The Holiday Home

Abi mimed putting two fingers down her throat and made a retching noise. ‘Lovely.’

‘That’s harsh.’ Jem laughed. ‘He’s a good mate.’

Francis’s voice trilled up the stairs: ‘Dinner, all. Come and get it.’

‘Shit,’ said Jeremy. ‘Dad’s got to the kitchen first. Bloody buckwheat and quorn again.’

*

Dorothy and Henry had come over from their bungalow next door to join the two families for supper. Dorothy was rummaging in the fridge, looking for the magnum of champagne that she’d won in the Lifeboat raffle.

‘Henry!’ She turned, brandishing the bottle.

‘Yes, my darling?’

‘Make yourself useful and open this. I’ll get the glasses.’

‘They’re on the table already, Dorothy.’ Francis indicated with his chin as he poured boiling water on to a bowl of couscous.

Dorothy was waspish. ‘Dear Francis, you’re a wonder! How lucky Pru is to have you. Tell me, what have you knocked up for our gastronomic delight tonight?’ Privately, she thought he was too much of a softie. She preferred men to be men and wasn’t in favour of all this ‘new man’ business.

Francis smiled, Dorothy’s sarcasm sailing over his head. There was nothing he liked better than cooking a meal for the family.

‘Oh, you know me. Something wholesome, nutritious and delicious, I promise.’

Dorothy turned away from Francis and looked wryly at Henry, who stifled a snigger, disguising it as a cough, before saying, ‘Right, old girl. Glasses ready? She’s about to blow.’ And with that the champagne cork came away smoothly in his gnarled but experienced hands.

‘Hey, Poppa.’ Abi entered the kitchen and gave her beloved grandfather an affectionate hug. ‘Got a glass for me?’

‘Ah! Ha-ha! There you are, my favourite granddaughter.’ He poured her a fizzing glassful.

‘I’m your only granddaughter, Poppa!’

‘Well, let me look at you.’ Abi did a little twirl. ‘My goodness, you are a beauty. So tall and so slim. You remind me of Granny when I first met her.’

Dorothy, who had impatiently wrestled the bottle from Henry’s hands and was now pouring herself a glass, looked up. ‘Yes, but I had an eighteen-inch waist.’

‘So you did. So you did,’ Henry replied. Then, winking at Abi, he added, ‘Mind you, in those days they knew how to make a good corset.’

Jeremy had joined them and gladly took the glass his grandmother offered him.

‘See, Abi! You don’t need to go on a diet.’

Connie caught this last comment as she arrived with a satisfied-looking Greg. ‘Abi! You are perfect as you are! You certainly do not need to lose weight.’

Abi looked sheepish. ‘Granny said I did.’

Connie turned to her mother. ‘Mummy, I don’t ever want to hear you say anything like that again. You always went on about my weight when I was Abi’s age, and it’s so hurtful.’

‘Not my weight,’ said Pru, gliding into the room with no sign of a limp. ‘I’ve always had trouble putting weight on.’

Connie retaliated swiftly, ‘Yes. Just a pity your ego couldn’t be put on a diet too.’

Henry looked at his daughters sternly. ‘Stop that this minute. And Dorothy, keep your opinions to yourself.’

Dorothy, looking pious, said, ‘I won’t say another word.’

‘Good.’

There followed a strained tension that only very close families recognise.

‘Well …’ Francis put down his champagne flute. ‘Who’s ready for aubergine and haloumi bake, tagine of chickpeas and herb-laced couscous?’

*

There was a surprising amount of food left over.

‘That was delicious, Uncle Francis. I feel fully vegetable and pulsed up,’ said Abi, taking her half-eaten plate to the bin.

Jem jumped up and did the same. ‘That was top, Dad. Thanks. Do any of you mind if Abi and I leave the table and watch telly in the rumpus room?’

‘That’s fine,’ said Henry. ‘I want to talk business with Greg anyway.’

‘Great,’ said Greg, topping up his and Henry’s glasses with the remains of the bottle.

‘Let’s go to The Bungalow.’ Henry took Greg’s arm, adding in a lower voice: ‘We might catch a bit of the cricket while we’re at it.’

‘Anyone want a coffee or tea?’ Connie asked her mother and sister. They nodded. ‘I’ll go and make some.’

‘No, absolutely not – I’ll go and do it,’ said Francis, leaping up. ‘You girls have got plenty to catch up on.’

‘That is so sweet of you, Francis. Much appreciated.’ Connie gave him a warm hug and then hurried after Dorothy and Pru.

As the women walked away, Francis collected the remaining plates and scraped them into the bin.

*

‘Here you are, ladies,’ he said ten minutes later, carrying a tea tray laden with mugs and organic muesli biscuits. ‘Where shall I put it?’

‘Coffee table, Francis,’ said Pru, barely looking at him.

‘Well, the kitchen’s all clear for the morning. I’ll just pop over to The Bungalow to say good night to Henry and Greg.’

‘OK. See you in the morning. And thank you for supper, Francis.’ Connie smiled at him as he left.

Pru turned to their mother. ‘How are you settling into the new bungalow, Mummy?’

‘It’s perfect, darling. Easy to clean, lovely and warm. Everything brand new. What else would we do with all that garden. It was the ideal plot and it’s the best thing your father ever persuaded me to do.’