Polinka Goes on Holiday
Copyright© 2026 by Clee Hill
Chapter 3
“A picnic?!” Polinka repeated, exasperated and baffled.
Stephen nodded. It was Sunday morning, a little after nine, and breakfast was done, a rare instance of coffee to go with their croissants which they had warmed in the air fryer, almond for Polinka and chocolate for her father. It was as she was doing the washing up that he dropped the bombshell on her that today would be for getting everything they would need for a picnic. Sort of.
“We’re going on holiday for a fortnight long picnic?”
“Something like that,” he chuckled. “For today, we need say a couple of days’ worth of picnic things, though not too much that’s going to need chilling.”
“But we’ve got the cooler for the car,” she said, the cooler being a small fridge that kept things really cold whenever they had a ‘normal’ picnic, but this didn’t sound like it was ‘normal’. How could it be? A fortnight long picnic? It didn’t make any sense.
“I know, but we won’t be taking that with us.”
“Because...?”
Stephen smiled.
“Come on, Dad, not even a hint?”
“A hint? There is a hint in your room, and there has been for some time,” he said, very obviously careful with his words.
Polinka blinked so hard it made Stephen laugh. “It has?! What is it?! Where?!”
“You don’t expect me to explain the rest, do you?”
“Yes! That’s what dads are meant to do, you know, explain the world to the young. I’m young. You’re a dad. So, haha, please, explain.”
“I will. Tomorrow.”
“Ooh,” Polinka growled. “You know, whatever this is, for putting me through this, I shall have my revenge, in this world or the next,” she said, quoting a film they had watched together and came away from baffled why anyone thought it was oh just sooo good. Fine, but nothing more, especially the janky camerawork.
“Or you might be thanking me,” Stephen suggested.
“You’re very sure of that?” she asked as she finished the last of the washing up and dried her hands.
Stephen smiled. “I have my reasons. Now, if you could finish up and go get ready, we should try to get through the Sunday ‘Farmer’s Market’ first before we raid the local supermarket.”
“What are we shopping for though? I know you said ‘picnic’ but what kind?”
“Cold meats, a little cheese, some bread, pickles, and anything else that takes our fancy.”
“So does that include piccalilli?” she grinned, Polinka loving it far more than Branston’s, even using it in non-picnic settings. Stephen was not an enjoyer of either, but especially not the ‘yellow peril’ as he once called it. Maybe more than once.
“Yes, it can even include piccalilli,” he smiled.
“A fortnight’s picnic that isn’t but for which I can stock up on piccalilli? You know that changes everything, right? So, haha, see you at the car in ... ten?” Polinka grinned as she dashed upstairs to change, leaving Stephen chuckling in her wake. With today promising to be hot and getting hotter later, she swiftly cast aside her sleeping shorts and tee-shirt, replacing them with a different pair of denim shorts from yesterday and matching them with her favourite top - probably, but it was an eight-way tie anyway - which was stretchy knitted denim cropped corset. More than that, in addition to the eight vertical panels that made up the body of the corset, there was another ninth panel, sort of banana-ish, sort of croissant-ish shaped, that she guessed was meant to highlight her tiddies, but since there wasn’t all that much to highlight, it just looked cool instead, kind of like she was wearing her superhero costume. With those on she swiftly brushed her hair though leaving it loose. Scowling at the little box she kept her makeup in - it was just too hot to wear that - she was done except for a quick spritz with some of her La Librarie iris blanc. Yes, it came from Boots, but it was also too fruity to say no to, so she didn’t. A pair of white ankle socks, with a frill to them, of course, and she was done and down and ready and leaning on the front door, white Converse already on and waiting as Stephen came down, dressed in jeans, a white tee-shirt and a white shirt over it, open, and showing he had really tried to dress quickly as he fiddled with the collar.
“Hey, Dad, looking, er, you know, very Sunday,” she smirked.
“Thank you,” he said, ignoring her tease. “Shopping bags?”
“Wow, I have to do everything, huh?” she said as she knelt down and took a handful of hemp tote bags from the little cupboard next to the umbrella stand. “Three be enough?”
“Maybe a couple more.”
“Wow, someone got paid this week,” she joked, taking the count from three to six, packing five into the sixth as they got into the car and headed into town where Stephen parked them in the shade before, hand in hand, they walked to the market square where the ‘Farmer’s Market’ was. It was, to be fair, quite good in that a couple of the farmers were local and a couple more were regulars on some kind of rotating scheme so that you saw them every other week or so. It was also less of a ‘Farmer’s’ market in that, well, you don’t really farm jewellery, or candles, and Polinka wasn’t sure the pizza stall or the chips stall farmed locally. The coffee stall certainly didn’t. And don’t even ask about the ‘tea’.
Regardless, they swiftly made their circuit of the stalls, coming away with three different hard cheeses, two sticks of butter, two loaves of bread, and best of all, a pack of boar meat sausages which Polinka loved and which Stephen said they could cook tonight and take with them tomorrow.
“So there’s nowhere to cook things, on this ‘pic-nic’?” she asked as they headed for the preserves.
“I’m more worried about keeping things cool and uncooked.”
“Ah. So we don’t need the cooler but there’s also not a cooler?”
“Kind of.”
“Dad, you know the more you tell me, the less idea I have, and, ahem, as resident female around these parts, don’t you think I should know more about how I shall be required to perform my domestic duties?” she joked, laying it on thick so as not to evoke her ‘mother’, not that her interpretation of ‘domestic’ ever included more than the basics in the kitchen.
“Don’t worry, Biscuit, there will be plenty of opportunities for ‘domestic duties’ over the next two weeks.”
“Oh. I see. That’s how it is. You’re going to enslave me to the kitchen for a fortnight.”
“There’s no kitchen where we’re going.”
“What? No kitchen? But ... food? Cooking?”
“I didn’t say there would be no cooking, did I?”
“Well, no, but it is kind of implied that if you are cooking you are going to be using a kitchen.”
“You’ll see.”
“Oooh!” Polinka growled in comic frustration, making Stephen smile.
“Perhaps I can distract you with some piccalilli?” he asked, pointing to the honeys, jams, mustards, pickles, and just about anything else you could put in a jar.
Polinka sighed. “Fascinated by cheese, distracted by condiments. Am I that easy?”
“Only if I’m lucky,” he said, making her giggle as they got down to work, Stephen taking this bag, the half dozen jars being rather on the heavy side compared to some bread and cheese truckles.
“Anything more?” Polinka asked, looking over the market, it already beginning to get busy and not yet 10am.
“Anything you can think of?”
“Pork pie with egg in it?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Ah. Of course. And some sliced meats to go with it?” Stephen suggested as they headed for the other butcher, one being mostly meat, the other being mostly what you could do with that meat, both doing sausages, one being pork or beef, and the other being other animals. Sadly, no venison today.
“How many?”
“Just a couple. We can resupply later in the week.”
“We can? Where from?” Polinka asked, trying to sound so casual that her father wouldn’t notice.
Stephen noticed. “Shops, probably.”
“Oooh!”
“And on that note, time to get a couple of things from the supermarket,” he chuckled.
“Dad! You can’t say that here,” she hissed. “That’s, well, it’s like blasphemy, or something.”