Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch. Fern Britton
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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!’