Summer at 23 the Strand: A gorgeously feel-good holiday read!

No, it’s something I haven’t said.

But now? Could she? Should she? Wouldn’t she want to know if there was something bothering Jack? If he’d found a lump somewhere and hadn’t told her, she’d be furious with him for shouldering the worry on his own, she knew she would. And yet…

‘Nothing you said,’ Cally told him. ‘Only it’s been a long day and I think I’ll go to bed when I’ve finished this.’

‘It’s only nine o’clock, Cally! The boys have only been asleep an hour.’

‘I know. But we might wake them if we chat.’

‘Then we won’t chat,’ Jack said.

‘And do what instead?’

‘Kiss. Cuddle. Progress to other things. The rug here looks nice and thick. Comfy. Not for nothing do they call that fabric “shag pile”.’

‘Jack!’ Cally said, although just a few short weeks ago she’d have gone for that suggestion hook, line and sinker. Jack was a tender and considerate lover. It was rare for her not to climax.

‘Or, like I said, we could go in for some noisy athletics. In the bedroom with the door shut. It’s what couples do on holiday,’ Jack said. ‘And we haven’t yet, have we? Since we’ve been here, I mean.’

‘No, Cally,’ said, ‘we haven’t. It’s not that I don’t want to but—’

Again Cally couldn’t finish her sentence and she was beginning to hate herself for her weakness.

‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’ Jack asked, sitting up straighter. He reached for Cally’s free hand, and held it between both of his.

‘It isn’t about anything, Jack,’ Cally lied, looking into his mud-brown eyes. She saw all the worry frowns on his forehead and knew she was putting them there. ‘I really am tired. I was overdoing things at the salon. And I know the boys are safe with both of us there but the ocean is just so big and vast and everyone knows there are things like riptides…’

‘Not here there aren’t,’ Jack interrupted her. ‘I checked it out. It’s why I chose this place – for the boys’ safety.’

‘But I can’t help worrying.’

‘Well, do you think you could try not to? It wouldn’t be good if your anxiety got transferred to the boys somehow and stopped their adventurous spirit. Now would it?’

‘No. You’re right. I’ll try harder.’

Cally pulled herself off the edge of the chair, careful to do it so as not to disturb the boys, and stood up. She had to end this conversation. She had to go to bed. She had to try and get some sleep. She had to pray that in the morning the lump would be gone and she and Jack would be as before, making delicious love on the rug.

They woke to rain and high winds and a crashing sea the next morning.

‘We can still go out,’ Noah said. ‘We can splash in puddles and splash in the sea.’ He clapped his hands together excitedly, hopping up and down on one foot. How scrumptious he looked in the early morning, fresh from sleep, his hair tousled, his cheeks still pink from warm slumbers. Cally would have to cut off his blond curls soon – already they were reaching his shoulders and more than one person had thought he was a girl, much to Noah’s indignation.

‘We can’t,’ Cally told him, ‘because I haven’t brought wellies.’

Noah stopped hopping, thumped his feet down hard on the wooden floor of the chalet and folded his arms across his chest and went into a sulk. Riley followed suit. And Cally made a mental note to add ‘be prepared for every weather situation when you take the boys out’ to her list for Jack, should the worst happen to her.

‘We could bake instead,’ Cally said, trying to save the situation. She’d packed the bare essentials of flour and sugar and butter. And raisins, because the boys loved to snack on raisins. ‘Welsh cakes. You love those.’

Cally’s Aunt Frances had made Welsh cakes regularly, even on holiday. Cally breathed in deeply and it was as though the scent of cinnamon was in the air – that and the acrid aroma of slightly charred mixture where the cakes had been left a bit too long on the griddle. Cally had loved those burnt bits. Everyone knew burnt anything – toast, barbecue food, Welsh cakes – could be cancer-producing, didn’t they?

‘Yeah!’ Noah said, punching the air. Riley followed suit.

‘Then, that’s what we’ll do. Until the rain stops and then we’ll think again. You can watch CBeebies until we’re ready to bake.’ She reached for the remote and switched on the tiny TV that sat on a small shelf just above the mock fireplace. ‘There you go,’ she said, finding the right channel. Both boys sat, thumbs in mouths, ready to watch.

Cally could make Welsh cakes without having to read a recipe because she could judge the quantities fairly accurately as her aunt had done before her. Cally felt a pang that her aunt had died – at fifty-two, which was far too young to die. Cancer. Did it run in families? Cally had a feeling it did. She shivered just thinking about it.

‘She would have adored them,’ Cally said as she wiped off the countertop ready for baking.

‘Who would? What?’ Jack asked.

‘Aunt Frances. Our boys. Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d spoken out loud. She used to make Welsh cakes. My brain was making the connection.’ There were tears in her eyes and she turned away from Jack in the hope he wouldn’t see them.

But Jack had obviously seen because he said, ‘You okay?’

Cally bit the insides of her cheeks to stop the tears from falling. She’d read somewhere in a magazine that that was what celebrities did, what royalty did, so they didn’t cry in public. It worked for Cally now anyway. She turned round to face Jack, a smile on her face.

‘Fine. There’s only a little ceramic frying pan to make the Welsh cakes in but it should do. We’ll only be able to make a few at a time though.’

She bustled about collecting the ingredients, finding the pan.

Jack came and stood behind her, put his arms around her waist and pulled her gently back towards him.

‘Did you sleep better last night? You were dead to the world when I looked in on you at half past nine.’

Dead to the world? Why did you choose that expression, Jack? Why?

‘Heaps better, thanks,’ Cally said, forcing her shoulders to go down from somewhere up around her ears. She leaned in to him, jiggling her shoulders to get a better fit.

‘You talk in your sleep, you know?’ Jack said, kissing the side of her neck.

Cally, startled, felt herself stiffen in his embrace. Do I? What might I have said?

‘Do I?’ she asked, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. ‘Anything interesting?’

‘That was a very concerned “Do I?” Jack remarked. He kissed the side of Cally’s neck again, letting his lips linger, making a little sucking movement.

‘Jack, I’m sorry but I just don’t have time for this,’ Cally said. ‘The Welsh cakes. You know. The boys will get bored of the TV in a minute and…’

She reached for Jack’s hands and pulled them apart where they rested on her waist.

‘There you go, not finishing your sentence again. I don’t believe for a second you’re fine,’ Jack whispered in her ear. ‘There’s something. I know there is. And I’m scared. Scared it’s something to do with you and me.’

‘No, not that,’ Cally said, turning to face him.

‘But there is something,’ Jack said. ‘You’ve all but gone and admitted it with that response.’ He cupped her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. ‘Your reluctance to make love, your…’

‘What are you two arguing about?’ Noah asked. ‘I don’t like it.’

Cally disentangled herself from Jack and rushed to Noah, folding him in her arms.