Jenny Oliver - The House We Called Home - The magical, laugh out loud summer holiday read from the bestselling Jenny Oliver

Baby.

He felt suddenly woozy.

The air seemed to get muggier and more humid. Above him a gauzy layer of clouds locked in the heat, smothering them all like a huge white duvet.

The kids followed Amy over the stile. Rosie tripped and in the process trod in a cow pat. Sonny laughed. Rosie slapped him on the stomach. Sonny laughed even more and called her Cow Pat Rosie, which made Amy have to hold in a laugh as she told him not to call his sister names while Rosie cried.

It made Gus think about his own family. About the near constant bickering with his siblings – all five of them – and his own parents’ house on a farm in Suffolk, crammed full of stuff and people and kids. There were always more babies, more cats, more dogs, more tiny chicks in the airing cupboard; everything mismatched, spotlessly clean but worn and tired. He couldn’t imagine anyone going missing other than because they’d got lost on the land somewhere. He had spent his life appreciative of it but desperate to escape it. He had lain on his triple bunk bed dreaming of one day having his own space. A place where he and he alone would be in control, where he could do as he pleased, where it would be silent. And now he had it. He cherished his independence, barely had long-term relationships, and shuddered inside when a girlfriend tried to make him commit to a holiday a couple of months in advance. Yet here he was, on the verge of being permanently tied to this Britney Spears wannabe because of one stupid, drunken mistake. He had to make her see sense.

They walked single file down the side of the field, the footpath jagged with stones, the air scented with cows and wild garlic, and the barbs of the blackthorn bushes clutching at their T-shirts.

‘Amy,’ Rosie said, idly plucking at the long grass. ‘Is Gus your boyfriend?’

Gus snorted a laugh at the back as Amy visibly bristled, her hand fluffing up her hair like a nervous tick. ‘No,’ she said, short and sharp without turning round.

Sonny turned round though and made a sniggering face at Gus. And Rosie was walking backwards now, eyes narrowed as if she’d been certain she had cracked a particularly difficult code that no one else had yet deciphered.

Gus raised a brow, smug to have outwitted her.

Amy marched on ahead, not speaking, putting herself as far ahead of the group as she could.

Gus thought about the phone call he’d had with his mother last night when he’d been out walking the dog. Needing to talk to someone but unsure who. As soon as she’d answered the phone he knew she’d been the wrong person to call.

‘She says she’s going to keep it.’

‘Oh, Gus, love, that’s wonderful.’

‘It’s not wonderful.’

‘Where are you? It’s very loud.’

‘Cornwall. It’s the sea.’

‘You could do with a bit of fresh air.’

He imagined her bustling round the kitchen, desperate to envelope him in a big, busty hug. She’d be clutching the cat, probably, to make up for his absence. He’d sighed, regretting the panic that had made him ring in the first place. ‘If she has it, I suppose it’ll only be every other weekend though, won’t it?’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Isn’t that what people do?’ He could hear his sister, Claudia, in the background as his mother relayed the whole chat to her, say, ‘Overnight usually in the week as well, Gussy!’

‘Stop it, the pair of you,’ his mother said. ‘You don’t just have a baby at the weekend, Gus. It’s forever. It’s in your life, that’s it.’

Gus had made a hasty excuse to hang up then walked glassy-eyed after the dog, the word ‘forever’ looping in his head like the monotonous drone of the waves.

Now the air was getting warmer as they walked. Out the other side of the field they trudged up the coastal path. A maze of brambles on one side, a sheer drop on the other. Gus peered down at the sea, tide in, lapping at the base of the cliff like a hungry dog. There was no shade. No one had thought to bring any water. By the time they got to the Coach and Horses they were all sweaty and sulky with thirst. Amy snapped at Rosie and Sonny to stop squabbling as she patted her skin with a tissue, checking in the window that her make-up was all still in place before they went in. Gus wondered if he had time to get a swift half in but thought he’d better not when Amy opened the door and all the locals greeted her with a big show of sympathetic enthusiasm. Gus thought he’d loiter close to the door instead. An old man by the bar gave Rosie a pound for the fruit machine which kept her and Sonny busy. Gus watched as a group of young surfer-looking guys hovered round Amy, hugging her, draping their arms round her shoulders, kissing her on the cheek and ruffling her hair. It was fascinating to watch. She seemed surprised to see them all and less comfortable with the attention than he’d presumed she might be, breaking the chat short to ask the barman if he’d seen her dad recently or noticed anything unusual.

‘Barely been in,’ the barman said. ‘Last couple of weeks haven’t seen him. Sorry, love.’

Amy nodded. ‘That’s OK.’

Behind her the fruit machine started beeping and flashing. Rosie yelped as coins started clanging into the tray. ‘I’ve won!’ she shouted.

The whole place turned to look. Amy’s friends laughed, a couple of them swaggering over to gawp at the jackpot. Gus heard them invite Amy to sit down for a drink but she declined, pointing to the door, inadvertently at Gus, saying that they had to go. Gus lifted his hand in a self-conscious wave. One of the guys raised a brow at Amy. She did a little shake of her head, ‘It’s nothing like that,’ then helping Rosie scoop coins into her pocket, ushered them all back out into the sunshine.

‘Right, to the high street,’ she said, pushing her sunglasses on and pointing up the lane, clearly on edge.

‘Race you, Cow Pat,’ Sonny shouted and ran ahead.

Rosie sprinted after him. ‘Don’t call me Cow Pat.’

Gus found himself side by side with Amy.

They walked in silence for a bit.

‘Everything OK?’ he asked, more just for something polite to say. She definitely seemed a bit odd but then she always seemed slightly odd to him.

‘Fine,’ she said, without turning his way.

Gus nodded.

A bus trundled by. They walked past a tea room and an antique centre. An old woman with a stick was deadheading her geraniums. ‘Oh, hello Amy, love. You all right?’ she asked.

‘Fine thank you, Mrs Obertone,’ Amy said, super polite, taking her sunglasses off and making a point of checking that Mrs Obertone’s children were well, etc.

Gus shuddered. He couldn’t bear the idea of everyone knowing him and everything about him again. Visits to his parents’ house were always accompanied by wind-ups in the pub about when he was going to take over the farm.

When they got to what Amy had referred to as the high street – a gallery, fish and chip shop, pasty shop, and pharmacy – Gus trailed behind her as she went into every shop and enquired about her father. And every single person enquired about her, a subject he noticed Amy expertly deflected, countering quick smart with questions about all the other person’s extended family. For Gus, it was painfully slow going.

Finally, they got to the Londis.

Gus ambled the aisles as Amy queued at the checkout to talk to the cashier whose name nobody could remember.

He found Rosie in the toy section holding a Barbie in a box. ‘Don’t you think she looks like Amy?’ she said.

Gus exhaled as he took the Barbie off her and stared, reluctantly, at the big blue eyes and the big blonde hair. ‘A bit.’

‘You don’t look like Ken,’ Rosie said flatly.

Gus laughed. ‘No, I know I don’t.’