The Family Holiday

by Elizabeth Noble

  Rupert had been making all the noise, when they’d shown up late that evening at Laura’s house. She might not have known Claudia if she’d passed her on the street. She was, however, the only woman in the café – the other customer was a scruffy old man – and her expression, as Laura entered, told Laura she remembered her very well. She was a slight woman, Laura’s age or maybe older. What Daphne would have called well preserved. She’d been very pretty once, you could tell, and her blue eyes were still very blue. She was wearing an Hermès scarf at her neck, tied in the immaculate, fancy way Laura never quite managed to pull off, and she had an old-fashioned handbag, like the Queen always carried. Based on appearances, at least, they were from different tribes.

  After the briefest of pleasantries, oddly given and received, Laura busied herself for a moment with the teapot and small milk jug. She had to get up again to retrieve a spoon, then stir the water vigorously to produce tea with any colour at all. It meant she needn’t look at Claudia, who was clearly trying to speak, and struggling to know where to start.

  ‘I got your number from Saskia. Rupert doesn’t know I’m here. I hope it’s okay that I messaged you.’

  There was no anger in this person. Laura felt flooded with relief.

  ‘How is she?’

  Claudia smiled weakly at the concern. ‘She’s in bits. How’s Ethan doing?’

  Laura felt protective. ‘He’s a total mess. He’s incredibly upset at what he’s being accused of.’

  Claudia stared at her hands in her lap. ‘Of course he is.’

  ‘I know you know him.’

  Claudia knew Ethan better than Laura knew Saskia. To be honest, she’d been in no state, the last few months, to play nice with Ethan’s girlfriend. She’d been glad he seemed happy. She had spent little time with them, and that arrangement had seemed to suit them all. They’d slept together at Alex’s, but it could just have easily have been at hers, and she would probably have had no idea. It was one of the facts she had castigated herself about in the last few days. Another reason to feel shitty. Ethan had reported that Claudia and Rupert seemed okay, Saskia’s mum a bit easier than her dad, and lots of rules he deemed petty and childish. But he’d eaten dinner with them a few times. Watched a match or two with Rupert. It had all seemed cool, he said.

  She’d quite liked the little she’d learnt about Saskia. She seemed bright and sweet. And fond of Ethan. They’d laughed a lot, the two of them, at little in-jokes that didn’t seem remotely funny.

  ‘I do, a little. And I think he’s a nice boy, Laura. I honestly do.’

  ‘Then you have to know what nonsense this is.’

  Her cheeks pinked up. ‘My husband is very angry.’

  ‘Believe me, so is mine.’

  ‘I’m sure he is. I’ve told Rupert we need to sit down, the four of us, and talk about it.’

  ‘How about the six of us? They’re not kids.’ Even as she said it, she couldn’t quite imagine it. But it seemed wrong to exclude Ethan and Saskia. It was probably the least appropriate moment to treat them like little kids.

  ‘She is. To him, at any rate. He can’t bear – just can’t stand – the idea of her being … you know …’

  ‘Sexually active?’ Laura couldn’t be doing with Claudia’s prudishness.

  ‘That. And in love. Maybe the love part more than the sex. He just wasn’t ready.’

  ‘It isn’t really about whether he was ready, though, is it?’

  ‘I know.’ She squirmed in her chair. ‘Look. Let me try to explain.’ She took a deep breath, and Laura could tell she was about to launch into something she’d rehearsed to herself before she came. ‘Rupert is an older father. We met rather later in life, to be truthful. I was already thirty-nine when we married. He’s ten years older. We thought we couldn’t have children. We started trying right away. It just wasn’t happening. And then it was. I got pregnant naturally before we had a chance to go the IVF route. It never happened again. Well, I did get pregnant. Once more, when Sas was four. But I miscarried, early on.’

