Fern Britton - Coming Home

‘Poppa taught us. I think his record was twenty or something mad like that,’ she said.

Henry sat on a damp rock and looked out to the horizon. ‘We had some good summers here, didn’t we, Ells?’

She sat next to him and put her head on his shoulder. ‘Remember how good Granny was at French cricket?’

‘When she wasn’t painting,’ said Henry. ‘We’ve still got her painting books and sketchpads somewhere, haven’t we?’

‘Yeah, they’re in Clapham. The loft, I think.’ She tapped her brother’s knee with her knuckles. ‘How is Mandalay Road?’

‘Nice and quiet without you.’

She gave him a pinch. ‘I didn’t expect to be staying here in Cornwall.’ She looked over to Kit who was staring into rock pools. ‘You do like him, don’t you?’

‘I’ve known him less than a day, but I’ve managed to spill all the family secrets and get blind drunk with him. What is there not to like?’

‘He’s a nice person,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I really like him.’

Kit turned from the rock pools and looked up. ‘My ears are burning.’

‘They should be,’ laughed Henry. ‘Are your intentions towards my sister honourable?’

‘Not altogether,’ smiled Kit, walking towards them.

Henry turned to his sister. ‘And is that all right with you?’

‘Very,’ she said, catching Kit’s hand.

That evening the three of them lay sprawled around the lounge watching a movie on Netflix, full of Ella’s cottage pie that she’d had ready in the fridge. Henry was on an armchair, Kit and Ella snuggled on the sofa, when they heard a key in the lock and the familiar sound of eight dog feet, tapping on the hall floor as they rushed to the door, then a voice calling, ‘The bloody roads are full of idiots! Terrible roadworks on the A38 and I’m absolutely starving.’ A tall handsome man appeared at the door followed by two Afghan hounds that strolled in and flopped on the nearest rug. He surveyed the empty plates on the coffee table. ‘Bugger. Have you already eaten?’

Kit and Ella jumped up. ‘There’s plenty left. I’ll warm some up,’ Ella said as Kit made the introductions. ‘Adam, may I introduce you to Ella’s brother Henry? Henry, this is my cousin, Adam. He’s the landlord.’

Henry and Adam shook hands and Ella returned from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of cottage pie. ‘Darling, sit down and eat while I give Celia and Terry their supper.’

‘You’re an angel.’ He kissed Ella’s hand as she passed him, taking the dogs with her.

‘So,’ said Adam, settling into his chair and blowing on a forkful of food, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Henry. At last we are able to give you the once-over.’

‘I rather thought I was here to give Kit the once-over, actually,’ Henry laughed.

‘And the verdict?’ asked Adam, munching.

‘Not bad at all.’

‘We have bonded over gin and pizza,’ smiled Kit. ‘Anyone fancy a beer?’

Henry rubbed his chin. ‘My liver is feeling a lot better, so yes please.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Kit went to the kitchen.

‘What happened last night?’ asked Adam, wiping a drop of gravy from his chin.

Henry sat back in his chair and wondered how to explain. ‘I don’t know if Ella has told you that we were brought up by our grandparents?’

Adam, concentrating on his food, nodded. ‘Yep. Your disappearing mother has featured large over the last few months. The business of tracking her down for your grandmother’s will?’

‘Well, they’ve found her,’ sighed Henry.

Adam swallowed his mouthful. ‘Is that why you got hammered last night? Well, that’s great.’

Henry stayed silent.

‘Or is it?’ asked Adam.

‘Ella thinks it’s great but I really want nothing to do with our mother, our grandmother’s money or … anything.’

Kit came back with Ella, each carrying two cold bottles of beer. Celia and Terry loafed behind them.

Adam took his beer from Ella. ‘Henry’s just told me about your mum.’

Ella looked anxious. ‘Her turning up? It’s early days and quite difficult to get our heads round, isn’t it, Henry.’

‘Not yours.’

‘Let’s not start all that again,’ said Kit.

Adam scooped up the last mouthful of cottage pie and put his plate down on the floor, pushing Terry’s inquisitive nose out of it. ‘So, Henry, you’re staying here, are you?’

‘If that’s okay with you?’

‘Oh, fine. I’m off again tomorrow, got a couple of weeks training in St Thomas’s A & E. Serious trauma stuff in case of terror attacks. You can use my room.’

Ella saw Henry’s puzzlement. ‘Adam is a doctor, Henry. A very good one.’

‘You can trust me,’ laughed Adam.

Kit grabbed the television remote and unfroze the film they had been watching. ‘Let’s forget about all that tonight.’ He picked up his beer and put his feet on Celia to tickle her tummy. ‘Tonight we relax. Cheers.’

Henry left for London after breakfast the next morning. Ella had packed a pasty and a coffee flask in a cardboard and put it on the back seat of the taxi.

‘That should keep you going.’ She leant through the front window and kissed him. ‘I love you, bro. Come back soon.’

‘As soon as I can, but the office is really busy at the moment.’

‘But the profit is good?’ Ella raised her eyebrows, mocking him.

‘Recession? What recession?’ He tweaked her nose the way he knew annoyed her. ‘The old Ruskies are still buying lumps of prime London real estate, lucky for me.’

Ella rubbed her nose crossly. ‘Drive carefully.’

‘I will, and Ella, thank you for saying you won’t see that woman.’

‘Mum.’

‘Whatever. She can come, take the money and go. She doesn’t deserve to see us.’

‘It’ll be okay.’

Kit came forward and leant on the car roof. ‘Come and see us again soon.’

‘And you look after my sister.’ Henry said. ‘She’s had enough crap in her life. She doesn’t need more.’

On the train from Bodmin, Henry’s head was full of his mother. He couldn’t forget the hurt that his grandparents had endured for all those years. He laid the responsibility of their unhappiness squarely at her door. What kind of mother would just piss off, dumping her children with parents who had only ever given her every helping hand they could? They had loved and supported her and she repaid them by running away without a backward glance. Not a note, not a phone call.

What a cow.

He had no desire to see her or listen to any pathetic excuses or apologies.

And who the bloody hell was his father? Was he the same man who fathered Ella?

Poor Ella. A girl needed her mum. Granny did her best, but even so …

On and on his thoughts went until he had exhausted his brain. Putting on his headphones he got out his laptop to watch a film he’d downloaded but he couldn’t concentrate and eventually returned to looking at the world racing past his window while he brooded.

‘So, do you like my brother?’ Ella asked, nestling in to Kit as they walked on the beach that afternoon.

‘He’s got a bee in his bonnet about your mum, hasn’t he?’ he said, putting his arm around her.

‘He remembers bits about her. Vague stuff, but I think it was nice things – and then suddenly she was gone. So, like a bereavement, he still grieves unconsciously.’

‘And what about you? Do you want to see her?’

‘I’ve promised Henry now.’

‘That doesn’t answer the question.’

‘I’m curious.’ They walked together in silence for a while before she said, ‘Yes, I’d really like to see her. I’d like to know why. What happened. Who my dad is. I’ve always wanted to know, but Granny and Poppa had a sort of unspoken thing so that we didn’t talk about her. Poppa was brokenhearted when she left and Granny bore the brunt of his grief whilst grieving herself.’