so. Very lucky indeed. Women. God bless them.’ And he raised his glass in salute.
On the television the England team were fielding like demons and the West Indies were falling apart. None of the men found it necessary to talk. This was the pleasure of being a man.
Henry must have dozed off for a moment, because the sound of his wife’s voice woke him with a start.
‘That’s it, boys.’ Dorothy stepped over their sprawled legs and reached for the remote control. ‘I’m turning this off.’
‘We were enjoying that!’ protested Henry.
She sniffed the air. ‘You’ve been enjoying too much whisky – I can smell it. Come on, chop chop. You’ve all got beds to go to.’
The men slowly stood and stretched. Henry shook hands with Greg and Francis and slapped them both on the shoulders. ‘Good to see you, fellas. Sleep well. Sorry about She Who Must Be Obeyed.’
‘I heard that!’ came his wife’s voice from the hallway.
After closing the door on ‘the boys’, Henry went to the kitchen where his wife was making two cups of Ovaltine. ‘Nice lads,’ he said. ‘The girls are happy enough, aren’t they?’
‘I think so.’
‘Lucky fellas to have such good wives.’ He patted her bottom. ‘And I’m lucky to have you.’
She handed him his mug of Ovaltine. ‘Down, boy!’
It was the first morning of the holiday proper. Francis loved this time. He had got up early and gone for a walk on the cliff path. The sun was promising a warm day and as he felt its heat on his muscles, he broke into a gentle jog which felt really good. He was of medium height, slim build and thinning hair. An average-looking man, but with a kind face and expressive eyes. His mouth was regular and he had exceptional teeth. White and even. Flossed every morning. He stopped on a stretch of springy grass and lay on the turf, closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face. The phone in his pocket vibrated, signalling a text message.
Call me! x
It was from Belinda.
Francis looked around, guiltily, and deleted the message. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket he headed for home.
He let himself quietly back into the house and tried to focus on his chores. He emptied the dishwasher, set up a recycling station, emptied the kitchen bin and put the coffee on. Then he sat down with the previous day’s crossword and attempted to put Belinda out of his mind. He almost leapt out of his skin when Jeremy and Abigail appeared with a cheery ‘Morning.’
‘Oh.’ His hands shook as he straightened his reading specs. ‘You made me jump.’
Abigail gave him a squeeze on her way to the fridge, ‘Soz, Unc. Didn’t mean to!’
Jeremy looked at his father. ‘You all right, Dad – feeling OK? You look a bit pale.’
‘Erm, yes.’ Francis laughed self-consciously. ‘Do I? Gosh, no, nothing wrong. Just a tad preoccupied, that’s all.’
‘With what – not worrying about tonight’s dinner, are you? Lentils and broccoli stir-fry or quinoa and broad bean stew? God, please let Aunt Con cook tonight, Dad – we’re wasting away!’
‘Don’t be cheeky,’ Francis said, aiming a swipe at his son with a tea towel.
Abi swung a large bottle of orange juice towards Jem. ‘Want some?’
‘Yuh. Thanks.’ Jeremy sat at the breakfast table, expecting his cousin to sort it out for him.
‘Can I cook you some scrambled eggs?’ his father asked.
‘Nah. Abi, get me some crunchy nut cornflakes, would you?’
‘What did your last servant die of?’ Abi replied, bashing him on the head with a teaspoon as she passed.
‘So, kids, what are you up to today?’ Francis asked, reaching for the box of cereal.
*
The cousins found themselves a warm spot in the dunes. The tide was on its way in and the sea was calm and glistening.
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