  She knew she was digressing. She shook herself back to her point. ‘Anyway, she was all we had. He was besotted, right from the start. I know a lot of men aren’t that interested, are they, when the children are babies, before they can talk? Not Rupert. She was the centre of his universe, from day one.’ The slight sadness of her own demotion was obvious. ‘It’s all been about her, about protecting her, giving her the best. We were living abroad, with his work, but she’s the reason we came back: he wanted her to finish her education in England, and he couldn’t bear to send her to boarding school. He went, you know, when he was seven. His father was in the forces …’ Another detour. She was so desperate to explain his behaviour. To try to make him seem sympathetic.

  ‘When we first came home she had a hard time. Girls can be so – so cliquey and cruel. She wasn’t very happy, not very settled. We wondered whether we’d done the wrong thing – whether we should have stayed where we were. I know he blamed himself. And then she and Ethan got together and it was like the light came back on. She was happy. I was worried they might be a bit, you know, obsessive. But I was incredibly glad she had him … I just didn’t realize – I suppose I didn’t want to think …’

  ‘That they were sleeping together?’

  ‘Did you know?’

  Laura couldn’t lie. ‘No. Not specifically. I hadn’t thought about it. I should have done.’

  Claudia’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘I found the pills. She’d been to the doctor and not told me.’

  Laura could feel her hurt. ‘At least she was being sensible.’

  ‘It still hurt. It was a jolt. She’d gone from being a kid who told me everything to being a young woman who’d take herself off to the doctor and – and I’d – I’d just missed it.’

  ‘I think maybe we all miss it.’

  ‘Even though we never stop looking?’

  Laura laughed. ‘Yeah. Even though we never stop looking.’

  They smiled at each other, both understanding.

  Laura wanted to offer something. ‘I don’t know whether Ethan said, or maybe Saskia, my marriage ended recently. I’ve been … coping with that. Not coping with it, really …’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ She didn’t say whether she’d known or not. It didn’t really matter.

  They sat for a moment. They weren’t so different after all.

  ‘When I told Rupert he went mad. Started raving about how young she was. How she was too young. I don’t know where all that legal stuff came from.’

  ‘Is he going to pursue it? The legal stuff?’

  ‘He hasn’t decided, he says.’

  ‘And you?’

  Her face softened. ‘I don’t want him to. It wouldn’t change anything.’

  Again, the anger rose. It was so very close to the surface. ‘It would change everything for my son.’

  Claudia raised her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I understand what it would mean for Ethan. What it could mean. What I meant was that it wouldn’t undo what’s happened.’

  ‘But it could ruin his life.’

  She leant forward, spoke quickly. ‘And I know he doesn’t deserve that.’

  ‘Damn right he doesn’t.’

  ‘Believe me, I hear you.’

  ‘He loves her. I know they’re kids. But he really believes he loves her. I don’t think he would ever have done anything that would hurt her. I don’t actually think he has it in him to hurt anyone. He’s never been like that. But her … her least of all.’ Now she thought she might cry. Perhaps she should.

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘What happened between them might have happened sooner than any of us would like, but it happened consensually, it happened somewhere safe and warm, and I’m certain it happened in a loving way. You have no idea – and neither, apparently, did I – how few kids that holds true for. No idea at all …’

  ‘I do. Saskia says all of that.’

  ‘To just you or to
both of you?’

  ‘He … Rupert hasn’t actually sat down with her yet. He wants to calm down.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Laura couldn’t help herself.

  ‘It’s how he is.’ Said as a fact, not as a defence. Everything about her made clear that he wasn’t an easy man to live with.

  Laura snorted derisively. ‘You’ve got to stop your husband going to the police. To do so would be entirely wrong.’ Alex might have tried to stop her talking to Claudia in that way, from coercing, but Laura could see hope. Claudia didn’t believe Ethan deserved to be in trouble for what had happened. Claudia was her route to Rupert. She almost trusted her, sitting in that café.

  Claudia nodded. ‘I’m going to try.’ There was something alarming in the way she said it. Rupert was clearly impossible to manage. He sounded awful. Like all of this was about him, not Saskia.

  ‘Please.’ She was begging now, for Ethan, her sweet, beautiful boy. ‘Please.’

