‘He’s probably right in what he says about the job prospects, Max, unless a poet gets very, very lucky, and I think you know that. But I’ll have a word with him about all this – we could sit down, all three of us together, and talk it through when I get back. At the end of this fortnight, I mean. And while it’s in my mind, how did you know I was here? Your dad said he wouldn’t tell you where I was.’
‘He didn’t. I think it’s bonkers. I mean, we only live up there!’ Max waved an arm in the direction of Barcombe Heights where they lived. ‘It would have made more sense if you’d gone to Spain or something.’
‘It’s not about the place, Max, but my reasons for needing a bit of time on my own. I—’
‘What reasons?’ Max interrupted.
Stella decided to ignore the interruption.
‘I love you all very much,’ she carried on. ‘You know that, but sometimes I wonder if any of you notice me, except when gym equipment is missing or we’re out of Oreos or something.’
‘Oh God,’ Max said. ‘Midlife crisis. I suppose Dad will be next. Wanting a motorbike or something.’ Max stared down at his feet, knowing that he was, perhaps, a little out of order questioning his mother.
‘I’m not going into that,’ Stella said firmly. ‘But I would like an answer to my question about how you knew where to find me if your dad didn’t tell you.’
Max shrugged.
‘So?’ Stella prompted.
‘I hacked into your email.’
‘You what?’
‘Don’t look so shocked. I didn’t know where you were and I wanted to know. Dad wouldn’t say anything except what you’ve just said about wanting space. At least I’m telling you the truth, Mum,’ Max said. ‘You’ve always banged on about that, telling the truth. You’ve always said stuff like it doesn’t matter who broke the window, or had the last KitKat, or whatever, as long as that person owns up to it if asked.’ Max made his hands into tight fists, crossed his arms, and tucked them under his armpits in a challenging gesture. ‘Well, haven’t you?’
‘Yes. You know I have. I think it’s important. And I’m glad you’ve taken that lesson onboard. But I’m still not best pleased at what you’ve done.’
‘It’s not difficult, hacking into someone’s email.’
‘I didn’t ask if it was difficult. But it’s below the belt, and you know it,’ Stella said. ‘And it just emphasises my need for some space if you think it’s acceptable to do that sort of thing.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like Dad, lecturing me and stuff.’
‘Max, darling, I’m not lecturing you.’
‘Are you pleased to see me?’ Max asked. He made a sad, pouty face, the way he often had when he’d been younger. He looked up at Stella from under his eyelashes
‘You’re sounding as though you’re five years old, not fifteen,’ Stella laughed.
‘So, that’s a “yes” then?’ Max unfolded his arms and took a swig of his coffee.
‘I’m always pleased to see you,’ Stella said. ‘You don’t need to be told that.’
‘Back to you,’ Max said. ‘Anyway, Mum, I didn’t read much. Only the booking for this place. You can change your password when you get back. You could do it, like, tonight?’
‘No, Max, I am not coming home tonight,’ Stella said, mustering all her resolve. If she were to weaken and go back, Max would be the one to sway her. But she couldn’t let him. Not yet. Not until she’d made up her mind about the direction she wanted the rest of her life to go in.
Stella half-expected Max to come back again, but he didn’t, and it occurred to her that he probably liked knowing something his brother and sister didn’t. He texted her though – Yr secret safe with me. Just the once. Stella texted back – Mum’s the word! She managed to read one book, and had started another by day three. Staying close to the chalet was probably safer than going into town where she might bump into a neighbour or one of the children’s friends, but she was becoming stiff from sitting too long, idling. She needed a bit of exercise. She was wearing shorts and a strappy vest. She wouldn’t have dreamt of going out dressed like that normally but she was beside the seaside for goodness’ sake. And she was what James had called ‘well fit’. Stella had asked if he’d meant to add ‘for your age’ on the end of that, but he’d said it was a sincere compliment and he’d prove it to her. He did. In the laundry room with the door locked, up against the tumble dryer, while the children were up in their rooms on their computers. Perhaps that was when it had all started, this sense of unease she’d fallen into without giving it a great deal of thought. There’d been no grand plan. But how she was missing James now.
