by Fanny Blake
‘She has got the hotel, after all.’
Rose studied the chocolate goo on the skewer, satisfied. Then, ‘Hardly “got”,’ she corrected.
‘Maybe not, technically. But it’s only a matter of time. She’s managing Trevarrick now. I know she’s answerable about everything to Dad, but even so.’
‘But you never wanted to have anything to do with the place,’ Rose objected. ‘Jess has worked every holiday there since she was a teenager and took her hospitality business management degree exactly so that she could make her career there. She loves Cornwall, whereas you flew off to the other side of the world as soon as you could.’ She decided not to remind Anna that the trip was something else largely funded by Daniel.
‘Exactly. My point. I didn’t want to work there, true, but Dad has supported her all the way. Now that I’ve found something I really want to do, that I believe in, it’s my turn. It’s only fair.’
Rose’s heart sank. So that was it. Jess’s focus and stability had always rankled with her sister, despite all her airy reassurances to the contrary. As parents, she and Daniel had tried to ensure that everything they gave their daughters was divided equally. However, as they grew older, that became more difficult. Toys were one thing, easy to share, but what was given in terms of time, love, support and so on was unquantifiable. It had been too easy to dismiss Anna as wilful, headstrong, while praising Jess for her single-minded dedication and pleasure taken in her work. Rose was beginning to realise that supporting Anna in her madcap schemes set against Jess’s involvement with the hotel had not been perceived as equality. But did Dan?
‘I don’t want to get involved in whatever you’re discussing with Dad. It’ll only muddle things.’
‘But you could talk to him?’ Anna gnawed at her thumbnail.
‘I could. But I must sort out this nonsense between Jess and him first. It won’t be the same if they don’t come.’
All she got in reply was an irritated ‘Pah!’
‘We can talk to Dad after they’re arrived. One thing at a time. Be patient.’ As if Anna could ever be that. And our marriage has to come at the very bottom of that list, when it should be at the top. Rose’s stomach twisted again. She poured herself a glass of water.
‘And if she doesn’t come? We’d all get by.’ Anna sounded so matter-of-fact as she studied her thumbnail.
I wouldn’t, whispered a small voice inside Rose’s head. I know I shouldn’t mind so much, but it wouldn’t be the same.
‘Anyway, she’s got Adam and Dylan. They . . .’ Anna was obviously about to say something dismissive but thought better of it and changed the subject. ‘Where shall we hang this banner?’ She’d lost interest in what didn’t immediately concern her.
Rose’s desperate hope that, with time, Anna’s youthful solipsism would give way to altruism had yet to be fulfilled. How she missed Jess’s straightforward down-to-earth approach to life that generally made her so much easier to deal with than her older sister. Everything she did was considered, the pros and cons weighed up, the risks assessed before she acted. Her only blind spot was where Adam was concerned. Her loyalty and support for him was unswerving. Just as Rose’s had always been for Daniel. How ironic that it should be that quality, inherited from her mother, that was causing ructions in the family.
Rose followed Anna outside, each of them carrying an end of the banner. A bank of cloud was gathering in the west. The walnut tree creaked in the breeze, its leaves rustling. There’d been talk of storms since they arrived the previous week, but as yet no sign. Was the weather about to break at last?
Rose climbed on to a chair and fastened the ends of the banner on the two nails on the pergola that had supported more birthday banners over the years than she cared to count. Hung high enough for the creases to be unnoticeable as it fluttered in the wind, it gave a certain festive feeling to the terrace. The tired melted stumps in the lanterns needed to be replaced. She wondered where she’d put the new candles. With them and the red paper napkins, a good meal and the stack of brownies with their wax strippers, the atmosphere would be suitably celebratory.
‘And I’m going to do the cocktails,’ Anna announced. ‘Prosecco and brandy. That should warm the old man up.’
‘Oh Anna, no. Can’t you leave well alone for one night? For Eve’s sake, if no one else’s. It’s her birthday and you’ve got the next ten days to talk to Daniel. Why does everything have to be done in such a rush?’
