by T. M. Logan
‘What are the gory details?’ Daniel said.
‘They nailed baby Jesus to a tree,’ Odette said solemnly, tearing a piece from a sticky pastry and putting it in her mouth.
‘A cross,’ Russ said. ‘And he wasn’t a baby. He was a grown man, allegedly.’
‘Cool,’ said Ethan, looking up from his phone. ‘How long would it take you to die from that?’
‘Hours,’ Russ said. ‘Days, maybe. Not a nice way to check out.’
‘Was it in public? With, like, an audience?’
Jennifer cleared her throat.
‘I don’t think this is really appropriate lunchtime conversation material, do you guys?’
‘More interesting than the usual boring grown-up crap you talk about,’ Jake muttered.
‘Language, Jake.’
Everyone busied themselves filling their plates. All except Odette, who wrinkled her nose and began pointing out all the things she didn’t like.
‘Don’t like them, or them, or that. Definitely not that. Have we got any normal proper slicey bread?’
Rowan put some baguette and ham onto her daughter’s plate, and began slicing an apple into small wedges.
I looked up to see Sean and Jennifer, on opposite sides of the long wooden table, reach for one of the bottles of wine at the same moment.
Sean’s hand brushed against hers – seeming to linger for a second as their eyes met – but she reacted as if she’d touched a live wire, almost dropping the bottle in her haste. As if they were mirror images of each other, they both smiled and looked embarrassed, gestured to the other to go first.
‘Go on,’ Sean said.
‘No,’ Jennifer said. ‘You go ahead.’
He smiled and filled her glass first, then Russ’s, before his own.
Jennifer shot a furtive glance at me, a half-turn of her head before her eyes dropped back to the table.
Checking to see whether I noticed that?
Yes. I did notice. What was it?
What, precisely, was it?
I willed her to make eye contact again, for a chance to read her expression, find out what was written there.
Does it feel awkward to touch my husband’s hand in front of everyone? Is that it?
She took a sip of wine but wouldn’t meet my eye again.
My mind jumping and sparking with fresh accusations, I looked away in time to see Alistair filling Lucy’s wine glass from the other bottle of St Chinian.
‘Actually,’ I said to Alistair, ‘if you don’t mind, I’d prefer it if Lucy didn’t have wine at lunch.’
Lucy looked as if I’d just slapped her. Alistair just smiled and moved on to Jake’s glass.
‘Oh? Thought you’d be all right with it.’
‘What with the children going in the pool, and the heat and dehydration it’s better if they stick to Orangina.’ And the fact that you’re checking out her Instagram account. ‘Isn’t that right, Sean?’
‘Yeah,’ he said half-heartedly.
Lucy crossed her arms, her cheeks reddening.
‘Daisy Marshall has had wine at home since she was like thirteen. Her parents don’t make a massive deal out of it.’
‘That’s their choice. But until you’re a little bit older, we decide what’s best for you.’
‘What about my choice?’
I paused long enough to take a breath, biting back my instinctive reply.
‘You get a choice when you’re an adult. Then you can do as you please.’
‘Can’t believe you sometimes.’ She scowled at me with murder in her eyes. ‘The white is barely even 10 per cent, not even strong.’
‘Une gorgée de vin pour les enfants,’ Alistair said, gesturing with his free hand. ‘A sip of wine for the children. It’s very much the done thing here in France, you know.’
‘So is eating sheep’s bollocks,’ Russ muttered.
Alistair seemed not to have heard him.
‘What we do, Kate, is we always try to encourage our children to test boundaries. Exploring boundaries can be a really powerful way to reduce conflict, improve communication, and build trust in the relationship with your—’
Lucy cut him off.
‘When did you first have a drink, Mum?’
‘In my teens.’ I shrugged. ‘But that was different.’
‘How?’
‘It wasn’t with my parents.’
‘You’re such a hypocrite!’ she said and pointed at me. ‘So it’s OK for me to have a bit of wine as long as you don’t find out?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘We’re on holiday! In the middle of a bloody vineyard! And you’re drinking every day!’
‘Stop shouting, Lucy.’
She stood up and grabbed her glass.
‘Stop treating me like a kid!’
She pushed her chair back and stalked off, the angry slap, slap of her flip-flops receding as she descended the stone stairs to the pool.
I stood up to follow.
‘Leave her,’ Sean said quietly. ‘Let her calm down a bit first.’
‘She needs to eat something.’
‘Just give her a minute.’
He was right, of course. Lucy and I were too much alike, in too many ways, and once we got entrenched in an argument I rarely knew how to dig my way out. I was too judgemental, too black and white, too quick to switch into analytical mode – my work brain, as Sean called it – for parenting issues that required a softer approach.
I sat back down and noticed for the first time that all eyes at the table were on me. Except Jennifer’s – she was studiously buttering slices of baguette, eyes on her task.
‘Is it me,’ Alistair said breezily, spearing a large slice of ham with his fork, ‘or is it getting hotter every day?’
