Fern Britton Short Story Collection: The Stolen Weekend, A Cornish Carol, The Beach Cabin

She gave him a hug that was returned only reluctantly.

Leaving Simon to his sermons, she closed the study door, tiptoed down the hall and then did a little dance for joy. Despite the pangs of guilt, the prospect of her forthcoming great escape filled her with euphoria.

She sent a text to Helen:

Pack that Mulberry weekend bag. I’m booking us on tonight’s sleeper. Bring wine! Px

3 (#ulink_00ab96bc-9957-5044-a253-53c7c8a1adfd)

Penny and Helen arrived at Truro station in good time to rendezvous with their overnight-sleeper train to London Paddington.

‘What a complete stroke of genius this is!’ remarked Helen. ‘I’ve never been on a sleeper before.’

‘The last time I went on one was over twenty years ago,’ replied Penny as they climbed aboard the waiting train. ‘Went to Cornwall for the summer while I was at uni. Got myself a job in a pub in Newquay. Beach all day, worked like a Trojan until the pub shut, then went clubbing every night. Had a ball.’

‘Holiday romance?’ Helen’s eyes twinkled.

‘A few.’ Penny winked. ‘One really hot lifeguard called Merlin. He had loads of other girls on the go too, of course, but I didn’t care. I just wanted some fun.’

‘Fun – that’s all we girls want, right?’

‘Right!’ Penny agreed. ‘Especially this weekend. But first we need to find our compartment.’

They wandered up the corridor. ‘Ah, here we are!’ Penny stopped outside their berth and opened the door. Inside it was narrow, but there were two decent-sized bunks, one upper and one lower.’

‘Bagsy I’m having the top one!’ said Helen.

‘Hey, that’s not fair!’

There was an unseemly scuffle as both women laughingly tried to throw their bags on to the top bunk. Through sheer force of will, Helen won out, but justice was delivered when she climbed ungainly up after her bag and promptly banged her head on the ceiling.

‘Serves you right,’ said Penny, good-naturedly.

‘Oh Pen, what an adventure,’ From her vantage point, Helen took in the little wash basin with its hot and cold taps. Each bunk had a snug duvet and plump pillows, and they’d each been provided with soap, a towel and a bottle of mineral water. ‘It’s all so dinky and sweet.’

‘Yep, dinky, sweet and a bit of a tight squeeze. There’s a buffet lounge with a bar down the corridor. I think we should decamp there for a bit,’ said Penny.

‘Another brilliant idea.’

Pausing only to grab their handbags, the two friends set off towards the bar.

Helen pointed her finger unsteadily at her friend. ‘You look pished. Your eyes have shtarted to go.’

‘I’m perfectly sober.’ Penny waggled her head equally unsteadily. ‘You’re mishtaken, me ol’ mucker. It is you who is pished. I mean pissed.’

The women giggled loudly, and for longer than was strictly necessary, drawing attention from the adjoining table. Seated at it was serious-looking middle-aged man, who clearly disapproved. He gave a loud tut.

‘I’m sorry? Did you say something?’ Penny peered at him over the rim of her plastic glass. Two hours ago, they’d bought themselves a sandwich and a teensy bottle of red wine, from which they would each get approximately one small glass each. In front of them on the Formica table now lay the detritus of their half-eaten prawn mayo sandwiches plus eight teensy wine bottles.

Without a word, the tutting man closed the tablet he was reading and stood to leave.

‘Was it something we said?’ Helen asked innocently.

The man tutted again but avoided their eyes as he made his way back to his own compartment.

‘Men!’ said Helen, with feeling. ‘Bet he’s bloody Cornish too.’

‘Don’t get us started on Cornwall and Cornish men again! We’ve worked out that you can’t get a Cornish man to do anything in a hurry.’

‘They don’t like it!’ Helen concurred, loudly.

‘And,’ Penny added, narrowing her eyes, ‘they really don’t like women taking charge.’

‘No, except possibly in the bedroom,’ Helen sniggered.

‘I’m serious!’

‘So am I. You’ve got to admit it, Pen. Cornish men are very, very sexy.’

‘What about Gasping Bob? Was he sexy?’

‘Well …’

Penny never got to find out what Helen thought of Gasping Bob’s sexiness or otherwise because the reply was drowned out by the stewardess pulling down the grille and hanging a closed sign on the bar.

‘Sorry, ladies. We’re shutting up for the night.’ She smiled over at them.

Penny and Helen surveyed the empty bottles in front of them.

‘Time for beddywed,’ said Penny.

Helen rose to her feet, swaying rather dangerously. Penny did the same and the two women linked arms as they made their way, rather erratically, towards the door. They thanked the stewardess and gave her a wave before making their way out. The exit clearly wasn’t wide enough for both of them to leave side-by-side, but they tried it anyway. As Helen collided with the doorframe, she let out another loud snigger.

‘Ssssh, people are trying to sleep you know!’ came a muffled voice from behind one of the compartments.

‘Bet that’s Mr Grumpy,’ whispered Helen loudly.

Eventually, after much banging and crashing, they made it back to their compartment. Getting undressed and washed was a rather messy affair, but eventually they were both in their cosy nightclothes.

‘That’s not a onesie you’re wearing, is it?’ asked Helen.

‘Onesie’s aren’t just for kids, you know,’ said Penny, peeking out from underneath her rabbit ears, one of which had fallen over her left eye, giving her quite a comical look.

‘Simon hasn’t seen you like that, has he?’

‘Simon loves me no matter what I look like in bed.’

Helen raised a drunken eyebrow. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’