Anna stood still for a moment, as Rose’s words sank in. Eve was her aunt and godmother. She loved her. She screwed up her face as she considered. ‘OK. But I’m still going to make some killer cocktails – you know Eve’ll love them – and I will ask him again once this stupid Jess business is sorted.’
So she had taken on board what her mother had said. Not quite a first, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless. The two of them went indoors and began to get everything ready that was needed for the table that night. As Rose tried to find enough matching knives and forks in the dresser drawer, her mobile rang. She took it from her apron pocket. Jess, at last.
‘Jess! I hoped you’d call.’ Don’t sound as desperate as you feel.
‘But you left a message, didn’t you?’ Jess sounded puzzled.
‘Of course. But I know how busy you are.’ And don’t be too craven either. She could hear Dylan burbling in the background. The sound of him made real how badly she wanted them to be at the villa. She waited for Jess to speak.
‘The thing is, Mum . . . Sorry.’ She stopped to shout, ‘Adam, can you take Dylan? He’s trying to eat the cat food.’
Rose waited, picturing the scene in the tiny kitchen where Jess would be edging to one side as her burly husband swept Dylan up into his arms, tickling him with his beard. She could hear her grandson’s squeals of laughter receding as Adam removed him into another room.
‘Mum, the thing is . . .’ Jess was back, her voice hesitant but serious.
‘Yes.’ Rose dreaded what she was about to hear, but was aware of Anna watching her and tried to compose herself.
‘Well, Adam and I have been talking . . .’
For God’s sake spit it out. Put me out of my misery. Just say you’re not coming and I’ll have to get on with it.
Anna took a can of Coke from the fridge and opened it so it sprayed over the table. Rose, reaching for a cloth, barely caught Jess’s words.
‘We’ve agreed that it’s better if he doesn’t come to Italy this summer.’
‘But you always come.’ The words burst out of her. ‘You must.’ She felt Anna’s hand on her shoulder.
‘Mum! You’re not listening.’ Jess sounded impatient. ‘I’m coming with Dylan but we’re leaving Adam behind. He’s going to prepare some pieces for an exhibition and this is a heaven-sent opportunity for him. He’s had some wood he’s been waiting to turn for ages.’
Rose grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down, all her strength deserting her. ‘You are? Really?’ The tears that never seemed far away since the previous morning threatened. She wiped her eyes with a tea towel as Anna’s grip on her shoulder tightened.
‘Yes, really.’ Jess laughed. ‘I’d miss it, and I know how much you want to see Dylan.’
‘And Adam too,’ she insisted.
‘But Dad can’t go on treating Adam the way he does. He’s my husband whether he likes it or not. And I’m happy that he’s a woodturner. Money isn’t everything. Dad’s got to realise that.’
‘I’ll talk to him. I promise.’ How many times had she said that over the years?
‘No.’ Jess was firm. ‘I want to be the one to make him understand that he can’t run our lives. Is he there?’
‘He’s catching up on some work.’ Familiar family shorthand for ‘he mustn’t be disturbed’. He could be doing anything. Rose didn’t want to think about the calls he could be making.
‘OK, but I definitely want to speak to him myself and get a few things straight between us before we fly.’ For once, Jess wasn’t going to take n
o for an answer. ‘I’m working this evening so I’ll call him tomorrow. You’ll tell him, won’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to wait until you can talk face to face?’ Rose asked, despite knowing that Jess had already made up her mind.
‘We will. But there are a couple of things I want to say to him before I get there. Sorry, Mum, but that’s the way it is. I’ve got to – for Adam’s sake. Try to understand.’
Rose reluctantly conceded, and they finished the conversation shortly afterwards. As she returned to the party preparations, she realised that the joy that she’d expected to feel with the knowledge that her family would be complete as they gathered around her had been superseded by a feeling of dread.
