Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with. Michelle Vernal

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СКАЧАТЬ that’s it. Give her a call; it’ll do you good to get out for a bit. A girl your age shouldn’t be sitting at home with her grandmother night after night. Should she Joe?’

      Joe nodded, he’d agree with Bridget on anything if there was a bowl of her creamy rice pudding in it for him.

      ‘It’s only been four nights Gran,’ Isla said feeling ganged up upon, but she was feeling fidgety too. Oh God, she frowned, was this what her life had come to? Was she seriously considering shaking her groove thing in the dark, with her mum and a bunch of other middle-aged women? It would appear so because she was fed up. She’d mooched around the house on her own for the best part of the day waiting for the internet to be connected. It was rural broadband only in Bibury and nowhere near as high speed as she was used to, but at least as of three o’clock that afternoon, she was in touch with the outside world once more. The first thing she’d done was message Maura to tell her how she was getting on and then she’d hit Pinterest for some ideas for the Kea. That had kept her busy until Gran had got home. Joe had popped in not long after looking for his dinner.

      Bridget, it would seem had a pretty hectic social life. There had been bowls in the morning and then she’d invited Isla to join her for afternoon tea at Margaret’s house. She was heading over to discuss the coup she suspected was being plotted by Elsie.

      Isla had heard all about it over lunch. Gran reckoned Elsie was no longer content to wait to see if she was made Vice President of the Bibury Women’s Bowls Club. Oh no, she was planning to overthrow Bridget and push her out of the role of top dog. It was like listening to a geriatric episode of Wentworth. The whole business was serious enough, Gran said, for her to contemplate telling Margaret her closely guarded secret; the secret as to what it was that gave her scones that extra light, airiness in exchange for insider information.

      It was all very intriguing, but Isla had declined the invitation. Instead, she found herself peering out the front window of the living room from time to time in the hope of catching a glimpse of Ben. Why? She didn’t know. Ben was such ancient history that their relationship could be classed as early Jurassic. However, she did see him. It was as if he’d felt her eyes on him because he’d looked up from the car he was working on and his gaze had swung her way. She’d let the curtain drop quickly, feeling as though it had burned her fingers, and sent up a prayer that he hadn’t seen her. To her shame she realized that since arriving back in Bibury, she was not only a thirty-year-old woman, living with her grandmother, she was also a curtain-twitcher.

      The current affairs programme on the telly went to an ad break. To Isla’s alarm, Gran began stabbing at the screen and getting very hot under the collar as the shorts for Skipping the Light Fan-Tango appeared.

      ‘Look at her there in her sparkly … well you could hardly call it a dress, there’s not enough fabric for that. A sparkly belt, maybe. She’s a floozy, that one, and she’s only got as far as she has in the competition because she slept with Javier Franco. Look, he’s the judge in the middle.’ She gave a particularly virulent jab towards the television. ‘You can tell by the way they look at each other.’

      Okay, Isla thought, it would seem her options were staying here and listening to Gran’s slanderous character assassination of the stars of SLF or she could ring her mum and cadge a ride to a dancing in the dark session. Best ring her, she thought hauling herself out of her chair.

      ‘Good girl,’ Joe mumbled.

      ‘Mum’s picking me up in five minutes, do I look the part Dad? Gran?’ she asked a few minutes later from where she stood in the living room doorway. She’d changed into her trusty leisure suit and a pair of running shoes that were in for a shock because they never usually did anything remotely sporty. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

      ‘Why are you asking us that? I thought the whole point of having the lights off when you dance is that it’s dark. Nobody can see what you look like. Your mother says it’s very liberating,’ Bridget said with a grimace. ‘I’d hate to think what get up she goes along in. She always has to take things one step too far, your mother. She has done since she was a child.’

      Joe caught Isla’s eye, and they both grinned in silent agreement.

      ‘Right well, I’ll leave you both to your show.’ Isla planted a kiss on top of her gran’s silver head and one on her father’s bristly cheek.

      ‘I’m off in a minute too,’ he said.

      ‘Working on the bike?’

      ‘Too right, only peace I get to tinker on it is when your mother’s out dancing.’

      ‘Oh Isla, before I forget, when the lights are on have a look around the hall. I’m the Secretary of the Barker’s Creek Hall Committee, and we’re trying to think of ways to fundraise to give it a spruce up.’

      ‘Okay, I will,’ Isla said. She vaguely recalled the hall from her youth as the place that Brownies and other kids’ activities had been held. That it was old with lots of wood was what she remembered of it. She also remembered the stories her gran had told her about the dances held there back in the days before she got married. Isla always fancied she caught a glimpse of her gran as a girl on the cusp of womanhood when she talked about those days because her eyes always sparkled as she relived them.

      ‘Now go on with you,’ Bridget said waving her away, but Isla saw her smile.

      Oh bugger, she thought a few minutes later, shutting the front door behind her. She didn’t have a water bottle. The Four Square was still open she saw, glancing up the road in that direction and spying lights. She opened the passenger door of her mum’s idling car and climbing in kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hi Mum, good day?’

      ‘So, so. I sold a bottle of Revlon Age Defying foundation to Mrs Flintoff this afternoon, but I had to explain to her that once she’s opened it, she can’t bring it back if she doesn’t look like Elle McPherson after five days.’

      Isla laughed at the trial and tribulations of the beauty biz.

      ‘Got your dancing shoes on ready to go?’

      ‘Uh-huh, but can I just run into the Four Square and grab a bottle of water?’

      ‘Alright, but don’t mess about, I want to get there while the lights are still on. We don’t want to trip over and injure ourselves before we even get in the door.’

      Isla walked through the door of the little supermarket where she had toiled away many a Saturday afternoon, and as she headed over to the fridge, she spotted Annie. She was conferring with a tall man. He had an impressive head of shiny, swishy hair and didn’t look Greek in the slightest. She had a bottle of wine in her hand which appeared to be the object of intense discussion between them.

      She debated going over, Mum had told her to get a move on.

      ‘Hello again!’ Annie said spotting her, her face breaking into a grin and Isla felt a twinge of guilt at having even tossed up on whether or not to say hi. Mum could wait.

      ‘Carl, this is my new friend, Isla. She’s an interior designer who’s just got back from the UK. She’s going to put together some ideas for jazzing up the Kea.’

      Carl stepped forward and held out his hand. His grasp was strong which belied the soft skin. Actually, Isla looked up and him and realized his skin was beautiful. She wondered what his secret was. His nails were well-shaped unlike her own which were a mess thanks to all that veggie gardening at Break-Free. СКАЧАТЬ