The Holiday Home Read online

  Greg felt a sense of liberation flood through him. He had the whole afternoon undisturbed with his phone and Janie.

  *

  Connie, too, was feeling liberated as she sauntered along the path to the beach. An afternoon with no responsibilities. Bliss! No need to talk, listen or do anything but lie down and read or sleep.

  ‘Connie, wait for me.’ A familiar voice broke into her bubble. Connie kept walking.

  ‘Connie!’ Irritation in the call now. ‘I said wait!’

  Connie breathed deeply, stopped and turned. Pru was at the top of the path, closing the garden gate. She looked cross and hot as she drew level with Connie.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were off to the beach? You knew I’d have said I’d come.’

  ‘Yes, I did know, but actually I was hoping for a bit of peace and quiet.’

  ‘Oh, me too. Don’t you find Mummy’s endless chatter and sparring with Daddy awfully wearing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the kids! They’re good kids, I know, but the noise, the mess – it’s exhausting.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And now Francis has decided to take to his bed. I just had to get out of the house.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They found themselves a sheltered spot of dry sand in the sunshine and rolled out their towels, smoothing them to remove any wrinkles and sitting down gently so as not to get any sand on them.

  Connie slipped out of her shorts and top to reveal a well-cut bikini and curvy thighs. She picked up her book and began to read.

  ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘Something from my book club.’

  ‘You’re lucky to have the time.’

  ‘To read or join a book club?’

  ‘Both.’

  Pru unpopped the fastenings on her stripy beach robe and rolled it up carefully to use as a pillow. She was wearing a one piece in navy and white.

  ‘I don’t like bikinis,’ she said pointedly. ‘Not at our age.’

  ‘I am not your age.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Pru reached into her bag for sun cream, factor 50, and made a huge amount of slapping noise as she put it on.

  ‘Would you put some on my back?’

  ‘OK.’ Wearily, Connie put her book down, sat up and creamed her sister’s white and bony back.

  ‘Thank you,’ Pru said. ‘Would you like me to do you?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Connie, settling down again. ‘I want to go brown.’

  ‘The sun is so ageing to one’s skin. You should look after yours.’

  ‘I’m wearing factor 15.’

  ‘Not high enough.’

  ‘It’s Cornwall, not Africa.’

  ‘I’m only saying.’

  ‘Sorry. Look, I want to read my book, OK?’

  ‘I’m not stopping you.’ Pru plonked a ridiculous orange floral floppy hat on her head and lay down.

  Connie waited in case her sister had anything else to say, but she stayed silent. Breathing a sigh of relief, Connie started reading again. Pru began to snore. Heaving a sigh, Connie dropped her book and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was snoring too.

  When they woke up, the sun was a little lower and the tide was on its way in. They moved their towels further up the beach. As they settled, a light breeze picked up and Pru shivered. She put her robe back on.

  ‘Are you worried about Francis?’ Connie asked Pru. ‘He certainly isn’t looking very well.’

  Pru looked at her as if she were mad.

  ‘No. Why should I be? He’s fine.’

  ‘He seemed a bit tired and distracted.’

  ‘What has he got to distract him?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I am telling you: nothing. He’s fine. Probably wants a bit of attention.’

  ‘Maybe he wants your attention.’

  ‘Poor Francis, not getting any sex? Is that what you’re trying to say?’

  ‘Yes. No. Well, yes.’

  ‘Francis is as little inclined as I am. It’s something that we used to do and don’t need to do any more. We’ve grown up.’

  ‘So, grown-ups aren’t allowed to have sex?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But Greg and I have sex.’

  ‘Yes. And look at Greg. He’s not exactly a grown-up, is he?’

  Connie propped herself up on her elbows and looked at her sister. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Pru squinted, shading her eyes. ‘Well, he’s still a little boy. The way he dresses, his gadgets, the car he drives, the swagger as he walks.’

  ‘I’d rather have a man who knows how to have fun – and, yes, sex – than a downtrodden servant.’