  23

  Nick couldn’t stop thinking about the Micky Flanagan sketch where the comedian talked about the difference between going out and going out-out. He’d barely been out after dark since Carrie. Let alone out-out. This, however, was definitely out-out. Fran had insisted. She’d told him if he didn’t call Ed and Maureen and ask them to look after the kids she would.

  ‘It isn’t easy for them, with the farm.’

  ‘Bollocks. Don’t give me the farm excuse. I’ve never heard them give it. You know they’d drop everything. They have people to take over from them. It’s just an evening.’

  ‘It’s two at least. It’s a bloody long drive. I can’t ask them to do it on back-to-back days.’

  ‘So they’ll stay two or three nights at yours. And you’ll let them. The kids will love it. It’ll make them happy. You’ll get a break. It’s. All. Good.’

  Things had been strained between him and his parents-in-law since The Conversation, so he emailed, like a coward, instead of calling. Stay a night or two. Three even. Just like Fran had said. The response was almost instantaneous. They’d be delighted. They’d sleep over. They’d missed the children, they said, which made him feel guilty. Fran had offered him a choice of activities: dinner, cinema, bowling.

  ‘Bowling?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Sticky carpet. Smelly shoes. For a start.’

  ‘Okay, funster. Just a suggestion. I happen to be very good at bowling.’

  ‘Another reason not to go.’

  He’d chosen dinner. Discovered, in that instant, a latent craving for Asian food – he hadn’t had any in for ever. In the weeks and months after Carrie died, food had come almost entirely from the freezer in Tupperware labelled by concerned friends. Endless casseroles, lasagnes, pies. He was grateful, of course. There was not an ethnic ingredient in any of it, but it was suitably heavy on the comfort and the carbs. He hadn’t faded away physically since Carrie died: instead he’d developed love handles.

  Since the sympathy catering had dropped away, and their new domestic normality had established itself, he’d stuck to a small, simple and distinctly unexotic repertoire of things he knew the kids ate. They weren’t big fans of flavour, it seemed. Carrie had tried, God knows, making vegetable faces and fruit in funny shapes and hiding courgettes and carrots in bolognese, but without Carrie, he’d taken the line of least resistance to full tummies, and given up coaxing them into avocado and broad beans. He occasionally looked at plates of fish fingers and pasta shapes that were a culinary Dulux paint chart, and heard her gently admonish him.

  He wasn’t any better with himself. Mostly he’d picked from their unfinished plates, fish fingers and chicken nuggets eaten at the sink. And who ordered takeaway for one? Sad bastard. Suddenly, surprisingly, with Fran’s invitation, his mouth almost watered at the thought of a chilli prawn or a green curry. So, no to bowling, but a big yes to a spicy meal eaten sitting down where other people were. It was almost – just almost – exciting.

  Maureen hugged him hard when he opened the front door to the pair of them. Delilah and Arthur were in bed, but Bea was still up, and she ran into Ed’s arms. Her grandfather picked her up and held her tight. More than the others, Bea looked like her mum – exactly like the photograph of Carrie, taken when she was the same age, that Ed and Maureen had on the mantelpiece at home. Note to self, Nick thought. More grandparents, more often. Something about his grief made him possessive of his kids, but it wasn’t fair.

  ‘You look handsome.’ Maureen smiled, touching his shirt collar briefly. ‘I like this.’

  He looked down at himself. It wasn’t a new shirt. She must have seen it before. ‘Thanks.’ He smiled at her.

  They hadn’t asked him where he was going. Christ – did they think he was on a date? The thought was bizarre. He heard himself blurting out, ‘It’s just supper with an old friend of ours. I won’t be late.’

  Maureen nodded, unquestioning. ‘You have a good time. Don’t hurry home. Enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Nick mumbled. He knelt down, and held Bea’s tiny body tightly. ‘You okay, monkey?’

  ‘I’m going to read to Granddad. Aren’t I, Granddad?’

  ‘You are, my love.’ Ed put his big hand on her head affectionately.

  ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Bea kissed his cheek, then took Ed’s hand, her attention already elsewhere. ‘Bye, Dad.’

