Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with. Michelle Vernal
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. He dropped her hand and ran his fingers through his hair which swished satisfyingly back into place. Isla observed this and turned a shade of green. Oh, to have hair that did that.
‘Carl’s staying with Kris and me for a few nights. He decided to escape the big smoke and make a long weekend of it,’ Annie informed her.
The penny dropped. ‘Ah, so you’re the Carl that Annie travelled to Greece with?’
‘The one and the same, and knowing Annie she’s told the unfortunate Acropolis story. Travel tip darling, never leave home without a box of Diastop.’
Isla laughed, and Annie shook her head. She spied the water bottle. ‘Where are you off to looking all sporty?’
‘No Lights, No Lycra at the Barker’s Creek Community Hall.’
Two blank faces gazed back at her.
‘Apparently, the idea stemmed from a bunch of dance students in Melbourne. They wanted the freedom to express themselves outside the conformity of their classes,’ she repeated the spiel her mother had given her. ‘Sounds great in theory but I’m dubious as to what it’s like in practice. I’m keeping an open mind, though. The alternative was sitting at home with my gran who was getting het up over Skipping the Light Fan-Tango.’
Annie and Carl listened in amusement.
‘Hey, why don’t you guys come with me for moral support? Annie, you’ve met my mum, there’s room in the car.’
Carl was the first to answer. ‘I like the sound of that, it’s my kind of exercise, and I seriously need to destress thanks to David. What do you think Annie?’
‘Kris has a tonne of marking to get through; he won’t mind if we eat dinner later. I’m not dressed for it though.’ Annie gestured to her floaty tunic dress and boots. The boots were gorgeous, Isla loved the