A Good Catch. Fern Britton
mates, he was up bright and early this morning and looked none the worse for it. It was early days, but Jan hoped that life in the army was giving the boy the discipline he sorely needed. She fervently prayed that he’d turned a corner and was putting his old ways behind him.
Movement upstairs signalled that Jesse was awake. He and Edward had come home from a long fishing trip the night before and he was only now stirring, the smell of eggs and bacon wafting up from the kitchen as good as any alarm clock.
Jesse entered, naked except for his boxers. He hadn’t known Grant was due a visit home, and the sight of his brother grinning at him from the breakfast table wasn’t an entirely welcome one.
‘All right, Grant.’
‘Hello, little brother.’ Grant ruffled Jesse’s hair roughly and Jesse jerked his head away quickly.
‘Get off.’
‘Oo-er, someone’s a bit touchy today. That Loveday Carter not let you ’ave a feel of ’er big tits yet?’
Jesse stiffened. Jan could sense the tension between them and tried to head it off at the pass.
‘Grant, leave Jesse be, he doesn’t need your teasing this morning. Here, Jesse.’ She handed him the envelope.
Jesse could have done without Grant being there while he opened the letter. Whether the news was good or bad, his brother would find some way of goading or mocking him for it.
‘Go on, son, open it,’ his mother said encouragingly.
Jesse looked from her to the letter. Would any of the contents make the blindest bit of difference to his future? He doubted it. Behenna’s Boats beckoned and there wasn’t much in this letter could change that.
He ripped open the envelope and eyed the contents.
‘Well?’ Jan asked anxiously.
A grin spread across Jesse’s face. Six O levels. He’d failed at geography and a couple of others, but all of the key subjects were there.
‘I got six!’
‘Oh, well done, son!’ Jan embraced him warmly and Jesse tried not to squirm. ‘Enough for college, are they?’
Grant sneered. ‘College? What – our Jesse a college boy, with all those other little stuck-up snivellers.’
‘Fuck off, Grant. Just because you were too busy getting in trouble and never got anything.’
‘College is just for nancy boys too shit-scared to do a proper man’s job.’ He shovelled a mouthful of bacon and eggs into his mouth.
‘Grant, stop winding Jesse up and, Jesse, mind your language at the table, please.’
‘I’m going out on the boats with Dad,’ Jesse announced, in a bid to put an end to both his mother and Grant’s speculation.
‘You don’t have to decide now, Jesse,’ his mother told him. ‘Wait until after the summer and see how you feel then.’
‘Anyway,’ said Grant, talking through his mouthful of food, ‘Dad’s got Jesse’s future all sewn up, ain’t that right? You’re going to be the family whore!’ He let out a snort of laughter and continued to shovel in the last few forkfuls of his breakfast.
Jesse felt the urge to get as far and as fast away from Grant as possible. He stood and headed towards the kitchen door.
‘But, Jesse, your breakfast?’ his mother called after him.
‘Not hungry, Mum.’ Jesse leapt up the hallway stairs two at a time, still with Grant’s spiteful laughter ringing in his ears.
*
Mickey wasn’t surprised by his results. He sat up in bed as his mum brought the envelope to him with a mug of tea.
‘B for technical drawing and physics, C for maths, English and history, and the rest I failed.’
His mum was thrilled, and said so. ‘How many is that you got, then?’
‘Five.’
‘Five,’ she said with relish. ‘Five O levels. You’m bleddy Einstein, boy.’
The phone in the hall started to ring. Annie Chandler gave her son a last pat on the leg and went downstairs to answer it. Mickey listened, still looking at his results letter with satisfaction.
‘’Ello? …’Ello, Jesse. How did you do in your … Did you? Well done, boy … yes, Mickey’s got his … five, yeah … shall I put ’im on?… Just a minute.’ Mickey didn’t need to be called; he was already coming down the stairs two at a time and took the phone receiver from his mother.
‘What you got, Jesse?’
‘Six. I can’t believe it!’
‘You bleddy swot.’
Jesse laughed. ‘You did all right, didn’t you? Five!’
‘Yeah.’ Mickey couldn’t help smiling to himself. ‘Yeah. Bleddy five O levels.’
*
‘Mum. Please,’ Greer was pleading. ‘I know it’s kind of Dad, but I don’t want to go out to dinner tonight.’
‘You’re not going to the Golden Hind and that’s an end to it.’ Her mother’s voice was muffled as she dragged the vacuum cleaner out of the understairs cupboard.
‘But everyone’s going and I want to be with my friends.’
‘No.’ Her mother unwound the cable from the back of the cleaner’s handle. ‘Your dad and I want to celebrate as a family.’ She handed Greer the plug end. ‘Put this in, would you?’
Greer did as she was told but wouldn’t give up. ‘Well, can we go out early? So that I can finish and get down to see everybody after we’ve eaten?’
But her mother had already drowned her out with the roar of the machine.
Greer went to her room seething with frustration. She’d been everything a daughter should be to her family. She was thoughtful, obedient, clever. She always looked her best and watched her figure. She never asked for anything. Well, she didn’t need to; her parents gave her everything before she asked. And now, here she was, almost 17, and they wouldn’t let her go out on the most important night of her life.
Loveday had phoned an hour ago and told her her results. Greer was pleased for her, but even happier that she had done better. Loveday had asked her to come down to Figgotty’s – a locals’ beach. No holiday-maker ventured there; it had such a steep descent that no buggy or grandma would be able to get down to it or, if they did, up from it again.
‘We’re taking some pasties,’ Loveday had told her.
‘Who’s we?’ Greer had asked.
‘About eight of us.’
‘Is Jesse going?’ Greer had hated herself for asking, so she added hastily, ‘And Mickey?’
‘Course they are. It was Jesse’s idea. He told me to call you.’
‘Did he?’ Greer hugged herself. ‘Hang on, I’ll just ask Mum.’ A few moments later she was back on the line, almost in tears. ‘My mum won’t let me. She wants me to go into Truro with her.’
‘Never mind.’ Loveday had suddenly felt sorry for her friend. ‘Maybe you can come tonight?’ she’d suggested. ‘The pub’s doing an “exam result special” night. There’s a hog roast in the beer garden and a DJ.’
But now Greer’s mum had categorically said no.
*
‘Buona sera, Signor Clovelly.’ Antonio, chef proprietor of the eponymously named Italian restaurant greeted Bryn with his arms wide and a dusting of pizza flour on his cheek.
‘Good