  Pru sat very still for a moment. Then, in a dangerously neutral voice, she replied, ‘You think Francis is a downtrodden servant?’ She started to wag her forefinger in front of Connie’s face. ‘That downtrodden servant lives in a beautiful house, with a joint account he can access at any time, and a son who is happy and doing well at school, and a wife who works her backside off and brings home a considerable side of bacon. Does that sound like a downtrodden servant to you?’ She paused spitefully and added, ‘Or does it take one to know one?’

  Pru settled her sunglasses over her eyes and lay back on her towel to emphasise that the conversation was closed.

  Connie, smarting, settled back down too. Her sister could be such a bitch, She couldn’t help feeling worried about her brother-in-law. He was a nice man and she couldn’t bear to think of him being lonely and forced into celibacy. He wasn’t the type to have an affair, but he was attractive in his own way. Not compared to Greg, of course. Loads of her friends fancied Greg, but he had never given her cause for concern. Good job too, or she’d roast his nuts for Christmas.

  ‘Hi, Mum! Hi, Auntie Pru.’ The shadows of Abi and Jem fell across them. ‘Presents for you!’

  The youngsters handed over two cones of whippy ice cream with chocolate flakes stuck in the top.

  Connie and Pru made space for their offspring on their towels.

  ‘Hi, kids. What have you been up to?’

  Abi started. ‘We cycled to Pendruggan – you know, the village where they’re filming that telly detective thing you like, Mum.’

  ‘Oh yes. Were they all there?’

  ‘Yeah. We had to be quiet because they were filming some dead body being found on the village green or something. We watched for about half an hour, but it was so slow and boring we decided to cycle into Trevay and have a coffee on the harbour.’ Abi, finishing her sentence with an upward lilt as if asking a question, took a lick of ice cream.

  Jeremy continued, ‘Yeah, and we bumped into Big Ben. He said that a woman who says she knows our family is coming to stay in one of the holiday lets at the back of Atlantic House.’

  Big Ben was a tiny man who had bought Dairy Cottage and The Byre, two of the outhouses that had originally belonged to Atlantic House. For the past few years he’d been renting them out as holiday lets.

  ‘Really?’ asked Connie. ‘I wonder who that is?’

  ‘He didn’t say. But whoever it is will be arriving on Wednesday.’

  ‘I hope it’s someone nice and not a terrible bore.’

  Abi laughed, ‘Oh, Mum, you’re sounding more like Granny every day!’

  Connie gave her daughter a friendly shove.

  As Abi regained her balance, she caught sight of a man watching them.

  ‘Mum, that man’s staring at us.’

  Connie looked over the top of her sunglasses. ‘Where?’

  ‘See the pink beach tent? Just to the right of that. He’s quite hench, for an old bloke. Bare chest and blue shorts. Curly hair – too long for his age. Talking to a couple of the lifeguards?’

  Connie followed Abi’s directions and spotted him. She pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and nudged her sister. ‘Pru, look. See him?’

  Pru was alert and as still as a pointer dog. Breathing out very slowly she replied, ‘Yes.
I see him.’

  They spoke together: ‘Merlin Pengelly.’

  Abigail giggled. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘An old friend of mine,’ said Pru.

  ‘And mine,’ said Connie.

  The women eyed each other for a moment. Pru broke the silence first.

  ‘Come on, Connie.’ She stood up and started to roll her towel. ‘Time we were going back.’

  Connie was already up and shooshing Abi off her towel.

  The man continued to watch them with a slow smile spreading across his handsome face. He waved at them.

  ‘Oh my God, he’s waving,’ Connie flustered.

  ‘He’s coming this way.’

  Merlin’s brown athletic legs were carrying him towards them. Fifty metres, thirty and finally with only a couple more steps to go he stopped and raised a sunkissed eyebrow, allowing his sea-green eyes to gleam flirtatiously.

  ‘Connie? Pru? Is it really you?’ The two women looked uncomfortable. ‘You do remember me, don’t you?’

  Pru acknowledged him and answered coolly: ‘How could we forget, Merlin.’

  He leaned forward as if to kiss her cheek, but she offered her hand to shake instead. He ignored it. She felt his warm skin brush her face.

  He stepped back. ‘I’d know you anywhere, Prudence Carew.’