7
That afternoon, sleep had eluded Eve. Lying on her bed, loosely covered with a sheet, she had lain gently sweating, wishing her case would arrive. If Terry had booked them in with a scheduled airline, this would never have happened. Another tiny strike against him. She could see her one and only pair of knickers drying on the back of the chair outside. Jess’s maternity pair that she’d been lent were humongous and uncomfortable, baggy even, but at least she could get them on, unlike Rose’s.
Before they’d left for Arezzo, Rose had knocked on their door.
‘I just thought you might need these,’ she said, holding out a froth of fabric. ‘They’re new. Bought for the holiday.’
Eve had taken and separated the offering into three ridiculously exotic pairs of women’s briefs – pink satin adorned with black lace; gold and black polka dot; coffee-coloured lace. And brief was the word. She stared at them and gulped, remembering the plain black cotton knickers she’d stuffed into her case. ‘They’re, er . . .’ She struggled to find the right word. ‘Perfect. Perhaps just a touch on the small side.’
‘Nonsense. They’ll stretch. Anyway, have them as an extra birthday present.’ Rose was completely serious, apparently not seeing that there was as much chance of Eve fitting into them as her flying to the moon. She left her staring at them. But their size wasn’t what had upset Eve. Instead, it was what they said to her about her sex life. She was more of an M&S girl herself – safe, neat but not sexy. Whereas these spelled out raunch, seduction, action. Maybe the difference symbolised her and Terry’s dwindling bedroom activity. Dwindling . . . hmm. She thought about it. They’d definitely reached some sort of hiatus over the last few months. Except that the word hiatus suggested that business was to be resumed as usual. There was no evidence to suggest that this was the case. Perhaps if she sported underwear like this, Terry’s interest would be reignited.
But what about her own interest? If she was honest with herself, she couldn’t remember when she had last wanted Terry. Maybe when they needed to replace one of the irritatingly fiddly ceiling downlighters, to fix a jammed lock or something to do with the car or a computer. But beyond that . . . not really wanted him. Not in that way. It was all very well blaming his lack of interest, but she was no better. Those early flames of passion had been doused long ago. The children and their respective jobs had driven them apart. Exhaustion had been fanned into flat-out lack of interest. What was it they said? Use it or lose it. Quite. And over their long marriage, they’d more or less lost it. But why them? She’d bet Daniel and Rose didn’t have that trouble. They were probably at it right now – after all, what else was a siesta for?
Not for sleeping. At least not in this heat. She threw the sheet back, wandered to the terrace door where the muslin curtain billowed in the breeze and stepped outside. She guessed that Rose would be busy preparing a birthday dinner, despite Eve having told her a hundred times not to bother making a fuss – after all, it was only another birthday. But she knew how much Rose liked a family celebration. Eve hadn’t the heart to insist she really didn’t want one. The birthdays seemed to arrive with greater and greater frequency as the years rolled by with gathering speed. She felt as if she’d only just had the last one. That was one of the reasons for coming away – being out of the country meant that the children didn’t have to bother making a fuss that only made her feel even older than she was. That was the trouble with having children in their twenties. She could no longer kid herself she was young any more. In that awkward stage between children and grandchildren – that was where she was now. Not young, definitely not that, but not old either. Not really.
She eased herself on to the lounger, comfortable in the shade, dislodging her knickers as she laid her head back, but leaving them where they fell on the terrace. A loud miaow made her start. She opened her eyes to see the ginger cat from the neighbouring farm winding itself around the legs of the lounger, tail up, back arched, demanding to be stroked. Eve absent-mindedly obliged.
She picked up her trusty BlackBerry. Checking her emails, she was surprised by the continuing silence from Amy. What the hell was the woman playing at? If only Eve were more like Terry, able to leave the business to his two partners while he was away, but she was used to holding the reins and she didn’t feel totally confident in Amy’s ability, however confident her co-agent seemed. That was one of the unnerving things about her – she flew by the seat of her pants, shored up by an innate ability to bluff without even a flicker of guilt. A modern young woman.