‘A paddle, I think, is in order.’ Stella shook that particular scene from her mind. She put her book face down on the table and could almost hear her mother admonishing her not to do that because it stretched the spine and could ruin the book. But she did it anyway. She nipped into the chalet, took a ten-pound note from her purse, locked the chalet door and put the key and money in her pocket.
When, I wonder, Stella thought as she stepped gingerly over the broken shells and pebbles and bits of slippery seaweed on the tideline, did I last do this? There had been a beach party for Lola’s sixth birthday, she remembered that. Six little girls running about like puppies kept too long in a compound. She’d been exhausted just keeping an eye on where they all were. They’d demolished the mound of sandwiches and bags of crisps and fairy cakes with lurid icing she’d brought for the picnic and then said they were starving and could they have ice cream. Well, it was two ice creams each and a candyfloss in the end, wasn’t it?
But she couldn’t remember coming down to the beach since. James had had a big bonus from work and they’d had a pool put in the garden just after that sixth birthday party. And a trampoline. There’d even been an area dug out for a sandpit for a while, although none of the children played in it these days. To get rid of it or not? Hmm.
‘Oh!’ The water was colder than Stella had expected it to be, but the tide was on the way out and didn’t have warm sand underneath it yet to warm it up. Maybe she’d come back later when the tide turned and it was warmer. Stella marched up and down on the spot for a few seconds to warm her feet up. Ah, that was better. She walked to the pier and back in the shallows, dodging little ones on boogie boards who hadn’t quite got the hang of them yet. Had she ever bought the twins and Lola boogie boards? She couldn’t remember.
The water might have been cooler than she thought it would be, but goodness, it was invigorating! Her legs were tingling with the activity and a sort of water massage, she supposed, as she walked, barefoot, back to the chalet, via a papershop that sold a few basic groceries, bread, and a very scant selection of wines. How decadent, walking in bare feet on a pavement – she hadn’t done that since she was a teenager.
Oh no. Frank. A neighbour. He was walking his Alsatian on the promenade, on a lead, because dogs weren’t allowed on the beach in the summer, and he was walking towards her.
‘Stella! Not seen you around for a few days,’ Frank said. ‘Did you walk down? We could walk back together if you like.’
‘I’m not going back just yet,’ Stella said. She closed the top of the plastic carrier so Frank wouldn’t see she had the wherewithal for lunch – a baguette, a box of salad and a packet of ham – sticking out of it.
She really, really didn’t want to stop and talk, but Frank did, it seemed, and the dog had got the message because it sat down, spreading itself out on the path, as though it knew there wasn’t much point trying to walk on now its owner had found someone to talk to.
‘James and your boys were out mowing the lawn and clipping bushes yesterday. I didn’t see you though.’
‘No. No,’ Stella said, remembering that Frank led the local neighbourhood watch scheme. The road was glad of Frank, who seemed permanently attuned to anything a little out of the norm, but she could live without him knowing every movement her family made just now. ‘I had things to do indoors.�
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‘Lola was banging a ball up against the wall with a tennis racket.’
‘Oh, was she?’
Was this a complaint? Most of the homeowners in her road were retired, but not all. And she and James were aware of what constituted appropriate fun and games for children in their own garden and what was considered a nuisance.
‘You couldn’t have not heard it, Stella,’ Frank said.
‘I probably had the radio up loud,’ Stella lied. ‘I’ll have a word with Lola if it was annoying you.’
And then, so Stella didn’t have to make further conversation, and because she didn’t want Frank to notice she wasn’t wearing shoes, and ask why not, she said her goodbyes and hurried back to 23 The Strand. She must expect to see people she knew – she’d just have to be sharper in her responses to anything they said, wouldn’t she?
Stella rifled through the leaflets left for holidaymakers. All the Indian and Chinese takeaways and the pizza places. She didn’t think she could stomach an Indian or a Chinese but a pizza would be fine. Anything left over she could throw to the gulls, even though there were notices all along the promenade asking people not to feed them.
