One Year Later

by Sanjida Kay

  ‘I love ice cream,’ says Lotte suddenly.

  She smiles. ‘I know.’

  ‘It reminds me of Ruby-May,’ she continues, as if her mother hadn’t spoken.

  ‘Yes, she loved ice cream too,’ Amy says, thinking that perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to talk about the anniversary.

  ‘That’s not why,’ says Lotte.

  Theo shakes his head in agreement. ‘No one made anything to eat after Ruby-May died, so we got ice cream out of the freezer by ourselves and ate it straight from the tub.’

  ‘Chocolate…’ Lotte says, widening her eyes with delight. ‘And then vanilla…’

  ‘And then strawberry…’

  ‘Every day for a week!’

  ‘A week?’ Amy says. ‘Surely—’

  ‘Yes. A week! And then it was all gone.’

  25

  AMY

  When they return to Maregiglio, her father’s asleep in the shade, a new book on European politics on his lap, and Bethany is showing Chloe her Instagram feed and telling her which hashtags to use. Chloe is nodding and trying out her aunt’s contour kit. Joe is doing something complicated with a spiky foam roller. Theo and Lotte quickly disappear up to their room. Amy had burst into tears after they’d told her about the ice cream, upsetting both the children, so she still hasn’t managed to say anything to them about the anniversary party. There’s no sign of anyone else.

  ‘Where’s Matt?’ she asks. Her eyes are red, but Bethany doesn’t notice.

  ‘He overdid it,’ she says, grinning.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was hot and he pushed himself too much,’ Joe answers. ‘I tried to get him to stop and go back or just walk the route, but…’

  Amy can see it now. Joe running ahead with his shirt off, the muscles in his back rippling, Luca lolloping easily along, Bethany grimly keeping up with the boys, and Matt, determined not to be shown up.

  ‘Heatstroke,’ Bethany interjects.

  The shame and sadness Amy had felt this morning, when she realized she’d barely fed her surviving children for a week after Ruby-May’s death, and the hazelnut liqueur, which has gone straight to her head, threaten to turn into hysteria.

  ‘Heatstroke? He’s collapsed? On a run where you’re meant to be looking after everyone?’

  ‘Amy, Joe’s not Matt’s personal trainer! It wasn’t his responsibility!’

  ‘He hasn’t got heatstroke, more like heat exhaustion,’ Joe says quickly, ‘but he needs to have plenty of fluids.’

  ‘Where is he? Or did you just leave him lying out on a hillside somewhere?’

  ‘Amy! When did you turn into such a bitch?’

  ‘Auntie Bee! Dad’s having a lie-down upstairs,’ Chloe says. ‘He feels sick.’

  ‘I’m going to check on him.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Joe says, leaping up. ‘Make sure that husband of yours has been drinking the coconut water I left out for him. Got to replace those electrolytes.’

  He gives her a sympathetic smile. She puts her hand over her forehead. It feels as if the pain is chiselling into the centre of her skull. She’ll go in a minute, after Joe’s looked in on Matt. She stands at the sink and runs cold water over her wrists to cool herself down and pours a glass of lemonade. She’s angry with Matt for being such an idiot, and with Bethany for bringing this young man into their midst. Nice as Joe is, it’s not appropriate. She adds more ice and takes deep breaths, tries to let her heart rate slow. She crunches a cube and thinks miserably about tomorrow, the day of the anniversary.

  Bethany and Chloe are taking turns to film each other on Bethany’s iPhone, while her father sleeps on. Chloe is wearing even more make-up than usual; Matt really should talk to her. She has a sudden thought. Is Chloe getting made up like this for Joe? They’ll have to watch her properly. She double-checks that neither of them is looking. She can hear the floorboards protesting above her head, as Joe jogs along the landing towards their bedroom. She pulls a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and pours a measure of the viscous liquid into her lemonade. She takes a large swallow of her drink. It courses through her, burning and freezing at the same time. The ice melts so fast it turns into tiny clear pebbles at the bottom of her glass. She wishes she had Bethany’s iron willpower. Bee cut back on her drinking when she was trying to get into TV – although she’s aware that her sister does go completely overboard now and again, when the pressure of being scrutinized on social media gets too much for her. She adds another slug of vodka and swills it around, then replaces the bottle before anyone notices.

