As I made my way into the house, holding one crying child and one beach bag, I could see Joy was now in the sitting room with Dan and Bob, pouring gin. She shouted, ‘Hurry up and get yourselves ready, Clare. Remember the table’s booked for eight.’ Apparently my wishes had been ignored. So instead of a nice evening at the villa with Dan and the kids, I was about to be taken on another of Ella’s culinary journeys, with Joy riding shotgun.
I trudged upstairs with the boys, aware we were probably leaving trails of sand everywhere but not caring. I undressed them both, stood them under the shower and then, as they got out, a ping on my phone told me that Ella had just posted a photo. I’d set up my phone to give notifications for Ella’s profile, I wanted to see if what she posted tied in with reality. I was glad to see Violet’s rather blurred picture of Freddie throwing sand and pulling mad faces – Ella had stood by her promise to include Violet’s photos. It made me wonder if Ella wasn’t the hard, ballsy woman she appeared to be, having kept her promise to a nine-year-old. Perhaps Ella wasn’t all bad? I continued to get ready in tandem with the boys, hurrying them along, putting clean T-shirts and jeans on both of them and managing a quick shower myself. While the boys bounced my perfume bottle along the wooden floor, I threw on a loose white linen dress, a pendant and some lipstick.
After confiscating the perfume bottle, I checked myself in the mirror. I looked okay – not Ella, but okay. I grabbed a clutch bag, while preventing the boys from squirting toothpaste all over the bathroom – maternal multitasking at its finest. I then walked them both down the stairs, which with a two- and four-year-old has to be the longest journey known to man. As we got to the sitting room doorway, I saw Dan lounging on the couch next to Ella. Both had glasses in hand. Both very relaxed.
‘There’s Daddy, guys,’ I said. ‘Go get him!’
Dan heard me, looked up in dramatic alarm for the boys’ benefit and braced himself for the toddler onslaught.
‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.
‘Dad found an injured bird in the garden, and he’s taken Mum and Jamie to see it,’ Dan said from under the boys, who were now using his head as a climbing apparatus. ‘Violet’s with them.’
‘Oh, she was looking for you, Ella?’
‘Yeah, we found each other.’ She offered nothing else, didn’t say anything about Violet’s photos that she was apparently so desperate to see. She just directed her spotlight smile at Dan, eyes never wavering, dropped her flip-flops to the floor, tucked her bare tanned legs underneath her and got cosy on the couch. Next to my husband.
I wandered over to the sideboard where Joy’s gin and Bob’s port sat side by side and poured myself a small gin, emptying the remainder of a tonic bottle and grabbing some ice from the bucket. ‘Anyone want a drink?’ I asked.
‘We’re good thanks. Dan just made us one.’ I turned to see Ella’s smile, which disappeared very quickly when Freddie nearly knocked her drink from her hand.
‘Careful, cutie,’ she said, through gritted teeth. There were times when she couldn’t hide how she felt, and this was one of them – she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d want a wild two-year-old knocking her drink all over her.
I apologised and gave her a tissue to wipe her dress and she was soon back to the Ella we all knew – or didn’t?
‘Freddie’s gonna be gorgeous, just like his dad, isn’t he, Clare?’ she said, while Dan positively purred next to her.
‘Mmm, he’s going to be annoying just like his dad too,’ I laughed, to break the sexual tension Ella seemed to be trying to create with Dan. In the sitting room. With me and my kids present.
She smiled again at Freddie, but like the first time, the smile never reached her eyes.
It wasn’t long before the others were back from the expedition to see the injured bird. Bob was a bit of a twitcher, but it wasn’t Joy’s scene at all. I reckoned she only went along so she could supervise their return in time for the taxis.
‘Mum, it’s so sweet, but it’s hurt its wing. Granddad put it in a box,’ Violet told me.
Pushing his way onto the sofa between Dan and Ella, Jamie immediately lifted her hand and, looking into her eyes, kissed her fingers rather proprietorially. Without looking at him, she gently pulled away and in that second, I saw their story: Jamie was totally smitten, but for Ella this relationship was like her Instagram: pretty pictures, lovely places, sexy clothes. But I didn’t see love.
‘Yes, we’re hoping if we can keep it safe from cats, with a little water it might get better. Poor thing’s exhausted,’ Bob added, flopping down on an armchair, while Violet sat on the arm.
‘You and Violet both need to prepare yourselves for the fact that the bird may die,’ Joy announced in her usual rather blustery way. She was trying to protect them from hurt, but in the process managed to dampen their hope.
Bob nodded grudgingly, while Violet looked crushed.
‘It may be the kindest thing, Violet,’ she added, on seeing her face. ‘Sometimes Mother Nature has a plan – and the weak ones don’t survive. Now, where’s that taxi?’ She wandered over to the window. Damn that little bird, she was clearly thinking. She couldn’t control it and would probably have been happier if it died – a serious threat to a bird’s life was nothing compared to a serious threat to Joy’s dinner plans.
I glanced over at Dan, still trying to tame the boys, now hurling themselves at Uncle Jamie, next to him. A wall between Dan and Ella? Or was I just imagining it?
Jamie was laughing loudly and tickling the boys, but when Joy turned away from the window, the pained look on her face told everyone they were making too much noise, and Jamie immediately announced a round of ‘The Silent Game’. This basically involved all children being quiet and sitting still, and whoever did this for the longest was the winner. It was a family favourite, for obvious reasons, and had been created by Joy for her own rowdy boys – ‘the perfect “game” when we need some immediate peace and quiet’. It was brilliant, but it was also a strong indication of the kind of mother Joy had been.
Unfortunately, at two years old, Freddie was a little young to understand the finer points and complex rules of ‘The Silent Game’ and after about ten seconds was shouting and doing star jumps. But when Alfie joined him, banging into Joy carrying yet another full glass of gin, she yelped in horror and stood there arms out, mouth open like she’d just been shot. Bob leaped up to get a towel, saying ‘It’ll be fine,’ as she tried to hide her scowl with, ‘It’s not a problem.’ But it clearly was.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ Dan said, after several unsuccessful attempts to get Alfie to apologise.
‘Don’t make him apologise, Dan,’ she said. ‘Only if he wants to. It’s meaningless otherwise.’ And with that she swept out of the room to change. Her parting comment was lost on Alfie who sat with a scowl and his arms folded.
‘He’s tired, Dan,’ I said.
‘Stop making excuses, he’s being really naughty and I’m very cross!’ Dan yelled at him, and I saw his little face crumble.
Alfie erupted in tears and ran over to me and lay in my lap sobbing. Dan had been too heavy-handed, as I later pointed out in no uncertain terms. He’d given me a hard time for snapping at the kids by the pool when they were fighting over a bucket, but it was okay for him to yell at Alfie just because he’d accidentally banged into Joy?