It felt odd ordering a pizza for one – ham and pineapple with a side of coleslaw – instead of pizzas for five with all sorts of extras like chips and colas and the like. Stella just had time to shower and change into a loose and comfy kaftan and tie back her hair before there was a knock on the door.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘It’s you. Barcombe Heights. Number 84. Never been asked to deliver here before,’ he said. ‘Holidaymakers usually eat out.’
‘Oh dear,’ Stella laughed. ‘Do we order that many pizzas that you recognise me?’
‘Pepperoni mostly. Mixed meats. Chicken tikka. Colas. Right?’
‘Right,’ Stella laughed. ‘As you know, I’m not a holidaymaker, and you haven’t seen me. Right?’ She made a zipping-up gesture across her lips.
‘Mum’s the word,’ the lad said as she paid him. With a tip. A very generous tip. ‘Hey, thanks for the tip. My lips are sealed!’
And off he ran to his bike, parked – illegally – against the sea wall. But Stella wasn’t sure she could eat the pizza now after all. And getting away from it all wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it would be, was it?
Stella sat on the deck in the sunshine, dark glasses on, hat on her head, feet propped up on the chair opposite, her long legs taking on a healthy, tanned look, enjoying the warmth. Dozing.
‘There you are!’
Lola’s indignant voice startled Stella from a lovely daydream about sitting in the local bookshop signing copies of her first novel – a novel she hadn’t even begun to write yet, but hey…
‘Hello, darlings,’ Stella said as Lola and Adam studied her nervously.
She was genuinely delighted to see them, although there was also a part of her that hoped they wouldn’t stay long.
‘Max was gloating that he’d seen you but he wouldn’t tell us where,’ Lola said. ‘Adam had to squeeze it out of him. It took days! But he did it in the end, didn’t you, Ad?’ Lola looked thoroughly delighted Adam had won that little contest.
‘Yeah, well,’ Adam said. ‘It’s not fair he should know and we don’t.’
Stella decided not to ask if there’d been a fight or some sort of blackmail going on to prise the details out of Max.
‘So, now you’re here, is anything wrong at home?’
‘Apart from Dad being a lousy cook? That’s bad enough,’ Lola said. ‘He tried to make cottage pie but it was, like, yuck! All swimmy with greasy fat and there were lumps in the potato. And it wasn’t browned on the top the way your cottage pies are.’
‘So,’ Stella laughed. ‘You’re missing my cooking if not me?’
‘Dad won’t be able to do a roast on Sunday, Mum,’ Adam said.
Well, that’s me told, Stella thought with a pang of sadness. Adam hadn’t exactly rushed to say he was missing her, had he?
‘Not one we could actually eat, that is,’ Lola chimed in.
Stella sighed. Hmm, perhaps Max had had a point when he’d said she should have gone to Spain or somewhere further away than just a mile and a half down the road.
‘Now then,’ Stella said. ‘I know this is going to sound like a lecture and I don’t mean it to but there’s no other way to say it.’ Both children rolled their eyes heavenwards, then looked at one another and shrugged in unison. Yes, it is, their gestures said. Stella chose not to comment. ‘You’re fifteen, Adam, and Lola, you’re twelve. Quite old enough, I should think, for you to cook lunch between you. There’s plenty of everything in the freezer, and the organic veg delivery is on Friday, so there’ll be all sorts of good things to eat in that.’
Both children crossed their arms over their waists. Silent outrage at the thought!
‘Seems like Max lied, Lola,’ Adam said.
‘Yeah. We’re going to be another statistic very soon.’
‘What statistic is that, darling?’ Stella asked, although she could guess. Lola always had been something of a drama queen.
‘One-parent family. But that’s got its advantages because then we’d have two Christmases and birthdays and Easter and stuff like that. Dad and whoever he marries next, and you and your new man. Double presents and holidays. Olivia in my class says it’s ace!’
‘You’ll have to take her word for it then, Lola, because you won’t be experiencing it. Your dad and I are not splitting up. We’ve got too many commitments and, besides, we love one another.’
Adam put his finger in his mouth and made gagging noises.
