Free Summer House by Marcia Willett Page A

bear to look at me. I can’t blame her.’
    â€˜But what made you do it?’ she asked more gently. She realized that she was feeling very slightly virtuous, more tolerant of his weakness than the upright, unforgiving Alice. Of course, she’d known him for ever; knew his weaknesses – and strengths.
    Nick swallowed some tea. ‘You have really no idea, Im, what it’s like to live in a very commercial society. Where even at the school gate you’re judged by your shoes, and your kids are likely to be losers if they carry the wrong pencil boxes, or if your skiing holiday isn’t in this year’s socially acceptable resort. The pressure is huge. Children’s parties are a competitive nightmare. I’d maxed my credit cards, got behind with the mortgage and I needed extra money; it’s as simple as that. The trouble is, you feel that you have to keep up with your friends.’
    â€˜Then move. Live somewhere else, where those values don’t apply.’
    He laughed at her. ‘Will you be the one to tell Alice that she needs to change the habits of a lifetime? It’s what she’s used to, and I knew that when I married her. I thought I could hack it. It’s not her fault that I couldn’t quite cut it. If I can borrow some money quickly I can just about deal with it and she might – might – just bring herself to overlook it.’
    â€˜How much, Nick?’
    He grimaced. ‘Twenty-three thousand?’
    â€˜Jesus!’
    â€˜I know. But I’m strapped whichever way I turn when it comes to borrowing, and the mortgage can’t take another penny, so Dad’s my last resort.’

    â€˜Is Milo likely to have that much spare? He’s only got his pension, hasn’t he?’
    Nick looked away from her. ‘He’s got the Summer House,’ he said reluctantly. ‘And Ma says that the tenants are about to move out.’
    â€˜You mean sell it?’ She felt a pang of real grief. ‘Oh, Nick, that would be so sad. It’s always been part of the High House, hasn’t it?’
    He shrugged. ‘Have you got any better ideas?’ He put down his mug. ‘I must get on. They’ll be wondering if I’m OK. See you later?’
    â€˜Of course. Let me know what happens.’
    â€˜Thanks, Im. I mean, really, thanks.’
    She came round the end of the counter to give him a hug, feeling rather pleasantly compassionate and horrified, both at the same time. He put his arms around her and held her tightly.
    â€˜Good luck,’ she said, releasing herself quickly.
    She hurried him to the door, shut it behind him, and stood staring at it. To her relief Rosie began to shout, and Im turned and ran quickly up the stairs.
    Â 
    Nick drove slowly: he had no stomach for the meeting to come and, as he drove, he rehearsed the words that he would use to his father. In his heart he blessed Im for her partisanship; he’d never let his mother know just how fond of Im he was: even when they’d been small children she’d been determined to make him see Matt and Im as usurpers and he’d played along with it to please her. But Im had been such a sweetie, and she’d grown up to be a very pretty girl. The fact that none of the family had known about their tendresse had made it even more exciting: not even Matt had guessed.
Nick almost smiled: it had been fun fooling them all. But he’d always had his suspicions about Lottie; that direct way she’d looked at him sometimes so that he’d been unable to meet her eye. Funny woman, his aunt Lottie; she wasn’t at all how one might imagine an aunt. He wondered whether he could count on her to support him; perhaps he ought to tell her first and let her break the news to Dad.
    Nick beat his fist lightly on the steering wheel and shook his head in disgust at the thought. But his gut turned to water as he imagined the coming interview. His father was so old