Just as odd was the lack of an email from Rufus for the fourth day running. Normally a day didn’t go by when they didn’t communicate. Rufus Hegarty had been her first client, and his illustrated books had gone from strength to strength, building into steady best-sellers whose success was largely responsible for keeping her business afloat. She had met him through Will, her then shiny new husband, when the two men worked in lowly positions at the same ad agency, before Will upped sticks to try his luck at his real passion of wildlife photography. When Will had left both the agency and then her without a word of warning, Rufus had taken her side at the expense of Will’s friendship. He had always credited Eve with his success and became like a brother to her, probably knowing far more than was good for him about the workings of both the agency and her heart.
Eve busied herself answering a publisher’s query about the delayed delivery of some picture book illustrations, an author’s plea for help over the publicity of her book, another author in despair at the lack of publishers’ interest in her work. This was Eve’s lifeblood. Now the children were grown up, with lives of their own, her authors had stepped into the space they once occupied. She cared about them and their futures almost (but not quite) as much as she cared about her children’s. The difference was that she could be instrumental in helping her authors along, whereas her children had long ago lost interest in her opinion. Besides, she felt it was her duty as a parent to separate from them, to make sure they could stand on their own two feet. Wasn’t that a parent’s role? To set them up so they could fly without help? Her authors and illustrators weren’t like that. They needed her. Her responsibility for their livelihoods was a constant preoccupation; a preoccupation that Terry simply didn’t understand. When his office door shut, he left everything behind it. Her work wasn’t like that. But the more time she spent dealing with the unstoppable flow of queries and problems and pleasure, the less time she spent with him, and the more irritated he became. Perhaps, over recent years, she should have made more effort to carve out some time for them to spend together.
The silence was broken by the sound of a car on the gravel. Could it be? She leaped from her chair, grabbed a cotton dressing gown from the end of the bed and almost ran out to the drive, where a white van was pulling up, fumes of acrid exhaust overwhelming everything else. The driver sprang out, went to the back of the vehicle and flung open the doors. And there, all on its own, scratched but safe, was Eve’s distinctive shiny red suitcase. Never had she been so glad to see it.
At that moment, Rose emerged from the front door. ‘It is! Thank God. When I answered the buzzer, I thought it must be.’
The driver heaved the enormous case on to the ground, where it stood with its sides winking in the sun. Eve signed the receipt wi
th a flourish.
‘Let me take you to my lair,’ she murmured as she started to wheel the thing in the direction of their room. She couldn’t wait to unpack, to strip off the pregnancy gear and get back to normal. ‘I’ll be back to help in a minute.’
Rose laughed. ‘A minute? There’s nothing to do, honestly, and anyway, I know you’ll be much longer than that. Enjoy your reunion!’
She was absolutely right. An hour later, Eve was ready. The wardrobe was full of her clothes. The top of the chest of drawers was cluttered with her hair products, hairdryer and straighteners; the bathroom was littered with every beauty accessory she possessed. And she was feeling good. Oh yes. She gave a twirl in front of the mirror. The long grey linen shift she’d bought especially was cut to flatter, the bright pink beads went well. She’d straightened the kinks in her hair and had added a tiny layering of make-up that made her look younger. She was ready to party after all.
As she left the room, Terry appeared on the path that had taken him walking to the nearest hamlet, a few ancient houses and a bar with a TV that seemed always to be showing sport. He looked hot and tired, his old cricket hat tipped back on his head. He raised a hand, a gesture of appeasement she guessed, and she waved back. He wasn’t really so bad. They just approached their maturing marriage in different ways – like a couple high-fiving but just missing.
When she reached the living room, the other three were already there, having changed for the evening ahead. Daniel and Rose looked fresh from the shower, their damp hair brushed flat. Eve was relieved to see that the situation seemed harmonious, although there was something tense about Rose’s bearing and she was definitely paler than usual.
‘Drink, Eve? Or should we wait for Terry?’ asked Daniel.
‘We should wait,’ said Anna firmly, cutting off Eve’s acceptance. ‘We can’t start without him, that wouldn’t be fair. Come on to the terrace. The sunset’s going to be beautiful.’