  On the other side of the front door, Nick leant against it. It was still hard to leave them: that was what Carrie had done. Kissed Arthur goodbye and left him. It was easier with work: he understood that their lives must go on. Easier at the school gate too. This was different. He didn’t have to go. He had his house key in one hand – he pushed the edge into the palm until it almost hurt, because physical pain, he’d discovered, running so fast and so far that only the agony in his chest made him stop, was the fastest distraction from the emotional kind – and set off.

  Fran was already at the table when he arrived, with a large glass of wine in front of her. He bent and kissed her cheek briefly. She smiled.

  ‘Am I late?’

  She shook her head. ‘I was early. Mad keen babysitter three doors down. Saving up to backpack around South East Asia. Offered to do bath and bed, which I obviously leapt at, slummy-mummy that I am.’

  ‘You look nice. Didn’t recognize you without the athleisure.’ This was true.

  Fran narrowed her eyes, then smiled. ‘Flatterer.’

  The waiter approached the table with two menus.

  ‘Bottle? What is that?’

  ‘Sauvignon Blanc. Why not?’

  ‘A bottle of that, please,’ Nick said. ‘And some prawn crackers while we choose …’

  He drank the first glass very fast. They ordered and did parent small-talk for a few minutes. This was safe territory – they did it in each of their houses and at the school gates. It was easy enough to do it in a restaurant. Not too weird. They’d done it, the four of them, him and Carrie, Fran and Craig. But usually it would be Fran and Carrie in a maternal huddle, him and Craig talking football. They’d never been as close as the girls. They’d never have been mates without them. But they understood that the strength of the bond between their wives made it compulsory for them to rub along together, so they did. As long as they didn’t talk about politics, it was tolerable. Carrie once said she wasn’t sure what Fran had ever seen in Craig, but they hadn’t talked much about it beyond that. He’d have joked – something about not all women being as lucky as Carrie was – some naff, stupid joke, the kind he made all the time and not any more. He’d been busy being happy in his family cocoon. He liked Fran a lot, and he knew Carrie adored her. But he was also sort of ambiguous about her. Craig too. In the nicest possible way, politely disinterested.

  He could never have known how much she would come to mean to him in the months since he’d lost Carrie. How much he relied on her. How grateful he was for her.

  ‘You’re off on holiday soon, aren’t you?’

  Nick nodded. ‘
Dreading it slightly.’

  ‘It’ll be fine. Safety in numbers, Nick. Didn’t you say your brother and sister both had kids?’

  ‘That’s right. Stepkids, in my brother’s case. Girls. Teenagers. My sister Laura has a boy, Ethan.’

  ‘Well, teenage girls will love your tinies. You’ll probably hardly see them. You could do with a rest.’

  Nick hadn’t conceived of the ten days as even potentially restful. It was a seductive thought.

  ‘Take a few books. Let the others help with the kids. Hang out.’

  ‘Yes, Fran.’ He smirked at her.

  ‘Where is it again?’

  ‘Cotswolds.’

  ‘Not far from us, then. We’ll overlap.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I think so. Where exactly are you?’

  He checked on his phone. Fran opened her diary and read out her own destination.

  ‘I don’t think yours is that far away from ours.’

  ‘But you’ll be living it up in some swanky country mansion courtesy of your dad, and we’ll be slumming it in tents. Sorry – yurts, if you please.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. See? Yours is looking better every minute, right?’

  ‘Can’t see you in a yurt, Frannie. Isn’t glamping just fairy lights around your compost toilet?’

  ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me, you bastard.’

  ‘Who’s laughing?’ But they both were now.

  ‘It’s the very fanciest of tents, I’ll have you know. With a proper bed, allegedly. Besides, I’m adaptable.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. Are there … showers?’

  Fran snorted now, and put her head into her hands in mock-despair. ‘I bloody hope so.’

  ‘What about Craig? Has he got a Bear Grylls side?’

  Fran’s mirth subsided, and her expression changed.

  ‘Fran?’ For a dreadful moment he thought she was going to cry and he didn’t think he could cope with someone else’s tears, especially hers. ‘Fran? What is it?’

  ‘I want to tell you something, and I’ve been really scared about telling you.’