Fern Britton 3-Book Collection: The Holiday Home, A Seaside Affair, A Good Catch - Fern Britton

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cow sticky wallpaper. An old but comfy armchair in the corner had a small puppy curled up on it.

      The outside was painted in pink-and-white stripes and had wind chimes and driftwood hanging from the sun blind.

      A hand-painted menu offered many delicious flavours of ice cream.

      At least a dozen hot holidaymakers were queuing.

      Pearl was busy: ‘A double rum and raisin with fudge sauce and a chocolate flake for you,’ she said, passing the cone to a middle-aged mum.

      ‘Two large 99s with extra clotted cream for you,’ she said, handing them to a couple of kids. ‘And a strong coffee for you.’ She poured one for the dad of the family. He took it and handed her a ten-pound note.

      ‘Keep the change.’

      ‘Ah, thanks, sir.’ She put the cash in a small pot on the counter and looked at Jem and Abi. ‘Yes, my loves. What can I get you?’

      ‘Two 99s, please. And would you like a paid helper?’ Jem steamed straight in.

      Pearl grinned. ‘Why? Do you want a job?’

      ‘No, but my cousin Abi does.’

      Abi blushed furiously as Pearl laughed with delight.

      ‘How fabulous! Can you keep an eye on the dog, look after any stray kids, watch the deckchairs and make a decent ice-cream scoop?’

      Jeremy nudged Abi into answering. ‘Er. Yes. Well, I mean, I, like, have never done it before, but I’ll try.’

      ‘Fair enough. You turn up tomorrow, nine thirty, and I’ll show you the ropes. If you’re no good, I’ll pay you what I owe you – thirty quid – and we’ll part friends. However, if you are any good, the job’s yours till the end of the season. Do you have to go off to college or anything?’

      ‘I go back to school at the beginning of September.’

      ‘Perfect.’ Pearl passed them their ice creams. ‘On the house. Be here in the morning, on time, and don’t let me down.’

      Abi smiled up at this warm and lovely young woman. ‘Thank you. I won’t.’

      *

      They skipped up the path to the back gate of Atlantic House chanting, ‘We’ve got j-obs. We’ve got j-obs.’

      In the garden, Greg, Connie and Dorothy were gently snoozing. They woke as soon as the gate swung on its hinge.

      ‘We’ve got jobs!’ shouted Abi, running towards her father and falling on to his prone body.

      Greg struggled to catch his breath. ‘Have you? Doing what?’

      Abi told them all about it.

      ‘Fantastic!’ said Greg. ‘I am very impressed.’

      ‘Well done, darling,’ said Connie.

      ‘Don’t eat the profits,’ said Dorothy, peering over her sunglasses and looking pointedly at Abi’s thighs.

       18

      Jem and Abi were almost late for their first day at work. Completely out of practice at waking up to an alarm, they didn’t even remember to set an alarm.

      Francis woke Jeremy at seven forty-five and made him eat some cereal before handing him a packed lunch and waving him off on his bike, bleary-eyed and with shorts drooping dangerously from his hips and exposing an unfortunate amount of pants and buttocks.

      ‘Bye, son. Good luck,’ Francis called. Back in the kitchen he cleared the Weetabix crumbs from the table, unstacked the dishwasher and restacked the dirty cereal bowl and spoon. He made himself a cup of coffee and thought about Jeremy. He was full of paternal pride for this young man, sixteen, taller than he, but with his father’s kindness and his mother’s brains. Francis would have loved a large clutch of children. He had been an only child himself. At least Jem had Abi.

      Abi? He looked up at the clock. Eight thirty-five. He’d better get her up.

      Holding a steaming cup of tea in one hand, he knocked gently at her bedroom door.

      ‘Come in,’ called a sleepy voice.

      He opened the door and saw a body shrouded in bedclothes.

      ‘Abi, it’s eight forty-five. You’ll be late for work.’

      A small hand with green-painted fingernails poked out of the duvet and pulled it down, revealing a dozy Abi.

      ‘Oh,’ she managed as she watched her uncle move various makeup-stained tissues, her phone, and a dirty hairbrush to one side of her bedside table in order to find a place for the mug.

      ‘Why didn’t anyone wake me?’

      ‘Well, everyone is still asleep. Did you forget to set your alarm?’

      She sank back on to the pillows, closing her eyes with a small frown. ‘Oh. Yuh. Thanks, Uncle Francis.’

      ‘Get up quickly and I’ll have some breakfast ready for you.’

      When she came down, Francis had made her a fried-egg sandwich and a packed lunch.

      ‘Thanks, Unc. You’re, like, the best.’

      They hugged one another and she set off across the lawn and through the private gate to the beach. He watched her go. Hair piled up in a bird’s nest, caught with a tortoiseshell comb, walking with a rumpled, exhausted pace. Lovely Abi. His favourite niece. Technically, his only niece, but he thought that even if there were other nieces she’d still be his favourite.

      *

      ‘Hiya!’ Pearl was opening the caravan for business. Her large friendly smile welcomed Abi. ‘Take that broom and sweep the inside of the van, would you. Last night I had some kids in here with sandy feet, playing with Blue.’ The little dog lying on the armchair looked at her mistress and thumped her tail on the floor. ‘Yes, Miss Blue. They loved you, didn’t they?’ Pearl said.

      ‘Right, Abi. The forecast is a good ’un today. Slightly overcast, a little breeze and getting warmer as the day goes on. Perfect ice-cream weather. Exactly the way we like it. The tea urn needs filling up and heating. Ollie brought down the water containers, but I need you to keep topping it up through the day. OK?’

      ‘Yes. Have you got a dust pan and brush?’

      ‘What for?’

      ‘This sand I’ve swept up.’

      ‘Bless you, no. Sweep it straight out of the door and back to where it belongs.’

      Abi swept everything out, filled up and turned on the tea urn, then sat down with Blue and tickled her ears.

      ‘What are you doing down there?’ asked Pearl, hands on her hips. ‘I don’t pay you to tickle the dog, not when there’s newspapers waiting to be collected.’

      Abi struggled to her feet. ‘Sorry. Where do I have to go for the papers?’

      ‘The village shop in Higher Barton. They’ll have my order ready. Oh, and get a couple of extra puzzle books: crosswords and sudokus. Those always sell well. There’s a rucksack on the floor, carry them in that. My bike’s parked outside.’

      ‘I’ve got a bike at the house.’

      ‘OK, use your own. But wear a helmet, please!’ Pearl gave Abi a mock-stern look, then added, ‘I’m serious. These holidaymakers drive like maniacs with their big cars and roof racks.’

      ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

      ‘Good. And no hanging about in the village. I’ll see you in half an hour.’

      Abi was back with a couple of minutes to spare and found Pearl

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