  Just as she’s about to go and see if Matt is okay, there’s a loud clattering and her husband bursts into the sitting room and flings open the back door.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he yells.

  She’s never heard him speak to Chloe like that, but then she realizes he isn’t. He’s shouting at her sister. Amy runs after him, the vodka swirling uneasily in her stomach.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Bethany gives an elaborate shrug and Chloe looks upset.

  ‘I saw you from the window!’ Matt says. ‘You were filming her.’

  ‘I was coaching her,’ Bethany says, as if she’s addressing an imbecile, and Chloe’s shoulders relax a little. She looks defiant and crosses her arms.

  ‘Coaching her to do what? To be a—’

  Amy puts her hands on his arm. He’s hot, sticky with sweat and glassy-eyed. He shrugs her off as if he can’t bear her touch. Her dad sits up groggily and slides his glasses back on.

  ‘I was giving her some lessons in how to be a presenter,’ Bethany says, her hands on her hips, her tone aggressive.

  ‘You were making her look like a porn star!’

  ‘I was not! I was showing her how to stand so she won’t look fat.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ her father asks, looking from Matt to Bethany, both of whom ignore him.

  ‘Fat! Fat? My daughter isn’t even half the size you are!’

  ‘I know she’s not fat. The camera adds around ten pounds, so it’s important to learn…’

  ‘There’s nothing my daughter could possibly learn from you.’

  Bethany gapes at him.

  ‘Dad! I asked her to help me,’ Chloe says.

  ‘She’s fifteen. She’s not going to be parading about on YouTube like some dumb b… bimbo. She’s got a brain. She’s got a future ahead of her.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m stupid?’

  ‘Why are you both shouting?’ their father asks.

  ‘Because your son-in-law is being a prize arse!’

  ‘My daughter is going to get some qualifications and go to university. You didn’t even make it to the end of secondary school.’

  Amy glances up at the children’s bedroom and sees two pale faces pressed against the glass.

  ‘I’ve got a degree in Theatre Studies.’

  ‘That’s my point exactly! You could print your fucking diploma on a paper napkin.’

  ‘Matt!’ Amy says. ‘Dad’s right. Let’s stop all this yelling. Shall we talk about this inside?’ She starts to reach for him, but then she remembers how he pushed her off. ‘I’m not sure what you’re so worked up about…’

  ‘You’re not sure what I’m worked up about? My daughter is out here, covered in slap, while your sister is filming her in a bikini and uploading the footage to God-knows-where, and you were standing idly by, taking absolutely no notice. Probably drinking, knowing you. Chloe might only be your stepdaughter, but for Christ’s sake, Amy, you could act like you give a damn about her.’

  Chloe bursts into tears and marches past them into the house.

  ‘Are you going to let him speak to me like that?’ Bethany demands, and she too storms inside and a moment later slams her bedroom door.

  Her father grips Amy’s wrist. ‘Why is everyone so angry?’ he asks. He sounds shaken, upset.

  ‘It’s okay, Dad. I’m going to sort it out,’ she says, her eyes filling with tears. She pulls awa
y from him sharply.

  Sometimes she does this – reacts instinctively, kindly towards him – and then she remembers, and it’s as though she has a visceral response; she wants to push him away, never have to see him again, slide a knife between his ribs.

  Chloe is hunched on the sofa, sobbing. Amy sits next to her and puts her arms round her shoulders. She’s shaking, and Amy’s own heart is hammering. She can feel the tremor in her fingers. She’ll deal with Matt later, she thinks. She wonders if the almost-heatstroke has made him so hateful, or if something has happened between him and Bethany. Or is it because he’s been spending so much time talking to Sara? Matt thinks she doesn’t know about all the calls he’s made. She passes Chloe a tissue. Perhaps this is payback for avoiding Sara over the years. She was so young when she and Matt got together, and she didn’t feel confident enough to negotiate with his ex and establish some boundaries. She’s always felt drab and self-conscious compared to Sara. Maybe Matt’s wishing he’d never left her; maybe Sara has seen her chance and is wedging herself back into his life.

