Read Online The Long Weekend by Veronica Henry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Veronica Henry
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I’m at the college, doing A-levels. And I don’t know anyone yet – though I’ve just started working at the Mimsbury Arms. Waitressing.’
The three of them looked at each other.
‘Well,’ said Nick. ‘You better come to our party on Saturday. Actually, it’s our parents’ party, but we’re allowed to ask friends.’
‘Party?’ Claire panicked inwardly. She thought she could imagine the sort of parties they had. Girls with long, glossy hair in taffeta dresses. Men in dinner jackets. The thought made her stomach curdle.
‘Don’t look so frightened,’ laughed Nick. ‘It’s not a posh do. Just come as you are – that’s the rule. We live at the Mill House.’
He said it as if she would know exactly which house he meant.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing on Saturday. I’ll probably be working.’
‘Well, come afterwards.’ These boys were clearly not used to taking no for an answer. ‘Things never get going till eleven o’clock anyway.’
Claire decided it was easier to agree to come than to carry on protesting. They were the sort of people who would probably forget they had even invited her once she was out of their sight.
‘Well, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’d love to come.’
Of course she had no intention of going. Charming though they appeared, Claire didn’t think the Barnes boys were her sort of thing at all. She would have nothing in common with them whatsoever.
Yet when they got off at Newbury and hugged her goodbye, she watched them ramble off down the platform together and felt a strange warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. And then Nick turned round and looked at her, held up his hand to wave, and the warmth diffused further, spreading up towards her heart.
‘See you Saturday,’ he shouted.
He was so not her type. He was posh, privileged, educated, rich, glamorous . . .
Kind, fun, thoughtful.
Sexy.
She was disconcerted to find the warmth spreading downwards too.
Saturday arrived, of course, unashamedly glorious, the perfect English summer’s day. Phil, the landlord of the Mimsbury Arms, had called to ask Claire to come in – the pub was going to be rammed; he needed all hands on deck. She was more than happy to oblige. It meant she didn’t actually have to make a decision about whether to attend the party. The decision had been made for her.
Nevertheless, as the afternoon drew on, she decided to leave home early and take the scenic route into work by cutting across the field at the back of the house and approaching the pub from the other direction, following the river. She pretended that this was to give herself some exercise, but deep down she knew it was curiosity. She found herself intrigued. She wanted a closer look at the house the Barnes boys lived in. She had a feeling that their world and hers were miles apart, but she wanted to make quite sure.
The house her parents had rented in Mimsbury was fairly nondescript, which took some doing, as the little village was famously picturesque. It was mostly made up of cottages in mellow red brick and flint, but the council had obviously got lax at some point in the mid-seventies and allowed a small close of boxes to be built just on the outskirts, as dreary and anonymous as you could wish, which of course suited Claire’s parents down to the ground. They managed to find the most unprepossessing house in the village, with its metal windows, mean patch of garden and larch-lap fencing. On the other hand, it was more attractive than the semi they had lived in on the main road through Isleworth, though that wasn’t saying much.
Claire had lived a totally urban existence until now. From the age of twelve she’d been a latch-key kid, making her way to and from school by bus, travelling further afield by train at the weekends, buying herself food from the One Stop shop if her parents were late home. Moving to the country made her feel listless, lacking in tension. She found that the fresh air and the sunshine and the
The three of them looked at each other.
‘Well,’ said Nick. ‘You better come to our party on Saturday. Actually, it’s our parents’ party, but we’re allowed to ask friends.’
‘Party?’ Claire panicked inwardly. She thought she could imagine the sort of parties they had. Girls with long, glossy hair in taffeta dresses. Men in dinner jackets. The thought made her stomach curdle.
‘Don’t look so frightened,’ laughed Nick. ‘It’s not a posh do. Just come as you are – that’s the rule. We live at the Mill House.’
He said it as if she would know exactly which house he meant.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing on Saturday. I’ll probably be working.’
‘Well, come afterwards.’ These boys were clearly not used to taking no for an answer. ‘Things never get going till eleven o’clock anyway.’
Claire decided it was easier to agree to come than to carry on protesting. They were the sort of people who would probably forget they had even invited her once she was out of their sight.
‘Well, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’d love to come.’
Of course she had no intention of going. Charming though they appeared, Claire didn’t think the Barnes boys were her sort of thing at all. She would have nothing in common with them whatsoever.
Yet when they got off at Newbury and hugged her goodbye, she watched them ramble off down the platform together and felt a strange warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. And then Nick turned round and looked at her, held up his hand to wave, and the warmth diffused further, spreading up towards her heart.
‘See you Saturday,’ he shouted.
He was so not her type. He was posh, privileged, educated, rich, glamorous . . .
Kind, fun, thoughtful.
Sexy.
She was disconcerted to find the warmth spreading downwards too.
Saturday arrived, of course, unashamedly glorious, the perfect English summer’s day. Phil, the landlord of the Mimsbury Arms, had called to ask Claire to come in – the pub was going to be rammed; he needed all hands on deck. She was more than happy to oblige. It meant she didn’t actually have to make a decision about whether to attend the party. The decision had been made for her.
Nevertheless, as the afternoon drew on, she decided to leave home early and take the scenic route into work by cutting across the field at the back of the house and approaching the pub from the other direction, following the river. She pretended that this was to give herself some exercise, but deep down she knew it was curiosity. She found herself intrigued. She wanted a closer look at the house the Barnes boys lived in. She had a feeling that their world and hers were miles apart, but she wanted to make quite sure.
The house her parents had rented in Mimsbury was fairly nondescript, which took some doing, as the little village was famously picturesque. It was mostly made up of cottages in mellow red brick and flint, but the council had obviously got lax at some point in the mid-seventies and allowed a small close of boxes to be built just on the outskirts, as dreary and anonymous as you could wish, which of course suited Claire’s parents down to the ground. They managed to find the most unprepossessing house in the village, with its metal windows, mean patch of garden and larch-lap fencing. On the other hand, it was more attractive than the semi they had lived in on the main road through Isleworth, though that wasn’t saying much.
Claire had lived a totally urban existence until now. From the age of twelve she’d been a latch-key kid, making her way to and from school by bus, travelling further afield by train at the weekends, buying herself food from the One Stop shop if her parents were late home. Moving to the country made her feel listless, lacking in tension. She found that the fresh air and the sunshine and the
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