Finding Home by Kate Field (read book .txt) 📗

the windows. ‘We can rent out these caravans to poor people, who can’t afford a holiday abroad. People like you – didn’t you say you’d have loved to stay here?’

‘Yes, I would,’ Mim said, dropping her sponge in the bucket and wiping her wet hands on her jeans. ‘But we couldn’t afford a holiday at all, not just a foreign one. And then I was living in care, so it was never an option.’

‘You were in care?’ Lia stared at Mim. ‘But you’re so … normal.’

‘Thanks.’ Mim smiled. ‘And so are many other people brought up in care. Who’d have thought it?’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Lia grimaced. ‘Sorry, darling. That was awful of me, wasn’t it? Shall we forget I said that?’

‘With pleasure. Have you spoken to Bill and Bea about your idea?’

‘Not exactly.’ Lia grinned. It was impossible not to like her, however tactless she was. ‘I asked Mummy why they stopped renting out the caravans. She said they were only a diversion, really, when Daddy was between inventions. They’d tried to target an upmarket customer but then glamping became all the rage rather than traditional static caravans and bookings trailed off. They couldn’t compete with the huge caravan parks along the coast for the general holidaymaker, as we didn’t have a pool or a bar, so it all fizzled out.’

It was astonishing to Mim that they had let it fizzle without a fight. Gordon’s hotel hadn’t been a huge success when she’d arrived but they’d started trying out new ideas and promotions and had never thought of giving up. Perhaps it was simply a matter of motivation. Some people needed a living and some people needed a hobby.

‘So what do you suggest?’ Lia asked. ‘Is there a way we can use the caravans to help people who can’t afford a holiday? I thought it was such a good idea.’

‘It is,’ Mim said. ‘But I’m not sure it will really make a difference unless you start giving away holidays.’

‘Well why shouldn’t we?’ Lia clapped her hands. ‘That’s the answer. We give the holidays away. I mean, it’s not as if we need the money. It’s perfect, isn’t it?’

‘You might want to speak to Bill and Bea about that.’

‘I have a better idea,’ Lia said. ‘Let’s go and speak to Corin.’

‘Corin?’ Mim repeated. ‘Why him?’

Lia was already striding away across the grass.

‘Because he’s sure to know how to do it,’ she called over her shoulder.

Mim wasn’t sure what made Corin so qualified on the subject but she abandoned her bucket, locked the caravan, and dashed after Lia.

To Mim’s surprise, they walked past Vennhallow and on down the track that led out to the village. She was about to ask where exactly they were going to find Corin when Bobby crossed their path, pushing a wheelbarrow full of cut logs. Despite the cold late-January weather, he was wearing a vest top that showed off thick muscles in his arms. He stopped when he saw them and wiped his face with his arm, making his hair stick up at the front.

‘I’ve been cutting logs,’ he said, gesturing at his barrow. ‘It’s hot work.’

‘But it gives you the most fantastic muscles,’ Lia said. ‘We’re so grateful to you for keeping us warm.’

‘No bother,’ Bobby said. The colour rose in his cheeks and he nodded and walked on with his barrow. Lia groaned.

‘Why did I mention his muscles?’ she said, turning to Mim with a look of despair. ‘Now he’ll think I was ogling him.’

From where Mim was standing, it had looked very much as if Lia had been ogling Bobby.

‘Would that be a problem?’ she asked.

‘Yes. I don’t want him to think I’m an airhead. He had to rescue me from a tree when I was thirteen – Olly had dared me to climb up and I was too scared to climb down. I’m sure Bobby has thought I’m the family idiot ever since. Why do I always say such inane things when he’s around?’

Why indeed? Mim filed away an interesting suspicion about that while they carried on down the lane until they reached the small gatehouse at the end. Lia opened the rusty gate that led on to the front path.

‘Corin’s here?’ asked Mim. It seemed an unlikely place for him to be.

‘I hope so.’ Lia checked her watch. ‘He should have finished work by now.’

‘He works?’

Lia laughed.

‘Did you think we all spent our days reclining on the sofa eating caviar? That’s only on weekends, darling.’

It was actually very close to what Mim had thought and she gave herself a mental telling off. She hated it when people made assumptions and judged her for her background, so why shouldn’t the same apply to the Howards?

‘Is he an artist, like you?’ Mim asked. ‘Is this his studio?’

‘No, this is his house.’

‘Corin lives here?’ It was a small stone building, all on one level, and – though Mim was trying not to judge – first impressions were that it was quite shabby. It was up the property ladder from her caravan but well below the opulence of Vennhallow. Why hadn’t he told her he lived here when she had accused him of being rich for living in an enormous house?

Lia paused at the front door.

‘It’s baffling, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Can you believe he chooses to live here instead of at home with us? He moved in when he was eighteen. He likes his own space. He’s always been odd like that.’

The front door had opened while Lia was talking. Corin stood in the doorway, wearing his trademark jeans and a woolly jumper.

‘I can hear you through stone walls.’ He looked at Mim over Lia’s head and smiled. ‘Back me up here. How is it odd to want to get away from someone so loud?’

‘You won’t win Mim over to your side,’ Lia said. She linked her arm with Mim’s. ‘We’re the best of friends and she won’t hear a word against me. Aren’t you going to invite us in? We’ll literally freeze to