  ‘I can’t find my iPad. Bethany was taking photos of me, so I could post them on Instagram. It was here, I know I left it here.’ Chloe hits the sofa with the flat of her hand. ‘I bet Theo and Lotte have taken it.’

  ‘They’ve been using our iPad, love.’

  ‘They haven’t!’ Chloe is outraged. ‘I saw them, this morning! They were playing Minecraft on it.’ She blows her nose and wipes her eyes.

  ‘I told them not to borrow it again. Shall we look for it together?’

  ‘Look for what?’ asks Matt, standing over them, his arms folded across his chest. There’s a grey tinge to his skin.

  ‘My iPad,’ shrieks Chloe. ‘Your bloody kids have stolen it!’

  Matt sucks in his breath. ‘That is not the way you speak about your brother and sister.’

  ‘Matt, can you check if Theo and Lotte have Chloe’s iPad?’

  He ignores her. ‘We’ve got more important things to discuss first.’

  ‘Let’s talk about it later, when it’s cooler.’

  No one has had any lunch yet, she thinks, so they’re probably all suffering from a blood-sugar low, which isn’t helping the anger levels, and she’s finding it hard to think straight after downing that double vodka. Matt’s about to argue, but turns on his heel and strides upstairs, shouting the children’s names.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ says Chloe. ‘He never lets me do anything! And Auntie Bethany was only trying to help. He’s so mean.’

  ‘He’s just worried, love. He doesn’t want you to post anything online that you might regret later.’

  ‘Why would I regret it? Anyway, Bee was really careful. She texted me the photos she took and then she deleted them from her phone. She knows more than you two do about social media and the “dangers” it poses.’ Chloe air-quotes the word ‘dangers’ and blows her nose again.

  ‘Why don’t you look in your room for your iPad, and I’ll see if it’s here?’

  How can you possibly lose a neon-pink, rhinestone-encrusted iPad? She searches the sitting room and the kitchen, tossing aside the cushions and crouching down to peer under the sofa. She sorts through the games on the bookshelves and checks it’s not caught up in the tousled rugs and throws.

  Chloe slouches back in. ‘It’s definitely not in my room or Auntie Bee’s.’

  ‘It’s not in our bedroom, and Lotte and Theo haven’t got it,’ says Matt. He sounds more normal now, and he rubs his hair as if he’s embarrassed. ‘It’s not likely anyone else here would have taken it.’

  ‘It’s not in my room or Dad’s,’ says Nick coming in. ‘I overheard,’ he adds. ‘Hard not to.’

  He’s clearly been having a lie-down after the run; his cheek is creased from the sheets. Joe had tactfully joined Luca in their apartment when the argument started, but he reappears and says that he and Luca have searched their rooms too.

  ‘It’s been stolen!’ Chloe says.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not by the pool? Did you take it to the beach?’

  ‘No! I left it right here. It could easily have been pinched. None of you lock the house. There’s people coming and going all the time – you never know who’s here and who isn’t. Anyone could walk in! This place is weird. I feel like there’s someone watching me, at night, when I’m sleeping.’ She bursts into tears again.

  Amy has a vivid image of Chloe lying on a sun-lounger by the pool: a slice of her thigh, the white of her bikini bottoms, viewed from between the cypresses at the end of the garden by the shed; the blank space of Chloe’s ground-floor bedroom window, which anyone could stare into from that side of the house. The person watching Chloe by the pool. She’d thought it had been Joe or Bethany.

  ‘You’re overreacting. It’ll be here. No one could steal it,’ Matt says. ‘We’re in an olive grove in the middle of nowhere!’

  Matt’s probably right, she thinks. They’re safe here – it’s a tiny island with a handful of Italians. And who locks the doors when they’re on holiday? Or wears much, when they’re wandering round a private pool.

  ‘Maybe we should call the police,’ Nick says. ‘I mean, if you can’t find the iPad, at least you’ve got the report, in case you need to make a claim on your insurance.’

