The Staycation: This summer's hilarious tale of heartwarming friendship, fraught families and happy ever afters Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 Thursday

  Chapter 2 Thursday

  Chapter 3 Thursday

  Chapter 4 Thursday

  Chapter 5 Thursday

  Chapter 6 Friday

  Chapter 7 Saturday

  Chapter 8 Sunday

  Chapter 9 Monday

  Chapter 10 Tuesday

  Chapter 11 Wednesday / Thursday

  Chapter 12 Thursday

  Chapter 13 Thursday / Friday

  Chapter 14 Friday

  Chapter 15 Saturday

  Chapter 16 Sunday

  Chapter 17 Monday

  Chapter 18 Monday

  Chapter 19 Monday

  Chapter 20 Tuesday

  Chapter 21 Tuesday

  Chapter 22 Wednesday

  Chapter 23 Wednesday

  Chapter 24 Thursday

  Chapter 25 Thursday

  Chapter 26 Thursday / Friday

  Chapter 27 Friday

  Chapter 28 Saturday

  Chapter 29 Sunday

  Chapter 30 Home

  Acknowledgments

  Credits

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Thursday

  ‘Do you really have to do that?’ Harriet glared, first at the nose, then at her husband attached to it. It was a fine one, as noses went. She’d probably adored it when they’d been young and in love, even paid it cutesy compliments. Now she wanted to fill it with the entire pot of muesli yogurt he was eating and watch it set like the quick-dry grout she’d used on the bathroom tiles last month.

  ‘Do what, my darling?’ James’s smile beamed with pure adoration. Sod that Leo DiCaprio; she’d nominate James for an Oscar any day. The winner of this year’s Best Performance by a Husband in a Dicey Marriage category is: James Cooper, for the third year in a row!

  ‘That. Your nose is whistling.’ She could hear it wheezing over the announcement of another flight cancellation. Athens, this time. ‘It’s annoying.’

  ‘My breathing annoys you?’

  ‘You’re free to breathe, James. Just do it quietly.’

  He shared a look with their daughter over the mountain of hand luggage on Harriet’s lap.

  Billie wouldn’t tear her eyes from that bloody phone if Harriet’s knickers were on fire, but for her dad? She was sympathy personified.

  ‘Oh, don’t you start too,’ Harriet warned her.

  Billie saluted, though her eyes drifted back to her screen. ‘Not breathing, sir, sorry, sir.’

  ‘Can you at least listen for an announcement instead of obsessing over your phone? Who are you emailing anyway?’

  ‘Pfft. Emailing. Mum, you’re ancient.’

  James pointed his chin at the Departures board. ‘We can see what’s happening. Same thing that’s been happening since we got here. It’s delayed. They’re all delayed. Even you can’t do anything about that, so why not just relax? Besides, I’m sure with your hearing you’d pick up any announcements dead easy.’

  ‘If your breathing doesn’t drown it out.’ She scanned the board. The Budapest flight was still showing a gate. That would be promising, if they were going there instead of Rome. ‘Bloody ash cloud. Bloody volcano,’ she mumbled.

  James smiled at her. ‘I wish I had a quid for every time that thing erupted.’

  ‘You’d have three quid in the last two hundred years. I wouldn’t make it your retirement plan. Best stick to your goats, Bill Gates.’

  ‘This is fun,’ Billie said. ‘No, really, can we go on holiday together all the time?’

  Harriet crossed her arms – not easy with a lapful of luggage – closed her eyes and tried to imagine being in Rome already. Apparently being happy and content was all in the mind. What was it again? Mindfulness? No, it was the other bollocks. Positive visualisation. That was it.

  Breathing deeply, Harriet imagined all the whingeing was the happy buzz of fellow travellers savouring their coffee in an ancient cobbled square near the River Tiber. The algae-tinged scent of the water tumbled over garlicky cooking smells as they wafted from the al fresco restaurants. Those weren’t passenger announcements but the distant zooming of the Vespas that carried Romans, young and old, about their business in the sun-drenched city. She could almost taste the delicate almondy crumbliness of the biscotti as she lifted it, after a perfect dunk, from her steaming cappuccino. Her film star glasses shielded her eyes but she could feel the sun warming her hair, picking out the highlights she’d begrudgingly paid over a hundred quid for. The knicker-squirmingly gorgeous man who’d been giving her bedroom eyes from the next table leaned over and said—

  ‘Mum, I’m hungry. And crampy. I need something to eat. Have you got any paracetamol?’

