Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch. Fern Britton
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on pink!’ Belinda shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Every girl loves pink. Get me a cold drink would you, Con? It’s so hot. Is Abi in?’
Connie was at the fridge, pouring a beaker of juice. She put it into Belinda’s outstretched hand.
‘Oh, that’s better. Thank you.’
‘Abi’s not home yet. I’m expecting her around six-ish.’
‘Right, I’ll wait for her. What’s for tea? I’ll help you make it. You don’t mind me and Emily joining you, do you?’
Connie had no say in the matter. Before she knew it, Belinda was knocking up a bolognese sauce and leaving a trail of saucepans for Connie to wash up.
*
‘Belinda! I love it! It’s going to look amazing. Isn’t she clever, Mum?’ Abi had come in from work more animated than Connie had seen her in ages. All the family were watching as Belinda pulled out one extraordinary thing after another.
‘Yes,’ said Connie, wanly, trying to clear the table and lay it up for eight. ‘So clever. I didn’t think you liked pink.’
‘Pppffff! Of course I like pink! Who doesn’t! Honestly, Mum, where did you get that idea from!’
‘Oh, you know your mother,’ said Greg, standing over Belinda and topping up her glass while trying to get a good gander down her cleavage. ‘She’s very good at getting the wrong end of the stick.’
‘I am not,’ huffed Connie.
‘Yes, you are,’ chorused Abi, Greg and Pru.
Connie felt crushed. She had to dig the nails of her right hand into the palm of her left to stop herself from crying.
‘Can I help you dish up, Con?’ asked Francis kindly.
Eventually everybody was seated and munching their supper.
‘This spaghetti bolognese is delicious,’ said Francis, smiling at Belinda.
‘One of my own recipes, Frankie. Glad you like it,’ shrieked a wine-filled Belinda. ‘I’ll give it to you, if you like?’ she leered.
Greg laughed raucously. ‘Ooh, now that’s a promise I couldn’t turn down, Francis! Ha ha ha.’
Connie turned to him. ‘Sit down, Greg. You’ve had too much wine.’
‘Yes, and you, Francis. I think you’ve had quite enough.’ Pru looked sternly across the table at him.
‘I’ve only had one glass.’
‘Yes, but after all that fresh air today, it’s gone to your head.’ Pru stood up decisively and put the bottles of open wine away. ‘Thank you, Belinda, for a lovely supper. I’m sure you need to get Emily to bed.’
‘But it’s almost nine …’
‘Quite,’ said Pru determinedly.
‘Oh. I see.’ Belinda stood up, ‘Come on, Emily. We need to leave the family to themselves and get back to Dairy Cottage.’
‘I was going to watch TV with Abi and Jem.’ Emily couldn’t hide her disappointment.
Belinda was gathering up bags and bits. ‘You must always leave people wanting more. Never overstay the hospitality of others. Now come on.’
They left and the room was instantly quieter.
Pru started to stack the plates. ‘Thank God she’s gone.’
‘Storms are still battering the Eastern Seaboard of the United States,’ said the breakfast television newscaster. ‘Several hundred families have been evacuated from their homes after a second night without electricity. This report from our Washington correspondent …’
Henry and Dorothy watched the footage of distraught householders, looking on helplessly as their houses and possessions were swept away by the raging torrent.
‘They should be grateful they don’t have Merlin as their plumber,’ said Dorothy. ‘Poor devils.’
‘They keep promising us a hooley blowing in on this side of the Atlantic, but we’ve been lucky so far.’
Dorothy smiled at him. ‘It’s been a pretty good summer, hasn’t it? Apart from the flood next door and the various injuries sustained by the boys.’
Henry chuckled. ‘Bloody useless, the lot of them. Still, they have got the house back in order. And the moron Merlin should be finished by the end of today.’
‘Are you really going to make the kids pay?’
Dorothy and Henry always referred to their grown-up daughters as ‘the kids’.
‘Well, I might chip in. I’ll nip over later and take a look at what kind of job Merlin’s made of it.’
‘He’ll know you’re checking up on him.’
‘I have a plan.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’m taking the iPad – that way I can pretend that I need the kids to help me with it.’
‘Very good, Sherlock.’
‘I want an email address. Where do you get one from?’
Dorothy gave a dry laugh. ‘How should I know? Ask Jem or Abi. They’ve got good brains on them. They’ll get you one.’
*
‘Hey, Poppa!’ Abi had reached the cliff-path gate and was letting herself into the garden.
‘Hello. How was work today?’
‘Knackering!’
He ruffled her sun-streaked and untidy hair. ‘Poor old you.’ He kissed her and she nestled herself into his warm, navy-jumpered chest.
When he let her go, she put her hand in her shorts pocket and pulled out a wodge of folded notes. ‘Pearl’s paid me, though.’
‘Good stuff. Shall we run away to Penzance and catch a boat to Spain? Don’t tell Granny.’
Laughing, they arrived at the French windows just as Greg and Merlin emerged from the kitchen, the latter carrying his tool bag.
‘I’ll put the invoice through the door as soon as I’ve worked it out,’ Merlin was saying, shaking Greg’s hand.
‘Thank you for everything, old man. Obviously, if you can sharpen your pencil, I’d be grateful. I can pay cash, if you like.’
At that moment he noticed Henry. ‘Oh, hello, Henry. Merlin’s finished. Done a great job. The roof, new boiler and pipework. All excellent.’
Henry gave Merlin a long look then slowly said, ‘It had better be good. And the price had better reflect the ridiculously generous cash payment my wife gave you the other day.’
Merlin outstared Henry. ‘Oh yes. I always do a good job for the price.’
Greg, eager to get Merlin off the premises, clapped him on the back. ‘Well, thanks again, old man. Don’t forget, if cash helps …’ He winked. ‘I’m off to have a hot bath. Ha ha ha.’ He laughed insincerely and steered Merlin to his van.
Henry’s gimlet eyes followed them.
‘You don’t like him, do you, Poppa?’ said Abi.
‘I’ll like him a lot more once I’ve checked his work and found it satisfactory.’
Henry took his time checking all the upstairs taps for leaks and loos for flushes. Then he turned on all the radiators and checked the boiler’s thermostat.
Greg dogged him. ‘It’s OK. Merlin’s