Page 86 of Summer in Greece

Shelly shook her head. ‘No. He gave up cigarettes for New Year. He uses a vape, though. Claimed it helps him get over smoking tobacco but now he’s addicted to the vape and gets frantic if he mislays it.’

‘We have something in common, then.’ DJ smiled out of the car window.

‘There’s one other thing. Last weekend, we discovered a bag of stuff that belonged to my great-grandmother. She went off to nurse in the First World War, just after the Battle of Gallipoli around 1916.’

‘Nineteen sixteen, that’s cool. What did you find?’

‘Apart from a nurse’s uniform, we don’t know what’s in there, we thought we’d wait until you arrived and then have a look together.’ They pulled up outside the cottage.

‘Thank you.’ He turned towards her, still smiling. ‘It’s very peaceful around here, isn’t it?’

*

After the introductions, Shelly was aware of tension building between DJ and Gordon. She showed DJ around the cottage, before returning to the dining table. They sat in silence as she dished out the food.

‘What do you think of White Cottage then, DJ?’ Gordon tried.

‘Nice place, a good size family home.’ Then, appearing slightly startled by his own words, he went on. ‘Love the beams, really cool, Mr Summer.’

‘You can’t call me Mr Summer, lad. You’re family, after all.’

Clearly, DJ went through a number of responses in his mind, but then gave up.

Shelly glanced at her father’s glum face, wishing he would cheer up. Then they all glared miserably at the joint of beef in the centre of the table, dumping their woe on it. DJ was jigging his knee. The tap dripped into the sink. Shelly chewed her lip. This wasn’t what she had envisaged.

‘Wait, I forgot the mustard,’ she cried, glad of the excuse to speak, feeling the hot accompaniment would somehow warm up the atmosphere.

They tucked into the veg, roasties and Yorkshires with only her father helping himself to a huge portion of beef, while DJ took a frugal slice, glancing around the table guiltily as he did so. Shelly tried to make conversation, but the strained atmosphere prevailed until eventually, she jumped up and started shifting plates.

‘I’ve made an amazing apple pie with real custard, who’s up for a slice?’

Hands went up. ‘I’ll clear the table,’ Shelly said, placing a blanket of tinfoil over the remainder of the joint and shoving it into the fridge.

DJ stood. ‘Can I help?’

‘Certainly not,’ Shelly said. ‘Dad, get DJ a beer, please.’

Gordon was clearly uncomfortable, and DJ noticed it too. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’

In an awkward moment both DJ and her father moved towards the sofa and almost bumped into each other. DJ, aware of the tension, glanced at Shelly. Gordon suddenly threw his arms around the boy as if in a rugby tackle.

Startled, everyone froze.

‘’Ere, lad, I want to say I’m right sorry. Really. Can you ever forgive me? Not a bloomin’ day’s passed that I ’aven’t regretted my decision all those years ago, and I ain’t never forgot you, an’ neither has our Shelly. You’re me only grandson, lad, and I’m glad you’re ’ere.’ Then, he sniffed loudly and everyone realised how upset he was. ‘I’ve been a right grumpy bastard since the day you left us, ask yer mother; and I’m good ’n’ proud of the way you’ve turned out.’ He let go of DJ, turned away and blew his nose with gusto.

Shelly exchanged an ‘Awww’ look with DJ, then passed two bottles of beer over. ‘Why don’t you two take to the sofa so we can put the table back against the wall and have some room in here. We’ll have the pudding on our knees, OK?’

Both men nodded and the tension broke as they pushed the table back to the wall and then flopped onto the sofa.

‘Ouch, sorry, sat on something,’ DJ said, pulling the scatter cushion out from behind his back, then holding up a huge pair of holey, pale-blue Y-fronts.

Gordon’s eyes widened. ‘’Ere, I’ve been looking for them. They’s me most comfy ones. Shelly, you ’aven’t been using them as a duster?’

DJ’s shoulders were shaking.

‘For goodness’ sake, Dad. There’s no backside in them,’ Shelly cried.

‘I admits they’s a bit thin in the seat, but the front’s still good, and who’s ever goin’ to see my behind?’