  Was it too much to ask for two minutes of la dolce vita in peace?

  Harriet’s face flamed when she saw her own dress coming towards her in the terminal. She’d loved how gracefully slim its sleeveless silhouette had looked in the fitting room mirror but, if she was honest, it looked better on the shortish brunette. It suited curves more than Harriet’s straight-up-and-downness. Her tan looked very natural, too. Unlike Harriet’s, which came from Costa del Boots.

  ‘Twinsies,’ Billie called.

  ‘Yes, thanks for pointing that out.’

  A girl, her phone in hand, trailed behind the woman. Her very own delightful teen.

  ‘Give me that.’ The man loping next to the woman courteously hoisted her bag from her shoulder. ‘You shouldn’t have to carry anything. Isn’t that better?’

  Harriet could swear she knew him from somewhere, but the more she stared the more she worried that he might be someone off the telly. She’d made that mistake before, so instead she sneaked a glance at the woman’s midriff. There were no obvious signs of impending birth there. She didn’t look like the type who was too good to carry her own luggage, either.

  It was nice luggage, though. Unlike the outrage dangling off James’s shoulder. Stained, torn and slightly smelly – which he blamed on her overdeveloped senses – that rucksack went everywhere with him. She’d wanted to accidentally-on-purpose leave it outside the house when they were packing the taxi, but it had been hard enough getting him out of his farm boots. Choose your battles.

  ‘What about getting sandwiches from Pret?’ she asked Billie. ‘Though now we’ve lost our seats.’ The terminal was heaving. Heaving; that’s what James had said with his typical imprecision. There were nearly four times as many passengers as seats if, as she assumed, the chairs and people near them were a representative sample.

  She knew it had been a mistake to give up those seats. Now they were three little boats cast adrift in the tumult, towing too much hand luggage.

  ‘I want a hot breakfast.’ Billie’s sigh was epic. ‘Like I could have had at the hotel if you hadn’t rushed us. Can’t we just go into a restaurant?’

  But they’d twice walked past the queues snaking outside Giraffe and Wagamama. They were getting longer, not shorter. Up to 25 per cent longer, by Harriet’s reckoning.

  ‘It’s not like we don’t have time to wait,’ Billie added. ‘They’re not even posting information for an hour. Look.’ She pointed to a restaurant as they approached the other end of the concourse. ‘No queue there.’

  ‘That’s because nobody likes Gordon Ramsay,’ James pointed out.

  ‘Their loss is our gain,’ said Harriet. �
��Come on.’

  Even though the restaurant wasn’t as full as the others, the aisles between the tables were an assault course of luggage and children. Baby-poo yellow and brown leather-and-chrome chairs were scattered with no respect for order, or for the waiting staff trying to weave their way through with big trays of cooked breakfasts. The anxious buzz of possibly stranded travellers echoed off the wall of windows looking down into the rest of the terminal.

  Harriet smiled a greeting when she saw that the waiter was seating them next to her dress double. The woman smiled back uncertainly as she settled the young boy beside her. Right, Harriet. Having stared at a total stranger for ten seconds while rating her tan doesn’t make you friends.

  ‘Put this under your seat, will you?’ She handed one of the small bags to Billie.

  ‘They’re all your bags, Mum. You said you’d carry them. That was the deal.’

  Ungrateful family. They only got to travel so light because she’d thought of everything. The hats and water bottles to keep away sunstroke, the extra books, plasters (in fact the entire medical kit, because one never knew). She had packets of biscuits, raisins and nuts, plus pool towels because the hotel ones were usually too small and nobody wanted to walk around with those stripy welts across their calves from bare flesh sweating on a sun lounger. Granted, the pillows might have been a bit OTT, but one could never be sure whether the hotel paid as much attention to their bedding as she did. Besides, they squished down to nearly nothing.

