ‘I’m going into Trevay to do my big shop and then get really settled into Dairy Cottage. Emily and I won’t intrude, I promise.’

  Francis attempted some gallantry through his swimming consciousness. ‘You’re both welcome. More the merrier.’

  ‘What a lovely couple of weeks we’ll all have.’ She leaned over and kissed his bruised forehead. ‘I’ll have you right as rain in no time.’

  Whether it was this threat, the shock or the pills, he’d never know, but his body shut down and he slid gratefully back to sleep.

  10

  Francis knew Belinda was somewhere in the house. He called her name but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of running water. He found her in the shower. Her curvaceous outline was blurred by the rippled glass of the shower door, but he watched as she tipped her head back under the shower. Shampoo suds caressed her ears, shoulders and breasts before they splashed into the shower tray and slid down the drain. He called her name again, ‘Belinda?’

  ‘Frankie? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Of course. Take your clothes off and join me.’

  Naked, he opened the shower door and stepped into the humid warmth. He found her lips and kissed them. She put her arms round him and he quivered as his chest met the warm softness of her breasts. She called his name again and again: ‘Francis. Francis, do you want some lunch?’

  What a strange thing to ask at a time like this. Nevertheless he answered, ‘Yes. What would you like?’

  ‘Francis! I am asking you!’ She shook his shoulder with more strength than was necessary. He opened his eyes and saw Pru’s concerned face leaning over him.

  ‘Francis! You’ve been out for the count!’ He sat up with a jolt and looked at the bedside clock. Two p.m.

  Greg put his head round the door. ‘Hello, Rip Van Winkle. Had a good snooze?’

  The dream of Belinda was rapidly receding. ‘Hello, Pru, Greg. Sorry. I should get up. Things to do.’

  ‘There’s nothing to do, darling. I’m going for a walk and later on we’re ordering in a Chinese takeaway. Just came to check on you. Hungry?’ Pru was being very kind.

  ‘I’m fine. You go and have a walk and I’ll sort myself out.’

  ‘Sure?’ She was touching his hand. ‘I’m a bit worried about you. That bang on the head. Do you feel sick? Are you seeing double? Got a headache?’

  ‘No, no. Sleeping it off, that’s all. I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘OK. Well, I’ll see you later.’

  Pru left with a sympathetic smile, Greg with a wolfish wink.

  *

  Francis gingerly got out of bed and crept on to the landing. From the stairs window he saw Belinda’s car bouncing down the lane and then watched as she drove into her driveway, scraping only a small section of the drystone wall as she did so. He slunk behind the curtains, peeking surreptitiously as she climbed out of the car and ferried backwards and forwards between car and house, laden with shopping bags. Finally she locked the car, went into Dairy Cottage and closed the front door. He allowed himself to breathe out, then padded downstairs. His heart was pounding and his stomach felt jittery; Belinda’s sudden arrival in the midst of his family life had unsettled something inside him.

  The house was quiet as he entered the kitchen. A voice made him jump.

  ‘You sly old dog. Didn’t think you had it in you. Hats off!’

  Greg had followed him in.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Francis tried to keep his voice light.

  ‘Belinda! She’s one sexy lady. Why on earth would her husband let her slip through his fingers?’

  Francis put a wholemeal bagel into the toaster and ignored the question.

  Greg continued: ‘You’re playing it dangerously, aren’t you? Having a woman like that, fancying you the way she does, on your own doorstep. Takes guts.’

  ‘We work on the PTA together, that’s all.’

  ‘So why invite her down to spend the summer here?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Francis said angrily. ‘She won’t leave me alone. It’s making me ill.’

  Greg looked disbelievingly at his brother-in-law. ‘Then why was she kissing you in your bed?’

  Francis sat down and put his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know. She’s just being kind and caring. It’s her way.’

  ‘Rubbish, old chap. I’m a man of the world.’ I understand how these things work. Some women are attracted to married men, and it’s our duty to help them.’ He gave Francis another wink. ‘What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over, eh?’

  Francis bristled. ‘What kind of man do you think I am? I love Pru and I take my marriage vows seriously. I would never ever be unfaithful to her.’

  Greg sighed and crossed his legs, weighing something up.

  ‘Look, Francis, I can help you. We can help each other. A problem halved and all that. You see, the thing is … I’m in a bit of a pickle myself.’