40
I took a plate of bread, cheese and fruit down to the pool after lunch. Some building of bridges was needed if Lucy was going to listen to me, and it was a talk that we needed to have. I didn’t really know where to start – how to make her understand without telling her outright – but I had to try. At sixteen, she was still at the stage of thinking she knew all there was to know about the world, while actually knowing almost nothing. Which was sweet and wonderful on some days, quietly terrifying on others.
She was sitting on one of the loungers, facing me on the far side of the pool. I gave her an apologetic smile as I came down the steps, squinting in the bright sunlight.
The smile froze on my lips.
Alistair was sitting on the lounger behind her, rubbing suntan lotion into her shoulders.
Everyone else was upstairs, clearing the lunch things away. It was just the two of them down here.
I quickened my pace around the pool, watching as she lifted her ponytail clear of her shoulders and tipped her head forward to expose the nape of her neck. Alistair, in his usual black Speedos, squirted more lotion into his hand and massaged it over her collarbones.
‘Hey,’ I said to my daughter. ‘I brought you some lunch.’
She took the plate from me with a sheepish smile.
‘Thanks.’
Alistair continued to rub the lotion into her shoulders and upper back, her skin shining in the bright sunlight.
I picked up the bottle of Soltan.
‘Do you want me to take over, Lucy?’
Alistair wiped the last of the liquid on his thighs.
‘All finished,’ he said with a grin.
‘Thanks, Ali,’ she said, sipping from a glass of wine.
I gestured to the plate of food. ‘Have some lunch, too.’
‘Sure.’
Alistair stood up with a grunt and moved back onto his own sunlounger.
‘My work here is done.’ He gave Lucy a smile. ‘Soltan man at your service.’
I hesitated. ‘Actually, can I have a word with you, Lucy?’
‘What about?’
‘Shall we go upstairs? You can bring your lunch with you.’
‘Why?’
‘I want to show you something.’
‘Show me what?’
‘It’s . . . a bit private.’
‘Ah,’ Alistair said, holding his hands up. ‘Women’s business. I shall take a large step back at this point.’
He settled back onto his lounger and picked up his phone.
With an exaggerated sigh, Lucy got to her feet and followed me up to the balcony, and from there into the dining room. I shut the door behind us and she slumped down into one of the high-backed carved wooden chairs lining the long table.
‘Well? What do you want to show me?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You going to lecture me again about drinking a mouthful of wine?’
‘No.’
Lucy began picking at her lunch, pulling small lumps of white bread away from the baguette’s crust. ‘What is it, then?’
‘It’s about Alistair. I want you to be a bit careful with him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘At least, when you’re on your own with him.’ This wasn’t coming out right. ‘What I mean is, you probably shouldn’t be on your own with him if you can avoid it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just bear it in mind. That’s all.’
‘What are you talking about, Mum? He’s nice. He listens to me. He’s a trained counsellor, you know, like a therapist? I was telling him just then about stuff while we were on the loungers. He’s really kind and thoughtful and he’s good at listening to my problems.’
‘So am I.’
‘Not like him.’
‘Maybe not. But I’m your mum. Why was he putting suntan lotion on you just now?’
She shrugged. ‘He said my shoulders looked red and asked me if I wanted some factor 30 on them.’
‘I see.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I just wanted to know why he was doing it, that’s all.’
She bit into a piece of the baguette, chewing steadily.
‘Why don’t you like him? He’s Jake and Ethan’s dad, and we’ve known him forever, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘What did he do?’
Tell her? Frighten her, freak her out? Make her embarrassed about her own body? Or just hope she’ll do as she’s told?
‘Will you do what I’m asking? Keep a little bit of distance?’
She shrugged. ‘OK.’
I smiled with relief and patted her knee. ‘Thank you, darling.’
‘But only if you tell me what he did.’
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. ‘The details aren’t important.’
‘You can do better than that, Mum. Are you saying he’s secretly a paedo or something?’
‘No.’
‘Then what are you saying?’
‘Isn’t it enough that I’m asking you to do something?’
She picked up the apple from her plate and took a bite. ‘Not if you treat me like a child.’
‘But you are a child.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Here we go again.’
‘Sometimes you just have to take it on trust that I’ve got your best interests at heart.’ I heard my own voice rising and fought to keep it level. ‘That I’ve been around the block a few times and you need to listen to me.’
She dropped the apple onto her plate and stood up.
‘Can I go now?’
‘Can’t we just talk for a bit more?’
She walked out without another word.
‘Lucy?’
But she was gone. I followed for a few paces, then watched through the window as she went back down to the garden.
41
Lucy
Lucy marched over to the shaded stone bench at the far corner of the garden and sat down heavily, the heat of anger burning her cheeks. She liked this bench: it was away from the house but still just about in range of the Wi-Fi. She unlocked her phone and began scrolling furiously through her Instagram feed.
