A Family Holiday: A heartwarming summer romance for fans of Katie Fforde. Bella Osborne
temper had turned to tears before she’d reached the top of the stairs.
‘I’ll go,’ said Charlie, giving the others a wan smile.
‘Silly Billy,’ giggled Millie, thankfully oblivious to the impact of the upsetting faux pas before continuing with what she remembered of the old rhyme.
Eleanor lay face down on her bed, her small body shaking with the force of her sobs, her butterfly duvet muffling the pain. Wriggly sat on the pillow, looking worried and helpless, as he tilted his head from side to side and whimpered. Charlie got on the bed next to Eleanor, wrapped her arms around her and rocked her gently until the sobs turned to sniffles.
‘Mum and Dad…’ started Eleanor, but the noisy sobs returned and Charlie cradled her again until she could control them. At last they both sat up and Eleanor clung to Charlie, as she had done yesterday and the day before.
‘I know,’ said Charlie, ‘it’s total rubbish.’ She pushed a strand of damp hair off the eight-year-old’s face. Wriggly came to sit on Charlie’s lap and tried to lick Eleanor’s tears. A tiny smile appeared fleetingly on Eleanor’s lips.
‘That stupid song,’ grumbled Eleanor.
‘Granddad Roger taught it to her. She doesn’t know what it’s about, though.’
‘I know. Even Millie is being braver than me,’ said Eleanor, wiping her eyes with the tissue that was now permanently in her pocket.
Millie had been deeply affected by the emotions in the house and had cried constantly for the first few days after the accident. She had then moved onto calling out ‘My Mummy and My Daddy!’ and searching the house for them as if playing some twisted game of hide and seek. Thankfully, after repeated attempts by Charlie to explain that Mummy and Daddy had gone to Heaven, where they could see her but she couldn’t see them, she had calmed down a little and mercifully had now stopped looking for them and was very nearly back to her usual cheeky self.
‘You don’t have to be brave, Elle. It’s different for Millie; she’s only three. She won’t fully understand everything until she’s bigger. As long as Millie has food, drink and her Winnie the Pooh her basic needs are met. For the rest of you it’s a lot more complicated. You need to get through this however you can.’
‘I feel sad all the time and I cry… all the time,’ said Eleanor, looking wretched.
‘I know, sweetie, and that’s completely normal. Someone once told me that grief is like any wound, it needs time to heal. Thing is, it’s not a scab on your knee, so you can’t see how it’s getting on.’
‘It won’t get better though, will it? Mum and Dad are never coming back. We’ll never be a happy family again.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I know we argue sometimes but we did used to be happy.’ Eleanor pulled Wriggly onto her lap and he wagged his tail excitedly.
‘We did,’ nodded Charlie. ‘It will take time, lots of tears and lots of cuddles but I promise you you’ll get back to being happy. It’ll just be a different kind of happy,’ she said but Eleanor didn’t look convinced. ‘When you’re ready, come and get some food. Okay?’
The last couple of months had been a blur and too awful to put into words. They had all been suffering. It was probably Eleanor who worried Charlie the most as she had gone into her shell and spent all her time with Wriggly, barely speaking to anyone and surviving almost entirely on milkshakes.
The accident had hit Charlie hard too. She had learnt so much from the Cobleys. She’d learnt that if there was ever a cement shortage Weetabix was a viable substitute, having tried to remove it from a myriad surfaces, including her own hair. She’d learnt that you never leave a baby to play innocently with a thread in a Berber carpet, as it soon becomes a four-foot-long bald strip. She’d learnt to change a nappy at record speed, to avoid the horror of a poo-covered bottom rolling across a vanilla-coloured wool rug. But, most importantly, she’d learnt that whatever happens, you stick together as a family.
Charlie struggled to believe it herself, that Helen and Toby Cobley were both dead. When she heard a car stop outside she still occasionally had a quick look to check it wasn’t them. How quickly their world had been changed. A simple car accident on a wet motorway had become a multiple-car pile up, with the Cobley’s car somewhere in the middle.
Charlie’s immediate fear had been that the children would be taken into the care of Social Services. That fear still hung over her and it would do until the question of guardianship had been resolved. She knew too well what it was like to be a child in the care system and she was desperate for the Cobley children to avoid this fate.
Charlie joined the others at the table, where Millie was using her carrot sticks to beat out an interesting rhythm.
Ted put his cutlery down when she approached. ‘Is she okay?’ he asked, but before Charlie could get a reply out George threw his cutlery down hard onto the table, making Millie jump.
‘Of course she’s not bloody well okay!’ George shouted at his brother. ‘She’s never going to be okay. None of us are. What made you suddenly care?’
‘Come on, George, don’t be an arse,’ said Ted as he went to give George a friendly nudge.
‘Don’t shove me! You’re not in charge,’ yelled George, scraping his chair across the floor as he stood up sharply. George stood over Ted with his fists clenched.
‘Hey, calm down. I’m not trying to be in charge. Nobody is in charge any more.’
‘You think you’re the man of the house now. But you’re not!’
‘Technically, I think I am,’ said Ted, standing up and towering over George, ‘but I’m not going to fight with you.’ However, it seemed George had other ideas and launched himself at Ted, pummelling his torso with his fists. Charlie leapt forward but Ted raised a hand to stop her. Instead of hitting back or even defending himself, Ted pulled George to him, enveloped him in a hug and took the blows until George wore himself out. The happy-go-lucky George was missing and an angry boy was in his place, ready to shout and argue with anyone, about anything. Charlie sorely hoped this was a temporary phase of the grieving process.
Charlie looked at Ted, and right at that moment she was immensely proud of him. He’d been up and down emotionally himself, but it was clear he was trying to hold it together for the younger ones. George clung onto Ted until the worst of the crying had left him and then he pushed him harshly away and stormed off. Charlie listened and was pleased to hear his bedroom door slam; at least it wasn’t the front door.
‘Naughty step! Naughty step!’ chanted Millie happily, waving a carrot stick in time.
As Charlie was clearing away the lunch things in an empty kitchen the doorbell rang. Whilst Charlie loved the house, a stuccoed townhouse in the heart of Pimlico, the fact that it was split over five floors could be a pain sometimes. She sprinted up the steps from the kitchen, taking a towel with her to dry her hands. They had a state-of-the-art dishwasher but recently she’d taken to washing up, as she’d found if she kept herself busy it made things a fraction easier.
She opened the door to the hunched figure of Felix, his jacket collar turned up and his hands thrust into his jeans pockets.
‘Oh, it’s you.’
Felix rolled his lips in on themselves like a chimp. ‘Thought I should call round.’
‘A phone call first would have been good.’
‘I lost the number.’ He shrugged. ‘Last time didn’t go well. I thought I should try to get to know the kids a bit better.’
Charlie eyed him warily, stepped outside and pulled the door almost closed behind her.
‘Look, that’s all very well but if you’re planning on buggering off again at a moment’s notice it’s best you don’t bother in the first place.’ Charlie belatedly added a brief smile. ‘I’m really not trying to be unkind but…’
‘It’s