  ‘Meake.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’m Prudence Meake now.’

  ‘Oh, you’re married. Congratulations.’

  Pru introduced Jeremy, ‘And this is my son, Jem.’

  Merlin reached out to shake his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Jem.’ He turned to Connie. ‘Don’t tell me you’re married too, Connie?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Oh yes. I remember reading about it. After our summer you married one of your dad’s employees.’

  Connie looked crossly at him. ‘I married a man who loves me. He’s managing director of the company now.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He nodded his head slowly, his piercing eyes smiling sardonically. ‘Well, you did all right for yourself, didn’t you, eh?’

  Abigail couldn’t bear to be left out a moment longer. ‘Hi, I’m Abi. Connie’s daughter.’

  He turned his glittering gaze to her. ‘Well, well. You’re a beauty, aren’t you.’

  Connie snapped, ‘She’s not seventeen yet, Merlin.’

  Merlin laughed. ‘And so were you once, Con. So were you.’

  Jem, conscious that there was something rather uncomfortable about this encounter, felt a primeval urge to protect the women, though he wasn’t sure why.

  ‘My father and Uncle Greg are up at Atlantic House,’ he said loyally.

  Merlin shifted his gaze from Pru to this young boy with the beginnings of soft whiskers on his chin and hair gelled in the way the ‘up country’ kids seemed to favour.

  ‘Is that so?’ he drawled. ‘I’ll make sure I look out for them.’ He turned his attention back to the two sisters. ‘You’ve still got Atlantic House then?’

  Connie answered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘There are a few memories there, aren’t there?’ he said.

  ‘Come along, Connie, we must get back to the house.’ Pru was stuffing her towel into her beach bag.

  Merlin ignored her and sat himself down on the sand. Fishing in his shorts pocket, he brought out a bag of tobacco. ‘Stay a while longer. We’ve got catching up to do.’ He calmly set about rolling a cigarette. ‘Want one?’ He pushed the leather pouch towards Jeremy.

  ‘No thanks. I don’t smoke.’

  Merlin looked up at him and winked. ‘Not tobacco, anyway, boy. Eh?’

  ‘Jeremy’s only sixteen, Merlin. Don’t tease him,’ Pru scowled.

  ‘Oh, right.’ Merlin screwed up an eye as the wind blew smoke into it. ‘How about you?’ He was looking at Abi. ‘Or are you a good girl?’

  ‘How do you know my mum and my auntie Pru?’ asked Abi.

  Merlin took a deep drag on his cigarette and smiled.

  ‘Shall I tell her, girls?’

  ‘Merlin is an old friend of your mother’s and mine. We knew him when we were about your age, Abi. That’s all,’ said Pru with feigned disinterest.

  Merlin again raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s all?’ he smirked. ‘That wasn’t the way it seemed to me.’ He turned to Abi. ‘These two broke my heart. The prettiest girls on the beach – and they knew it.’

  ‘Tell me more,’ said Abi.

  ‘Hmmm.’ He looked at Connie and Pru and gave a sad smile. ‘I would, darlin’, but I think your mum and Auntie Pru might not want me to. Another time, eh?’

  ‘Yes, another time,’ said Connie.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Pru.

  Abi’s eye was caught by the sight of her father walking down the beach towards them. ‘Hey, Daddy!’ She waved. ‘Over here!’

  Merlin stood up. ‘Time I was off. Good to see you, girls. Catch you later.’ And he was gone.

  *

  Greg arrived hot and perspiring. He had on a white singlet vest and board shorts pulled low to reveal the back of his designer underpants.

  ‘Hey, kids. Hey, Con.’ He reached his wife and pulled her into a hug. ‘Jem, Abi – want to surf with me?’

  ‘Yeah. Love to. Great.’

  ‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Who was that guy you were talking to?’ He nodded towards the retreating back of Merlin.

  ‘Merlin Pengelly. One of Auntie Pru and Mum’s old boyfriends,’ said Abi.

  ‘Yeah? Which one, Con?’

  Connie and Pru studiously avoided looking at each other until Connie said, ‘He was one of a group of us who used to knock around together.’