  ‘Pickle?’

  ‘Yes … With Janie, my secretary.’

  ‘Oh yes. Has she had any more dates with the soldier?’

  ‘She has. Apparently things have been going very well. Too well.’ He looked meaningfully at Francis, nodding his head.

  ‘Great! So your friend can end the affair?’

  ‘Ah, no. He’s really rather, ha ha … put out. Jealous, maybe.’

  ‘Well, he has no right to be!’ exclaimed Francis, ‘I think it’s best all round if Janie finds a man her own age.’

  Greg looked momentarily wounded. ‘There’s not much of an age difference, actually.’ He lowered his voice: ‘Look, I won’t say a word to Pru about you and Belinda, if you don’t mention a word about Janie to Connie.’ He gave Francis a sly grin. ‘There’s honour among brothers-in-law, eh?’

  Francis was horrified. ‘Hang on a minute, what are you saying? I have nothing to hide, and neither should you. It’s not your fault your secretary is seeing someone in your office. If you want my advice, don’t get involved with their problem.’

  ‘Ah, well, there’s the rub: I already am involved. You see, the reason why Connie mustn’t know is because, well, it’s me Janie’s having the fling with.’

  Francis looked aghast. ‘You mean you’re having an affair with your secretary?’

  Greg glanced over his shoulder and then back. ‘Shh. Do you want everyone to know? We’re in the same boat, you and I – we both have our little secrets.’

  Francis spluttered indignantly, ‘I don’t have any secrets.’

  ‘Ah yes, but …’ Greg watched Francis slyly, ‘… you wouldn’t want me telling Pru that I saw you and Belinda canoodling in the marital bed, would you?’

  Francis shook his head, feeling like a man facing a firing squad. ‘That wasn’t canoodling. That was her seeing if I had a temperature … or something. Belinda and I are just friends.’

  ‘Stop kidding yourself! Anyone with half a brain can see what’s going on. I’ll keep schtum, and in return you can help me with the Janie situation. If I ever need a little alibi, you’ll be there, won’t you, old bro-in-law?’

  Francis’s heart sank – he was snookered.

  *

  Pru was taking a walk on the cliffs. It wasn’t like Francis to be ill. It had shaken her. To be truthful, seeing Merlin on the beach had shaken her more, and she needed to get out of the house and do some thinking. She walked across
the lush lawn surrounded by lavender, box and poppies, then out of the gate and on to the cliff path. She wondered whether to walk straight on and down to the beach or turn left towards the headland. She chose the headland. The beautiful old path lined by perfumed gorse was so familiar to her. To her left were lush fields full of grain crops. Further on, a field of tall grasses was being cut for hay. Skylarks were nesting somewhere. She could hear one singing very close by, but she couldn’t spot the shy little bird.

  A breeze blew in from the ocean on her right, ruffling her hair. After yesterday’s rain, when it had been rough and coloured with sand and seaweed, the sea now twinkled deepest blue and reflected the small clouds in its ripples. She reached a wide gateway and carefully opened and closed the heavy latch. She felt the silky wood of the gate, made oily with the years of hands rubbing over it. She smiled at the touch. This gate, leading down to Figgoty’s Beach had been her meeting place with Merlin a lifetime ago.

  Merlin had been her first true love. The love you get over but never forget. Above her a seagull laughed. She thought back to that long-ago summer.

  She had not long turned nineteen. Connie was sixteen and very popular. She had always been the girlier of the two sisters. Her blonde hair, full bosom and friendly nature captured the affection of both sexes. Her girl-friends adored her and all the boys enjoyed flirting with her. Pru, on the other hand, was more serious. She was at university and enjoying the academic life. She had a couple of admirers. Both a bit worthy and dull, but good for the odd night out. Where Connie was pneumatic, Pru was a washboard. No bust, no hips, but with a stunning six-pack.

  Connie’s friends happily absorbed Pru into their group, enjoying having someone a bit older around them. Mainly because she could drive.

  ‘Pru … Pru?’ wheedled Connie one afternoon.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Would you like to come to a party tomorrow night?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Newquay.’

  ‘And you want me to drive you?’

  ‘Me and Trace and Maz.’

  ‘Only if you pay me for the petrol.’

  ‘But it’s Mum’s car.’

  ‘Yes, and she’ll ask me to replace the petrol.’