Fern Britton Short Story Collection: The Stolen Weekend, A Cornish Carol, The Beach Cabin. Fern Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ sheer force of will, Helen won out, but justice was delivered when she climbed ungainly up after her bag and promptly banged her head on the ceiling.

      ‘Serves you right,’ said Penny, good-naturedly.

      ‘Oh Pen, what an adventure,’ From her vantage point, Helen took in the little wash basin with its hot and cold taps. Each bunk had a snug duvet and plump pillows, and they’d each been provided with soap, a towel and a bottle of mineral water. ‘It’s all so dinky and sweet.’

      ‘Yep, dinky, sweet and a bit of a tight squeeze. There’s a buffet lounge with a bar down the corridor. I think we should decamp there for a bit,’ said Penny.

      ‘Another brilliant idea.’

      Pausing only to grab their handbags, the two friends set off towards the bar.

      Helen pointed her finger unsteadily at her friend. ‘You look pished. Your eyes have shtarted to go.’

      ‘I’m perfectly sober.’ Penny waggled her head equally unsteadily. ‘You’re mishtaken, me ol’ mucker. It is you who is pished. I mean pissed.’

      The women giggled loudly, and for longer than was strictly necessary, drawing attention from the adjoining table. Seated at it was serious-looking middle-aged man, who clearly disapproved. He gave a loud tut.

      ‘I’m sorry? Did you say something?’ Penny peered at him over the rim of her plastic glass. Two hours ago, they’d bought themselves a sandwich and a teensy bottle of red wine, from which they would each get approximately one small glass each. In front of them on the Formica table now lay the detritus of their half-eaten prawn mayo sandwiches plus eight teensy wine bottles.

      Without a word, the tutting man closed the tablet he was reading and stood to leave.

      ‘Was it something we said?’ Helen asked innocently.

      The man tutted again but avoided their eyes as he made his way back to his own compartment.

      ‘Men!’ said Helen, with feeling. ‘Bet he’s bloody Cornish too.’

      ‘Don’t get us started on Cornwall and Cornish men again! We’ve worked out that you can’t get a Cornish man to do anything in a hurry.’

      ‘They don’t like it!’ Helen concurred, loudly.

      ‘And,’ Penny added, narrowing her eyes, ‘they really don’t like women taking charge.’

      ‘No, except possibly in the bedroom,’ Helen sniggered.

      ‘I’m serious!’

      ‘So am I. You’ve got to admit it, Pen. Cornish men are very, very sexy.’

      ‘What about Gasping Bob? Was he sexy?’

      ‘Well …’

      Penny never got to find out what Helen thought of Gasping Bob’s sexiness or otherwise because the reply was drowned out by the stewardess pulling down the grille and hanging a closed sign on the bar.

      ‘Sorry, ladies. We’re shutting up for the night.’ She smiled over at them.

      Penny and Helen surveyed the empty bottles in front of them.

      ‘Time for beddywed,’ said Penny.

      Helen rose to her feet, swaying rather dangerously. Penny did the same and the two women linked arms as they made their way, rather erratically, towards the door. They thanked the stewardess and gave her a wave before making their way out. The exit clearly wasn’t wide enough for both of them to leave side-by-side, but they tried it anyway. As Helen collided with the doorframe, she let out another loud snigger.

      ‘Ssssh, people are trying to sleep you know!’ came a muffled voice from behind one of the compartments.

      ‘Bet that’s Mr Grumpy,’ whispered Helen loudly.

      Eventually, after much banging and crashing, they made it back to their compartment. Getting undressed and washed was a rather messy affair, but eventually they were both in their cosy nightclothes.

      ‘That’s not a onesie you’re wearing, is it?’ asked Helen.

      ‘Onesie’s aren’t just for kids, you know,’ said Penny, peeking out from underneath her rabbit ears, one of which had fallen over her left eye, giving her quite a comical look.

      ‘Simon hasn’t seen you like that, has he?’

      ‘Simon loves me no matter what I look like in bed.’

      Helen raised a drunken eyebrow. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

      Too squiffy to care what anyone thought, Penny crawled into her lower bunk, pulling the warm duvet up to her neck.

      ‘Aren’t you going to give me a leg up?’

      Penny opened one bleary eye and looked up at Helen. ‘Eh?’

      Helen stuck her bottom lip out. ‘I can’t get up there. It’s like climbing Kilimanjaro.’

      Penny thought about it for a moment.

      ‘Pwetty please?’ said Helen hopefully, but her face fell as Penny turned over and was soon snoring like a train.

      The first thought that occurred to Helen as she emerged from unconsciousness the following morning was that someone had stuck her eyelids together with glue. The second was that the incessant bang, bang, banging wasn’t the thudding of her heart or the hammering of her headache, but was in fact, somebody banging loudly on the door of the compartment.

      She tried to prop herself up on her elbows but as her eyes gradually opened and took in the scene around her, she saw that next to her head were two feet recognisable as Penny’s by the bunny rabbit toes of her onesie.

      She gave one of the big toes a hard squeeze.

      ‘Wake up,’ she croaked. ‘Someone’s at the door.’

      The only response was a muffled groan from the other end of the cramped bottom berth. Helen slowly got out of the bed, wincing as a shooting pain pierced her temple. Gingerly she picked her way over the untidy piles of clothes and bags and opened the door. Outside was a fresh-faced young steward.

      ‘I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, madam, but we’ve reached Paddington. I’ve been banging on the door for ages. I was just about to get the master key to gain access. We thought something might have happened.’

      Helen, patted her hair in a futile attempt to restore order to what she knew must be her rather dishevelled appearance.

      ‘I’m dreadfully sorry. We seem to have overslept.’

      ‘Heavy night, was it?’

      Helen feigned indignation. ‘Not in the slightest. The motion of the train must have given us a deeper sleep than usual. That’s all.’

      The young man looked at her doubtfully. ‘People often get carried away on the sleeper, but then they forget СКАЧАТЬ