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

Abigail stretched her arms above her head and took a deep breath. ‘I love the first day of the holidays, don’t you?’

Jeremy, who had been watching a gorgeous redhead wriggle into her bikini while attempting to keep her towel round her, gave a distracted, ‘Mmm.’

Abigail followed his eyeline. ‘You’re punching way above your weight there, boy.’

Jeremy pretended to be confused. ‘What? Hmm? Oh, the ginger? Hadn’t noticed her. But now you mention it she’s all right, I suppose.’

The pair of them lay watching the girl as she carefully applied sun cream to her generous bosom and milky thighs.

Jeremy sighed lustily. ‘Do you suppose she’d like some help with that?’

Abigail giggled. ‘Men! Don’t you think of anything else?’

‘No.’

The pair laughed, enjoying the friendship they had always shared. More like brother and sister than cousins.

Abi settled down to read her gossip magazine and Jeremy’s attention was now drawn from the redhead to the rest of the beach. There were a lot of gorgeous girls about this summer, he thought longingly. But how was he going to meet one? He would be seventeen next year and girls occupied his every waking moment and his dreams too. He turned on his side towards Abi and, shielding his eyes from the sun, asked, ‘Any of your mates coming down this year?’

‘No. They’re all busy. I wanted Clemmie to come, but her mum’s getting married again or something, so she can’t.’

Jem was sorry to hear this. Clemmie was hot. He said, with some wisdom, ‘Parents enjoy ruining kids’ plans.’

‘Yeah.’ Abi turned on her side to face Jeremy. ‘How were your GCSEs?’

‘All right, I think. Mum tried her best to bribe me into getting straight As.’ Here he imitated his mother’s voice: ‘“One hundred pounds for every A you get, young man.”’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘Well, we’ll see.’ He shifted his weight to get more comfortable. ‘By the way, what are you going to do for your birthday this summer?’

Abi’s birthday, falling in August, was always spent in Cornwall. Usually her parents organised a barbecue in the garden with local kids and any holidaying children Abi and Jem had befriended on the beach. But this year would be her seventeenth and she was hoping for something better.

‘I want to have an all-night party, on the beach. Dancing till dawn, no parents, sexy boys and plenty of booze.’

Jem sniggered. ‘Yeah, right. And Auntie Connie’s agreed to that, has she?’

‘She doesn’t know yet. She might never know. Maybe you and I could organise it without her or Dad ever finding out …’

*

It was almost midday and Francis was at the kitchen table writing a shopping list when Connie came in.

‘Morning, Francis.’ She kissed the top of his head.

‘Morning, Connie. Good lie-in?’

‘Marvellous. I’ve been reading. It’s bliss not to have to get up for anything. Greg’s still asleep. I’ve left him to it.’

‘There’s coffee in the pot. Would you like me to make some toast?’ he asked.

‘You’re a darling, Francis. Yes please.’ She slumped into a chair. ‘How’s my hypochondriacal sister’s back this morning?’

The two of them shared a smile at their mutual understanding of Pru’s ruse. Connie knew that Francis had his wife’s number, but he was far too loyal (and too smart) to ever criticise his wife. Pru was lucky to have him, but Connie doubted that her sister appreciated the things Francis did for her, the sacrifices he’d made.

‘A lot better, I think. I’ve run her a hot bath to loosen it.’

‘Yes. I noticed there was no hot water.’ Connie sighed and stretched her arms above her, watching her brother-in-law as he popped two slices of bread in the toaster. ‘Francis?’

‘Ye-es?’ He was chewing the end of his biro now and looking at his very long shopping list.

‘You must be glad of this summer break. How have things been?’

‘Oh, you know. Busy running around ferrying Jem to and from his various social activities – I was pretty strict about making sure that he found time to study – but lately it’s been all work and no play, what with his GCSEs.’

Connie nodded. ‘I know what you mean. I seem to spend all my time chauffeuring Abi. I worry about her. She’s so beautiful, I can’t help being afraid that she’ll be lured away from the straight and narrow.’ She brushed at a couple of Jeremy’s cornflake crumbs left on the table. ‘She’ll be seventeen soon. My little girl is almost grown up.’

‘You can’t hold them back, Con. Do you remember how you were at that age?’

‘Christ – I don’t want to remember!’ She laughed and swept the cornflakes into her hand before getting up and putting them in the bin. ‘How are things with the PTA? Last time we talked, you were really getting stuck into all that stuff.’

Francis gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, pretty much what you’d expect: so far so boring!’ He hurried to change the subject: ‘But Pru’s the one with the stress, not me.’

‘You work hard too, though, looking after the house and Jeremy.’

The toaster popped and Francis grabbed a plate, a knife and the butter dish, then put it all down in front of Connie.

She thanked him. ‘Greg’s always putting in long hours at work, so I’m in the same boat as you. Being the one who stays home, keeping things running smoothly – that’s important work too. I like to think I’m providing a sanctuary for him to escape to, leave the stress behind.’

Connie ploughed on: ‘He and Pru are lucky to have us. It’s the little things, isn’t it? Making sure the fridge is stocked with their favourite food. A well-ordered house with clean towels and a comfy bed.’

Francis was still distracted. ‘Well, yes …’

Connie went for the big one: ‘A nice cuddle in the marital bed at the end of a long day.’ She stopped to observe his reaction to the last comment. Apart from a slight pause in writing his list, Francis made no response.

‘Greg and I have been married for twenty years, and the physical side of our relationship is terribly important. Good sex keeps a couple together, don’t you think?’

Francis stopped writing and blinked at her, not sure he’d heard her correctly. ‘Sorry, Connie. What did you say?’

‘How long have you been married to Pru now?’

He put his pen down and tore the list from the pad.

‘Eighteen years this November.’ Connie and he were close and enjoyed each other’s company, but he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the turn this conversation was taking. ‘Anything you need from the village? I must get this shopping done.’ He was standing now and looking around for his mobile phone and car keys.

Connie knew when to pull back. She’d have to continue this conversation slowly over the coming weeks.

‘No, I don’t think so. I’ll probably have a little expedition down there myself this afternoon to pick up supplies – Greg loves the chilli jam they do at the deli. But thanks anyway.’