The Holiday Home Page 0,66

gave a cheerful ding-dong. ‘Now who the hell is that?’ sighed Henry.

Dorothy stood up. ‘I’ll get it.’

Henry listened. He could hear a woman’s voice and Dorothy saying, ‘Come in, come in. I’m about to make coffee. Henry’s in the front room. Go on in and say hello.’

Henry moved his eyes to the door as Belinda poked her head in. He liked Belinda. Fun, uncomplicated and rather sexy. He got to his feet. ‘Hello, my dear. Please, take a seat.’

‘Hello, Mr Carew. I’ve just popped in to see if you or Mrs Carew want anything from the shops. Emily and I are going up a bit later.’ Emily came into the room. A tall and pretty but self-conscious teenager. ‘Hello, Mr Carew,’ she said in a quiet voice.

‘Hello, Emily. No need to be so formal. Everyone calls me Henry or Poppa. Which do you prefer?’

‘How nice,’ said Belinda. ‘May we call you Poppa?’ She caught Dorothy’s eye as the older woman elbowed her way through the door bearing a tray of coffee and shortbread. ‘Emily never knew her grandfathers.’

‘I’d be honoured.’ Henry smiled at Emily, who was taking a biscuit from the plate offered by Dorothy.

‘And you can call me Dorothy or Granny.’

‘Isn’t that lovely, Em?’ Belinda beamed at Emily, who was looking embarrassed.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘It’s an honour, young lady. Tell me, have you ever played Lawyer, Lawyer?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, Henry, don’t be a bore. Emily doesn’t want to play board games, do you, dear?’

Emily, embarrassed, murmured, ‘I don’t know.’

‘Of course you want to play,’ said Belinda. She looked at Henry, ‘You invented it, didn’t you?’

Henry laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘As a matter of fact, I did. Who told you?’

‘Francis did, ages ago. From what he said, you saved the family business from going under.’

‘Something like that,’ said Henry, getting to his feet. ‘So, Emily, do you fancy a game? I’ll teach you how to beat anyone.’

‘OK,’ said Emily, not exactly brimming with enthusiasm.

Henry got up and went to the conservatory, Emily trailing after him. ‘Come along then.’

Once the doors were safely closed, Dorothy smiled and said to Belinda, ‘They’ll be gone for at least an hour.’ She plumped up the cushion behind her back and settled down. ‘So, Belinda, tell me all about yourself.’

Belinda stirred a large spoonful of sugar into her coffee. ‘There’s not much to tell. Forty-something single mum. Struggling a bit to make ends meet. My cup’s always half-full, though – I try to focus on the positive.’

‘Quite so.’ Dorothy watched as Belinda helped herself to a biscuit. ‘What happened to Emily’s father?’

‘Oh, Brett’s still around. We’re good friends, as a matter of fact. But when he met Steve, he met the man of his dreams.’

It took a superhuman effort for Dorothy to prevent her carefully drawn eyebrows from going into orbit. ‘Steve?’

‘Yeah.’ Belinda took another biscuit. ‘It was a shock, naturally. I’d had no idea Brett was gay. I’d always counted myself lucky that I had such a kind husband with tremendous empathy.’ She wiped the crumbs from her bust so that they bounced off her skirt and on to Dorothy’s carpet. ‘And now I have Brett and Steve, so I am lucky, when you think about it.’

‘Oh dear.’ Dorothy was bemused. ‘Did your family help?’

‘Well, my mum was very understanding. My dad had abandoned her when I was a baby. Only in his case it was for another woman. We never heard from him again.’

Dorothy tutted. ‘How can men be so feckless when a child is involved?’ She leaned forward to offer Belinda the plate of biscuits.

‘Oh, thank you. These are delicious. It’s my breakfast.’

‘Would you care for some toast?’

‘No, no. This is lovely.’ Another crumb fell, but this time into Belinda’s cavernous cleavage. Dorothy wondered if, when Belinda stood up, it would work its way past her knickers and join its friends on her carpet.

‘So, how do you know my son-in-law, Francis?’

Belinda popped the last piece of shortbread in her mouth and wiped her fingers on her skirt. ‘At school. When Em joined year nine, last autumn, I thought I’d help out with the PTA. I’m good at organising and it’s a nice way to make friends. Frankie is a brilliant committee member. Organised and generous with his time. A lovely man.’

‘When you say “Frankie”, you are referring to Francis?’ Dorothy queried.

‘Oh, sorry – yes. It’s a name I started calling him and now a lot of the committee do too. I think it annoys him a bit.’

Dorothy raised her eyebrows. ‘Surely not?’

‘It’s my little joke. Anyway, he