‘I don’t know I can stomach Dad’s cooking much longer,’ Lola said. She made a gagging noise of her own. ‘I might just go and live with Grandma. She always says I’m her favourite granddaughter.’
Well, she would say that seeing as Lola was her grandmother’s only granddaughter. And Stella knew Lola wouldn’t be welcome on a permanent basis – it would be too much of an upheaval to her mother’s lifestyle.
‘None of that is going to happen, guys,’ Stella said. ‘Your dad and I are not splitting up.’
‘Something’s not right though,’ Lola said. ‘You’re not normal at the moment.’
‘Not normal?’
‘Yeah. You don’t wear, like, shorts at home. Showing off your legs and that. And you’ve painted your toenails.’
‘What crimes!’ Stella laughed, waggling her feet in turn, admiring the indigo nail varnish she’d put on that morning. When did she ever get time to do that at home between school runs to two different schools and then a daily supermarket shop, not to mention cooking something healthy, from scratch, for when they all got home again?
‘I didn’t know you had that,’ Lola said. She pulled a mock-sad face. ‘Funny colour. Nice though.’
‘Indigo,’ Stella said. ‘You can do yours if you like. Now if you want. Or you can take it home.’
‘Like, are you serious?’ Lola asked, looking at Stella as though she’d just grown an extra head or something.
It was true Stella didn’t let Lola wear nail varnish – fingers or toes – in term-time but there was no reason she couldn’t wear some now. She was growing up, and growing up fast. She was funny and feisty and Stella loved her dearly, even though she could be hard work at times with her drama-queen antics and almost-teen sulks. In idle moments Stella wondered if they might become good friends as well as mother and daughter – go on girly weekends away, or fun shopping trips while they tried on designer clothes in Hoopers they had no intention of buying. Would that all be nipped in the bud if…?
‘Very serious,’ Stella told her. ‘I’ve got a couple of other colours with me.’
‘Like you’re staying for ever?’ Adam said, the last word coming out in a wail.
‘No, darling, not for ever. Just until the end of next week. I need a bit of time on my own, that’s all. A little while to be quiet, and to think. I’m sure you understand that, Adam.’ Adam, the quietest of all her children oft
en spent hours in his room, reading or on the computer, or listening to music. He went off on his own on bike rides into the country as well. It worried her sometimes but that was how he was and she let him be himself as much as she could.
‘Yeah, Max’s music choice is questionable and I think he needs to get his ears tested because he has it up way too loud.’
‘Does he now?’ Stella laughed. Three children, in three different rooms, all listening to different music at full volume – how could Adam tell?
‘And you snore, Ad,’ Lola said. ‘I mean, so loud I can hear it from my room with the door closed!’
‘Do not,’ Adam said. ‘That must be Max.’
‘And he’s not here to stand up for himself, is he?’ Lola pouted, and Stella got the feeling she’d been caught out in a lie. Stella couldn’t remember hearing any of her children snoring except, perhaps, if they had a bad cold.
‘Now, now, children,’ she said, wagging a finger at them playfully. ‘Don’t fight.’
‘She started it,’ Adam said. ‘And before you tell me “she” is the cat’s mother, I’ll correct that – Lola started it.’
‘Miaow,’ Lola said, sticking her tongue out at Adam.
Stella closed her eyes. How very normal and comforting this was in its way. It’s what families did – bicker good-naturedly, or not good-naturedly sometimes, but they were all always there for one another when the chips were down.
‘So,’ Stella said, ‘before you go back home and become victims of your dad’s terrible cooking, would you like some chocolate Hobnobs and a drink?’
‘Nope,’ Lola said. ‘I’ve got nails to paint. Right?’
‘Gross,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll go out on my bike until the stink is out of the house. Right?’
‘Hugs then?’ Stella said. ‘Before you go?’
Both children held their arms out wide and came towards her, all bickering forgotten, and it was a threesome hug. It was something they did all the time at home but it made Stella feel far more emotional now than she’d ever thought it would.
Stella was sick – very sick – the next morning.
Summer at 23 the Strand Page 18