he breathed.
‘Mm,’ she said, her eyes wide open.
She had been kissed by boys before, but had never understood what all the fuss was about. Now, with the warmth of his arms around her and his soft lips on her face, she felt different.
He sat back a moment to look at her. Satisfied that she appeared not to mind, he moved in to kiss her mouth. Unsure how to respond, Pru had parted her lips a little and allowed his tongue inside her mouth. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she let them hang loosely by her side. He pulled away and looked at her.
‘Not shy, are you?’ he asked.
‘No.’
He’d taken her hands and placed them on the belt of his jeans. ‘Undo me,’ he whispered.
She squeezed the palms of her hands tighter over her eyes, remembering the way he’d made love to her and how she had felt. Special. Adult. Wanted. Until …
‘Merlin!’ the sound of that name broke through her reverie. Rubbing her eyes roughly, she uncovered them and sat blinking in the daylight.
A little round dog followed by a little round man barrelled towards her.
‘Here, Merlin!’ the man called in a Midlands accent. ‘Quiet, you’ve disturbed this lady. Mind if I share the seat with you?’ He sat down before she could answer. ‘Beautiful up here, isn’t it? I’m going to be scattered up here when I die.’
Without saying a word, Pru stood up and walked away as fast as she could. Behind her, she heard the man say, ‘Well. Some people, eh, Merlin?’ Her walk turned into a trot which turned into a run. She had to get back to the real world. To Francis and security.
*
‘Mum … Muuuuum?’ Abigail was shouting from upstairs.
Connie, who had only just sat down after clearing up the supper things, was in the drawing room with Greg. Her mind had drifted back to the initials carved in the rock wall. She took a deep breath and blew it loudly through her lips. ‘What?’ she yelled.
‘There’s no hot water. And I’ve got shampoo in my hair.’
‘Well, use the cold tap.’
‘It’s cold.’
‘Exactly.’
A short silence ensued. Connie picked up her glass of wine and waited.
‘Daaaad?’
Connie looked over at Greg, who was trying to watch the news.
‘Whaat?’ he bellowed.
‘There’s no hot water and …’
‘… You’ve got shampoo in your hair?’ he chorused with her.
‘Yes. Help.’
He flicked the TV off and stood up, quietly swearing.
Connie heard him go upstairs, followed by Abi’s protestations that he couldn’t come in the bathroom because ‘I haven’t any clothes on.’
‘I’ve seen you without clothes on since you were born. Now open this door.’
After another five minutes or so Greg came downstairs and into the drawing room.
‘There’s no hot water,’ he announced.
Pru and Francis stuck their heads round the door. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any hot water, Connie.’
Connie looked at them as if they were all mad. ‘Really? You don’t say? What do you expect me to do about it?’
‘Oh, don’t get all huffy. We’re only saying,’ said Pru.
‘And I’m only saying why are you all asking me? I don’t know what to do.’
The four of them stood, pathetically, trying to come up with a solution.
‘We’ll have to talk to Dad in the morning. He’ll know a plumber. In fact, Mum and Dad need to do a bit of maintenance on the old place.’
‘That’s true.’ Pru looked at Francis. ‘The tap in our en-suite basin is still dripping.’
The following morning, a delegation of Connie and Pru knocked on the door of The Bungalow.
Dorothy opened it in her dressing gown.
‘It’s terribly early. What do you want?’
Connie poked Pru in the back, which Pru took as a signal, correctly, for her to open the conversation.
‘It’s almost ten. Can we come in?’
‘Oh yes.’ Dorothy opened the door wider. ‘I hope you don’t want breakfast.’
‘We’ve had breakfast. We just want to have a chat with you and Daddy.’
‘Oh God. Sounds ominous. Henry!’ she called. ‘The children want to speak to you.’
A muffled, ‘One moment,’ came from his bedroom. They heard movement, then he opened his door and walked out to greet them, tying the belt of his silk dressing gown.
‘Good morning, all. To what do we owe this pleasure? Come into the lounge and sit down. Dorothy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Put some coffee on, would you?’
Dorothy went to the kitchen, grumbling.
Henry sat in his armchair and smoothed his hair with his hands.
‘What’s the matter?’
Connie turned to Pru, who started: ‘Daddy, when did you last have the boiler checked? It’s broken down and there are several taps dripping.’
‘Only to be expected in an old house,’ he replied, smiling.
‘Yes.’ Pru had hit her stride. ‘But it’s nigh on twenty-five years since you and Mummy renovated the old place. Don’t you think it’s about time it had a bit of an overhaul? Maybe some decorating too – it’s looking rather dated.’
Dorothy arrived with coffee and mugs on a tray, which she banged down on the table. ‘Dated? It’s perfect.’
‘Of course, of course,’ soothed Connie. ‘But a lick of paint would brighten it up.’
‘Who for?’ said Henry. ‘The only people who come to the house are you lot. Are you saying we’re not up to your standards?’
Connie blushed. ‘No, Daddy. It’s wonderful and we love coming down. Really, it’s only the hot water that needs looking at.’
Henry sat back in his chair. ‘So