  What about all the photos on the iPad? Amy thinks. If someone gets hold of pictures of her stepdaughter and starts putting them on the Internet…

  ‘There’s a national holiday tomorrow – Ferragosto,’ she says. ‘The police station will be closed for some kind of fete in the town. We should phone now, if we’re going to report it.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you Flowers are daft!’ says Matt. ‘First of all, if there’s a festival, the police will be there. They can’t shut the police station! And second, you probably left it lying around somewhere, Chloe. You’re so careless of your possessions. I’ve got a good mind to confiscate it when we do find it.’

  ‘Matt!’ Amy notices Lotte and Theo creeping down the stairs behind him. She hopes they didn’t hear him swearing.

  ‘What did I tell you? My iPad has been stolen and he doesn’t even care,’ Chloe shouts at Amy. ‘He’s a horrible father, and I wish he wasn’t my dad.’

  She strides into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Amy’s headache has spread; it’s a dull throbbing across the whole of her forehead.

  ‘Anyone want a cup of tea?’ asks her father.

  ‘I was thinking of something stronger,’ Amy says, as she pulls a bottle of cold white wine out of the fridge.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Lotte says.

  Matt starts assembling bread and cheese for their lunch. Lotte and Theo huddle together on the sofa and start playing something on their own iPad.

  Joe pushes his hair behind his ears and looks suddenly awkward. ‘Thank you for having me here. I know it’s not the best time for you. And having a stranger with you must be—’ He stops.

  She flushes. How did he guess what she was thinking? Has she made it obvious? And how awful, if she has. This is not like her; at least, not how she used to be. A year ago she was a warm and caring person. How fragile our sense of self is, she thinks.

  ‘We’ve liked having you,’ she says, trying to dredge up something of the woman she once was.

  ‘Yeah, so, er… I’m leaving early tomorrow morning. I thought I’d say thank you now, and I’ll see you back in Bristol,’ he adds, giving her a hug and shaking Matt’s hand. ‘Don’t want to wake you when I leave.’

  ‘Luca is going the day after tomorrow too,’ Matt says. ‘We won’t know what to do with ourselves.’ His sudden good cheer sounds false.

  ‘Right, then.’ Joe claps his hands together and bounces on his toes. ‘Well, I’m not off just yet. David, you up for a superfood salad? Got to get some omega-threes in you.’

  ‘A super-salad?’ mutters her dad. ‘I’m not sure I like salad. All that chewing. And it doesn’t taste of anything.’

  Amy takes a sip of her wine and feels as if she’s floating a cou
ple of inches above the floor, as the cold, crisp Pinot mingles with the spirits already in her bloodstream.

  ‘Should we report the stolen iPad to the police? If we’re going to, we have to do it today.’

  ‘Kids!’ Matt ignores her and puts two plates of bread and cheese and a bowl of cherry tomatoes on the table.

  ‘In a minute,’ says Theo. ‘Just got to figure this out.’

  She glances over and sees they’re playing chess, but it doesn’t look as if they’re following any rules.

  ‘I must say, you two are being remarkably nice to each other,’ her dad says.

  Amy hopes Theo and Lotte won’t reply. They were never this close a year ago – they used to argue all the time – and now they cling to each other as if they have no one else to turn to.

  Her father sits down in front of one of the plates of food and starts to eat the children’s bread. Matt makes an exasperated noise at the back of his throat and gets another baguette out of the bread bin.

  ‘Theo! Lotte!’ I’m not telling you again.’

  ‘Granddad’s eaten my lunch,’ wails Lotte.

  ‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,’ her father says, offering Lotte a piece of cheese from her own plate.

  Matt fetches plates and glasses, banging them on the table as he sets them down.

  ‘It’s not been stolen – it’ll turn up,’ he says, dodging round Joe, who is chopping up avocados and shaking a pan that he’s drytoasting nuts in at the same time. He glares at her. ‘Can someone help me?’

  Amy looks at what he’s done so far: Lotte and Theo are sharing one plate of bread and cheese and, for some reason, are both trying to sit on the same chair, while her dad is eating the other child-sized portion. There’s a basket of baguettes, a few tomatoes and a jar of olives on the table, as well as the wine bottle and Nick’s beer. It’s not much of a lunch.

  Joe slides a large salad of crisp lettuce leaves and spinach strewn with pumpkin seeds, walnuts, feta and avocados into the middle of the table.

  ‘Suuuper-greens coming up. There’s enough for everyone.’