  ‘I know what the deal was, thank you, Billie. I’m not asking you to carry it, just put it under your seat. Here.’ She handed another bag to James, who set it down beside his wheeled case.

  ‘I could have done that. It’s got to go under the table, James. There’s not enough room with the wheelie bags.’

  He looked up from his phone just as another text chimed. ‘Isn’t she working today?’ Harriet snapped. ‘I’m surprised she’s getting anything done.’ Even if Persephone was his bank manager as well as his best friend, they could not have this much to say to each other when he’d only been away from the village for less than twenty-four hours.

  ‘She’s just worried we won’t get to Italy,’ he said. Then he tucked away his phone.

  ‘She can join the club.’ Persephone knew how much Harriet needed this holiday. ‘The bags?’ she reminded her husband.

  ‘There’d be room if we’d checked them in like everyone else,’ he said.

  Oh, what temptingly juicy bait. She clamped her mouth closed. James knew perfectly well that they were being extra-efficient so they could make their Vatican tour this afternoon. Though now they were so late she’d have to email the tour company to reschedule. Assuming they got to Rome at all.

  Thought sabotage. Damn it, Harriet, just what you promised not to do to yourself.

  As they scanned their menus, she overheard the woman at the next table. ‘But the pancakes look delicious, Oliver.’ Despite her convivial tone, Harriet heard the Mum-plea beneath. ‘Mmm, look, with strawberries. Or blueberries?’

  Harriet remembered those days, when every meal needed a hostage negotiator’s bargaining skills. Billie ate hardly anything but tuna mayo sandwiches between the ages of four and six.

  ‘I’ll have strawberry pancakes,’ their girl said. ‘If the strawberries are English. If not then I’ll have plain.’

  Both a chivalrous husband and a reasonable teenager? That woman’s cup did run over.

  ‘I want bacon,’ said Oliver. ‘Dad, can’t I have bacon?’

  ‘One fried breakfast won’t kill him.’ He levelled a devastating smile at the woman. ‘We are on holiday, sweetheart.’ He turned to flag down a passing waitress to take their order.

  As the woman glanced round too, Harriet caught her eye, and her eye-roll. Holiday or not, rule number one in surviving your children is not to break parental ranks.

  ‘Nice dress,’ the woman said. Her chortle made Harriet grin. ‘I hope we’re not having identical luck. Are you delayed?’

  Her manner was too warm to be anything like a diva, which meant her husband really was just a helpful man. Harriet wanted to kick one of the bags at her feet into James’s shin. ‘Yes, we’re on the Rome flight,’ she said.

  ‘So are we! We’re all in the same sorry boat then.’

  ‘Or plane, in this case,’ the man added. Maybe he just looked like someone Harriet knew. He wasn’t out of the woman’s league, exactly. It would be too meowsville to say that, even if it were true. There was something about the way he carried himself, or maybe it was his perfectly put-together outfit, that let everyone know he was the successful one.

  ‘At least we’re having breakfast,’ James said as the waitress brought the other family their drinks. He didn’t look even mildly annoyed at their delay, despite them all being up since silly o’clock. That shouldn’t surprise her. Rome might be her idea of heaven, but it was hell to someone like James. He’d be the first to say that he was about as at home in the country as cowpats.

  His jiggling foot kept knocking his case into her leg, while every minute that ticked by threatened her plans. Her jaw ached from grinding her teeth.

  ‘Oh, hell!’ Oliver’s dad flew out of his chair, but not before the glass of iced water had emptied into his lap. ‘Silly bean,’ he said to the woman. ‘Stay there, I’ll get a waitress to clean it up.’

  ‘I didn’t do it.’ The woman frowned pointedly at their son.

  ‘Sure, blame the ten year old.’

  They shared a laugh. When he squeezed her shoulder and went to find someone to mop up the spill, Harriet wondered if they might be newlyweds. They both wore wedding bands. In fact, if not for the children with them, she’d have put money on this being a sneaky weekend away from their spouses. They were that charming with each other. Again, she imagined aiming the carry-on at James’s shin.

