‘Thing is, after seeing her do that, I’m not comfortable with Ella being around the kids,’ I said.
‘Oh don’t be silly, they don’t have any jewellery,’ he joked. ‘And she’s hardly likely to steal Freddie’s Tonka Toy, is she?’
‘You know what I mean, she’s dishonest and we don’t know what she’s capable of – and I’m NOT being silly,’ I snapped.
‘Well, if what you say is true, it’s a worry, but I’m sure the kids are quite safe – and there might be a perfectly good explanation. Why don’t you suggest Mum wears them one evening, then if Mum finds out they’re gone, that will bring everything to a head.’
I agreed, but given the circumstances, I couldn’t be the one to call her out, not now. She’d threatened me. Then again, if she retaliated and told them about what I’d been hiding, I’d just say she was lying. I’d point out that she was lashing out, desperately making things up to get back at me. I suddenly felt like I could see the light at the end of the tunnel – first though, I had to find the proof. Where the hell had she put those earrings?
We continued to drive back to the villa, but I wasn’t in a rush to return. I’d enjoyed my Ella-free day, so when I saw a small white van by the roadside with a home-made sign saying ‘lemon granitas’, I insisted we stop and buy some. We were all hot, the kids were thirsty and Dan agreed, pulling over and parking up behind it. It was a shabby old van, the back doors wide open, revealing a plethora of dried chillies in a million shades of red turning to rust, and it was such a wonderful sight I couldn’t help but think it would look good on my own Instagram. Contrary to what Ella suggested, my own photos were mostly family times, the children, friends – and not pouting selfies, what I had for dinner or that week’s weight loss, and this felt like a moment I wanted to remember. So I got out and started snapping with my phone, when the owner appeared from the front of the vehicle. She’d been sitting under the shade of an old PVC tablecloth like my granny used to have; it triggered memories of childhood, and the only time I was happy – at my grandmother’s house.
She stood, by the van doors. ‘Senora, senorita?’ she enquired, with a toothless smile, her long gnarled fingers gesturing towards the chillies.
‘Granitas, please… er two, grazie,’ Dan tried, holding up two fingers. ‘Oh, and three bottles of water? Agua?’
She nodded and went back to the front of the van, where she bent down to a cool box and eventually came up with two plastic cups with straws and three bottles of water. While Dan paid, I took the opportunity to gaze at the chillies, wondering if I’d got the sea in the distance in my shot.
‘Do you mind?’ I held up my phone and she nodded; presumably lots of pretentious tourists asked this of her. She must have thought we were all bonkers, wanting pictures of her old van. But I took a few more shots as Dan wandered back to the car a few feet away.
I was aware of her standing watching me, but when I put the phone down was surprised to see she wasn’t smiling any more. In fact, she had this really weird look on her face, and said, ‘Pericolo, pericolo…’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand?’
‘Morte, morte…’ she yelled in my face.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak—’ I started, but before I could say anything she’d grabbed me by the wrist.
‘Pericolo! Morte!’ she said, her eyes boring into mine, her toothless mouth a black hole. I wasn’t sure why, but she seemed so alarmed, and I instinctively tried to pull away from her, but she held my wrist tight.
‘I’m sorry… I have to go…’ I said, and with one yank, I pulled hard and walked quickly back to the car, got in and locked my door.
‘You okay?’ Dan asked.
‘Yeah,’ I said, aware the woman was still watching me. ‘Let’s go,’ I said, putting my seat belt on.
‘But we haven’t had our drinks.’ He was holding our two granitas with the water bottles on his knees and a surprised look on his face.
‘Let’s stop further on. We can’t see the sea properly from here,’ I said, taking them from him.
‘Okay, if you say so.’ He was looking at me, confused. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You look worried.’
I just nodded, desperate to get away. Dan must have seen the fear in my face and, not used to the car, he put his foot too hard on the accelerator and shot out into the road, almost hitting an oncoming Fiat. In an attempt to avoid the other car, he veered out to the edge of the cliff road where we skidded to the edge of a sheer drop.
‘Dan!’ I screamed, sweat pouring down my face, as I instinctively turned to check the kids. He managed to gain control of the car and manoeuvred away from the edge, and I turned again to the children who were thankfully so exhausted from their day on the beach even my screaming and the skidding tyres on a hot road hadn’t woken them.
‘I thought that was it then,’ I murmured.
‘Me too,’ he sighed. ‘Bloody Italian drivers.’
I almost laughed at this – how typical of Dan to blame anyone else for his mistake.
We drove for about half a mile and as soon as there was a place to park, Dan pulled up on the side of the road, overlooking the sea. Even then, I looked behind in case the old lady had followed us in the van, but there was no sign of her.
‘So, Clare, what was all that about before?’ Dan said, taking one of the granitas from me.
‘I just freaked out… That woman, she grabbed me.’
‘The way you were acting, I thought someone was about to grab your purse or something.’
I suddenly felt stupid. ‘No, nothing like that, but did you see the way she had hold of my wrist?’
‘Not really. I was checking the kids, Freddie’s leg was caught up in his car seat… I only turned around when you got back in. I nearly killed us all shooting out like that, some getaway driver,’ he added, trying to lighten the situation. But he didn’t make me smile. I was still shaken up, it was really creepy.
‘I think she was trying to tell me something,’ I said. ‘She just kept saying something like, “pericolo” and “morte”. Do you know what that means?’
‘I think pericolo means dangerous, or in danger? Morte means death.’
‘Oh God.’
‘Clare, you’re being dramatic. She was probably warning you about the road. The van was parked on a blind bend, stupid place to stop really – as we found out.’
‘I’m sorry, I know I overreacted,’ I sighed, knowing this whole situation with Ella and Jamie had got to me.
‘I’m worried about you,’ he said, one hand on my knee.
‘I’m fine, I’m being stupid.’ I had to get a grip.
I took a sip of my drink; it was icy and citrusy, just what I needed to soothe the prickles on my arms. And when we’d finished, Dan started the car and drove carefully along the spectacular coast and gently around the tight bends.
‘The kids had a great time today,’ I said, ‘and so did I.’ It had been so much more relaxed, easy, by ourselves at the beach. Nothing, or rather no one, to ruin things.