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

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      ‘Mum! Keep your eyes on the road.’ The hairpin bends of the mountain pass had always made her nervous. ‘Have you got false eyelashes on? And what’s with the tan?’ she asked to distract herself.

      ‘They’re both the latest thing from Revlon,’ Mary said batting her lashes.

      She took her position as a Revlon Consultant very seriously. Isla wished the same could be said of her driving.

      ‘And you’re as bad as your father telling me how to drive. Trust you to bring up Sheree’s knickers, Isla. That was years ago and anyway I don’t know why she was so bothered, she still has trouble keeping the bloody things on according to my hairdresser, Marie.’ Her face grew pensive. ‘I wonder if Sheree was the one Marie’s ex–hubby was up to no good with, she’d never say if she was. What do you reckon on the cut she did me? I thought it was on the short side and your dad said I looked like one of those sheep that shed their wool sporadically of their accord.’ She frowned and her hand flew up to the back of her newly shorn head to pat it.

      Isla bit back a giggle; her dad could never be called a charmer. It was embarrassing the way he’d squeeze Mum’s bum in public, but that he was also kind and generous and loved the bones off his wife, there could be no doubt. Besides, she thought looking at her mum properly, the back was indeed a little short. The top bit was still as full and curly as ever. Isla’s earliest memory was of her mother looking like an alien, porcupine with a headful of heated rollers. Looking at her now, she reminded her of someone, who was it?’

      ‘Mum! I’ve got it you look like—’

      ‘Like Olivia Newton-John when she sang Physical. That was the photo I took in to show Marie.’ Mary’s face was alight with hope. ‘That was one of Olivia’s timeless looks, in my opinion. It never gets old.’

      ‘Um … oh yeah.’ That hadn’t been what she had been about to say. God help her, her mother had been a fan of Olivia’s since her Grease days. There was no chance of her ageing as gracefully as her idol though, Isla thought with a fond sideways glance. She wouldn’t put it past her to start wearing a headband and leotard to that dancing in the dark thing she reckoned was the new Zumba.

      Nothing ever changed in Bibury, and where once it had irritated Isla, now she found the idea of returning to all that sameness comforting. Marie had been cutting hair in Bibury since she was a baby and Sheree must be well into her sixties by now. Age, it would seem, hadn’t managed to slow down Shag-around Sheree, as she was known at the Pit, or her free and easy ways.

      ‘The garage was broken into last month.’

      Ben’s garage? Isla was suddenly wide awake.

      ‘They made off with cigarettes. The police caught the little buggers, apparently just kids passing through from Greymouth.’ She made a tut–tutting ‘what are the youth of today coming to’ sort of noise.

      Isla’s shoulders relaxed on hearing no one was hurt. The memory of the time Ben had broken his ankle attempting to rollerblade around Bibury High’s netball courts at her insistence flitted before her. He’d been stoic not wanting her to worry as he sat where he’d crashed to the ground. She’d seen the pain in his eyes though. It had hurt her as much as him while she sat squeezing his hand waiting for the O’Regan kid who’d been kicking a ball about nearby to fetch Ben’s dad. A trip to Greymouth hospital had followed, and he’d wound up in surgery, a plate and screws being placed along the back of his shin bone to hold the shattered bones together. He’d said it was worth it to have her at his beck and call for the weeks after as he sat propped up on his bed, foot elevated. She’d tossed a grape at him when he said that and he’d reached out and pulled her to him for a kiss. They’d only broken apart upon hearing his mother’s exaggerated throat clearing from the doorway. Isla shooed the image away; had she really once been that young and carefree?

      She closed her eyes, ignoring her mum’s questions as to what her plan was now she was back. The simple answer was she didn’t have one. She felt like the prodigal child. The Andersons would be pleased to know she’d remembered at least one parable from all those Sunday school classes they’d taken her to. Giving up on getting a reply, Mary moved on to other topics, and Isla found herself drifting off despite her mum’s chatter. She was woken with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

      ‘Isla, we’re home, and your dad’s going to dislocate his shoulder if you don’t give him a wave back. He finished early so he could be home to greet you.’

      Isla waved back at the burly man in the t-shirt and stubby shorts who stepped forward to wrap his daughter in a bear hug the instant she got out of the car. And when he boomed. ‘You found yourself then,’ she was too knackered to say anything but, ‘Yup Dad I did.’

      Mum had been busy redecorating, Isla noticed as she stepped through the front door. The three-bedroomed house had been built when Isla and Ryan were small, and it had a brick exterior with dormer windows upstairs. It sat on a sloping large part of a quiet street with her dad’s workshop off to the side.

      ‘Do you like the colour scheme?’

      It was black and white and blingy but it suited her mum down to the ground, she thought, glancing over at her dad who looked a little at odds standing under the chandelier in the living room.

      ‘I told her we don’t live in a high-class brothel, but she wouldn’t listen.’

      ‘I don’t know how you’d know what the inside of a high-class brothel looks like and you’ve nothing against bling when it comes to that bike of yours. Honestly, Isla, make sure you put your sunglasses on when he drags you out to look at it. He’s been pimping it up.’ She wagged a finger at her husband. ‘Your dad here thinks he’s the star of Easy Rider.’

      Isla smiled listening to the banter; it was good to be home.

      She managed to have a few bites of the bacon and egg pie (that she knew fell on page ninety-four of Edmonds Cookery Book) that her mum put on the table for lunch before pushing her plate away. Mary made coffee and then plonked a big heart-shaped box of chocolates down on the table.

      ‘My Valentine’s Day present,’ she said, smiling at Joe before jumping and slapping his hand away when he reached towards her. ‘You got yours this morning; you can go and tie a knot in it thank you very much.’

      Isla told them to cut it out when there were children present, slipping easily back into a long-forgotten role as she helped herself to a chocolate. Hopefully, it would give her enough of a sugar hit to get through the afternoon. She’d forgotten Valentine’s Day had just been, not that the day held any significance for her this year. Her body clock was up the wop, and she stifled a yawn as her dad moved on to his three favourite topics, his new Toyota Hilux Ute, his Harley and his veggie patch. She would dearly love to crawl into her old bed, seeing the shape of the spiky cabbage tree leaves through the curtains as she’d done as a kid and sleep for the next twelve hours solid. Isla knew she’d be wide awake in the middle of the night if she did that, though. Besides, she couldn’t take herself off to bed as much as she might want to because she had someone important to go and see.

      Isla was perched in the passenger seat of her dad’s Hilux with a bunch of carrots in a plastic bag on her lap. Apparently, Joe had had a bumper crop this year. She refused to look in the direction of the Robsons’ garage as her dad drove past and wanted to slap his hand like her mother had done earlier when he waved over to Ben.

      ‘He’s a worker that Ben, you could’ve done a lot worse than him Isla. He’s been stepping out with СКАЧАТЬ