  She had to stop thinking like that. Hadn’t she just had a word with herself? Besides, it wasn’t exactly fair to compare her twenty-year relationship to a couple who probably still gushed over each other’s adorable little quirks. They hadn’t yet set into tedious, concrete habits. They wouldn’t be so loved-up after years of stubbing their toes on those.

  Ignorance might not be bliss, but it definitely took the edge off.

  ‘What are the chances our flight will go?’ the woman asked Harriet once the waitress had mopped up everything in the vicinity.

  ‘Not great, I’m afraid. Bloody ash cloud. There’ve been a lot of cancellations already, and nothing has left in over an hour and …’ She swallowed the other datapoints she’d been mentally harvesting since they’d arrived. Not everyone appreciated details as much as she did. ‘But we might get a break.’

  ‘I hope so. I’m desperate to go.’ Every bit of her expression echoed her words, and Harriet’s thoughts.

  ‘I’m Harriet, by the way.’ She introduced James and Billie.

  ‘Sophie, Oliver and Katie, and my husband is Dan. He must be drying his trousers.’ She squirmed in her chair. ‘This delay is killing me! We’ve only got nine days away. We’re staying at a villa in Tuscany, near Siena. With a spa! I know, it’s totally la-di-da. I can’t really believe we’re going.’

  Harriet made a quick calculation of Sophie’s available sightseeing hours in Rome after subtracting for travel and meals, plus a margin of error for inevitable delays when they needed to take cash out or one of the children dithered over breakfast or they decided they just had to have tiramisu and coffee after lunch. And that didn’t even include whatever days they lost to relaxation.

  ‘Both Rome and Tuscany in nine days?’ Harriet asked. ‘But you could easily spend all that time just in Rome. The Coliseum, Trevi Fountain, St Peter’s Basilica, the Pantheon, all those gorgeous churches.’ It was exciting enough saying them. Imagine getting to actually see them!

  Rome was one of those cities she’d always meant to visit while she and James were still in London. That was before Billie when, relatively speaking, they had all the time in the world.
Practically speaking, though, she worked crazy hours, like all trainee solicitors. When they did get away, they always picked somewhere exotic: to see the sumptuous theatres and grand cafés of Budapest or the mosques in Istanbul. They’d once strolled through Marrakech’s souks with the muezzin’s call to prayer echoing around them, sipping fresh mint tea and the best orange juice Harriet had ever tasted. Rome kept sliding down their list. It might have millennia of history, but there was nothing exotic about church bells and meatballs.

  At least, Harriet never used to think so. Having been stuck now in their tiny village for a dozen years, she was starting to find M&S curry kits exotic.

  As they seemed to be getting on so well, she couldn’t resist mentioning Sophie’s tan. Looking at her own ever-so-slightly satsuma-hued hands, she had to know where she got it. ‘You look like you’ve already been somewhere nice.’

  Sophie touched her cheek. ‘This, you mean? Gosh, no, it’s from a bottle.’

  ‘Oh?’ Innocent as you please. ‘Which brand?’

  ‘I’ve got a terrible memory. It was a rainbow-y tube, if that helps.’

  ‘I can track it down. Where’d you buy it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Dan picked it up for me.’

  Of course he did. She glanced at James, who was moving his lips as he read the menu. What was the last thing he’d bought for her? Insect repellent, on offer.

  Dan returned with his halo intact and his crotch dry. They had to go through introductions again to catch him up. ‘Don’t I know you?’ He squinted at Harriet.

  ‘I was wondering the same thing.’

  He cocked two pistol fingers at her. ‘I’ve got it. That charity dinner last year. No, it was the year before. We sat beside each other.’

  ‘That’s right.’ She’d stood in at the last minute for her boss, but only after triple-checking that she wouldn’t have to work the room making small talk or, even worse, stand up and say anything. Assurances secured, she’d taken the train to London straight after work. ‘Nice to see you again,’ she said. ‘I was just telling Sophie that next time you should take more time off to give Rome your full attention.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Actually, we won’t see any of that this time.’