It was so unfair. All she wanted was a bit of wine to take her mind off things, to take the edge off her feelings, but no, it always had to be some big drama with her mum, some load of crap about the legal drinking age and doing what she was told. Her bloody mum was always the same: this is the law, this is the way it is. She claimed to be all supportive when Lucy got upset about stuff, but wouldn’t let her have a tiny bit of wine to help her relax. Then it had turned extra-weird with a lecture about Alistair, about how she should keep her distance from him. And she hadn’t even really said why. It was infuriating, being treated like a little kid all the time.
She jumped as Jake sat down next to her on the bench and held out two Solero ice creams.
‘Orange or strawberry?’ he said.
She took the strawberry lolly from him with a sigh. ‘Thanks, Jake.’
‘No worries.’
‘Where’s your brother, your little shadow?’
‘Dunno. Shaken him off, I guess.’
Lucy unwrapped her ice cream and took a bite, the chill delicious on her tongue. ‘God, she’s such a bloody hypocrite.’
‘Who?’
‘My mum.’
‘What’s up?’
She looked out across the pristine garden with its infinity pool and palm trees and brightly coloured flowers.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Sounds like it does.’
‘Oh, let’s talk about something else.’
Jake bit into his ice cream. ‘Have you heard anything? From back home?’
‘About what?’
He stole a sideways glance at her. ‘You know.’
She held up her phone. ‘Only what’s been posted.’
‘You haven’t heard anything else? Like from family or something?’
‘Why should I have?’
‘Just thought that because you were . . .’
‘Because I was what?’
He shrugged, feeling the blush rising in his cheeks. ‘Dunno,’ he said quietly, staring at the ground. ‘I was going to ask you the other day, but Ethan was there and he’s always talking shit about everybody, so I didn’t want to do it in front of him. Wanted to check that you were all right, that’s all.’
‘All right?’ She snorted. ‘No, not really.’
The silence stretched out between them until Lucy raised a hand in apology.
‘Sorry, Jake. Not having a go at you, but I don’t know more than anyone else, OK?’
‘I sort of feel bad because I was the one who introduced you.’
‘It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault.’
Jake cleared his throat, glancing at her quickly before looking away. ‘Have you ever been in love?’
She turned to stare at him. It was pretty much the last thing she was expecting him to say. ‘Love?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘I thought I was, once. How about you?’
‘Well—’
He stopped, watching as his mother strode across the lawn towards them, a linen tote bag over her shoulder.
‘There you are, Jake,’ Jennifer said. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
‘And?’
‘So, what are you two chattering about?’
‘Nothing.’
She smiled, but there was little warmth in it. ‘Looks like one of those deep and meaningful conversations to me.’
‘What, are you spying on us?’
‘We’re going down to the gorge, Jake. All four of us, your dad and me and your brother. Come on.’
‘No, I’ll see you later.’
‘You’re coming with us, Jake. I want us to go exploring together. Come on, it’ll be lovely.’
‘I’m not going. I’m talking to Lucy.’
‘Come on, they’re waiting.’ Her voice was brittle. ‘We’ve hardly done anything together since we’ve been here and I want to get a nice family photograph of the four of us.’
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Mother and son stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
Finally, Lucy stood up to break the impasse.
‘It’s OK, Jake, you go on. I was going to go in the pool for a bit anyway. Catch up later, yeah?’
Jake sighed and tossed his ice lolly stick into the bush. Reluctantly, he got to his feet.
‘Yeah, later.’
With one last look at Lucy, he turned and followed his mother out of the garden.
42
I lay on a lounger watching the scene unfold on the far side of the garden.
Jennifer seemed determined to keep Lucy and Jake apart, or at least limit the amount of time they spent with each other – she couldn’t even stand to watch them sharing an ice cream. What was that about? Some kind of mother–son issue? Maybe she couldn’t stand to be replaced by another woman, couldn’t cope with not being the number-one female in his life any more? Was that even a thing? Would I be the same with Daniel in a few years’ time? No. Or perhaps just a little.
A book unread in my lap, the mid-afternoon heat prickling my skin with sweat, I kept one eye on my daughter and one on my son. Daniel was splashing in the shallow end of the pool with Odette, an assortment of inflatables floating around them. Rowan and Russ sat across from us on the opposite side of the pool, looking at their phones; the others had gone to explore the rock pools down in the gorge.
Sean and I were still barely speaking, but he was laid out on the lounger next to me – an uneasy truce for the sake of the children. I had been running through everything he had said when I confronted him twenty-four hours ago, feeling the ground still shifting beneath my feet.
I swear I’m not involved with Rowan.
It’s the truth.
He had denied it point-blank, without a flicker.
And maybe now I knew why – because it was the truth?
Not Rowan, but Jennifer.
Not for the first time, I kicked myself for not confronting him on Saturday when I’d discovered the messages on his phone. If I’d had the guts to do it right then and there, I could have got to the truth. Avoided this agony of suspicion and doubt. If I’d walked up to him and just showed him those messages straightaway, there would have been no way he could deny the affair.
The messages were proof. They were the key.