  ‘Really?’ Greg smiled and held Connie closer. ‘Should I be jealous that he’s resurfaced?’

  He took another glance at the sauntering Merlin, who had reached the top of the beach. As if he knew he was being watched, Merlin turned and gave the family group a flamboyant salute before disappearing from view.

  ‘Golly, no!’ Connie hastily replied.

  ‘Good. He looks like a right prick.’

  *

  Back at the house, the freshly showered sisters started preparing supper.

  Connie was squirting a generous amount of tomato ketchup into Pru’s gently simmering bolognese sauce.

  ‘Do you know how much sugar there is in that poison?’ Pru tutted.

  ‘Sugar brings out the flavour of the meat and ketchup is good for you. I read it in the Daily Mail.’

  ‘And you believe everything you read in that rag, do you?’

  ‘The same way you believe everything in the Guardian, yes.’

  They carried on with their jobs, each silently distracted by their meeting with Merlin earlier.

  Pru broke the silence first: ‘I used to think that you and I had no secrets.’

  Connie paused momentarily as she was folding paper napkins. ‘We don’t, do we?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  Connie turned to face her sister, who was taking wine glasses down from a cupboard ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Merlin?’

  Connie swallowed hard and went on the attack. ‘Yawn yawn – ancient history.’

  ‘I agree, but I still can’t believe you could be so spiteful.’ Pru settled the glasses on the table and stood with her hands on her hips and an angry glint in her eye.

  ‘Spiteful?’ Connie retaliated quickly. ‘That’s something you’d know all about. Take the plank out of your own eye before you look at the splinter in mine.’

  ‘Not the old grudge about the blue bedroom again? Grow up!’

  Connie advanced on her sister, the kitchen table between them, ‘Don’t you ever speak to me like that again. You’ve got your own way in life at every turn.’

  ‘And you haven’t? I’ve worked hard for everything Francis and I have.’

  ‘Meaning what? That I’m an intellectual pygmy who’s never had a job?’

  ‘If the cap fits.’

  Connie moved fast around the table
and stuck her face into Pru’s. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Prudence. Connie. What is this racket?’ Dorothy had come through from the terrace.

  The girls backed away from each other and continued with their jobs.

  ‘Were you rowing?’

  There was no answer, but Dorothy knew her girls well enough not to need one.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Neither of them would meet her eye. ‘Right, I’m here now. Give me a job to do and let’s all calm down.’

  The three women busied themselves for the next half hour and the atmosphere gradually thawed.

  Eventually Pru spoke: ‘OK, I think that’s everything. Table laid, bolognese done. Trifle made. Just the salad to do when the kids and Greg come back. Fancy a drink, Mum? Connie?’

  ‘Not for me, darling. I’m going home to spruce myself up.’ Dorothy set off for The Bungalow with a parting wave.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Connie offered an apologetic smile to Pru. ‘I reckon we deserve a glass of something cold and white. Shall we take it outside?’

  Pru laid a tray with an ice bucket and bottle of Pinot Grigio, two glasses and a bowl each of olives and cheese straws.

  Carrying it out on to the terrace, she saw that Connie had plumped the cushions on the silvered wood of the ancient set of garden chairs. The lowering sun was still warm and the sea reflected its gold.

  Pru raised her glass. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  They watched the sun as it set low in the sky and looked out to the beach below to spot their surfers.

  Connie could see Greg standing in the shallows, taking photos of Abi and Jem as they cruised the waves on their boards.

  She took a long sip on her wine. ‘Merlin looked good, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. Very.’ Pru conceded.

  7

  Greg paddled out behind the breaking waves and waited patiently. He counted the rollers coming towards him, one, two, three … small ones gently lifted and lowered him. It was quiet. Only two other surfers, both men, were waiting with him, out in the deep. Four, five … every seventh wave was the one to look out for. Six, seven … he saw it coming. Swelling and rising to meet him. He paddled like mad with his salt-wrinkled hands and looking behind him saw the water break as it rose above him. He caught it well. Came up on to his knee, got his balance and was standing on the board and riding the foaming water towards the beach.