The Family Holiday

by Elizabeth Noble

  The view from the back of his place was uninterrupted big sky. The sun was going down behind a line of trees far away across two empty fields. There was no breeze, and the air was still wonderfully warm. One wide bench, more like a daybed, faced the sky, and he inclined his head in its direction. The others would wonder where she was. Let them. Someone else could make the sodding salad. Her mobile was inside, on the bookshelf where she’d put it before he’d kissed her, and she felt no inclination to get it.

  He sat on the bench, and motioned for her to sit between his legs, resting on him. He spread the blanket around both of them, handed her a glass, took his own, and put his other arm around her. ‘It’s going to be a good one …’

  That was all he said, and it didn’t require a response. Laura relaxed into him, and watched the sun, feeling perfectly contented. His chest rose and fell beneath her, and her own breathing slowed naturally to keep pace with that movement. Without her trying.

  It wasn’t love. She wasn’t a kid and she wasn’t stupid. But there was tenderness in it, and gratitude, for the sense that each had filled a need in the other. And, most of all, there was peace. At this moment, there was no past and no future. Just the ‘present’ her yoga teacher talked about. No need to ‘refuse to engage’ with her thoughts. She wasn’t having any. She felt almost liquidly languid, and she knew it was because – for good or for now – the anger had gone. ‘Shavasana.’ She said the word almost to herself, under her breath.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shavasana. It’s a word my yoga teacher uses.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  She laughed quietly. ‘I think the literal translation is “corpse pose”.’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘It’s the best bit. It’s basically you lying completely still. We do it at the end of a class. For five minutes, a few more maybe. Part relaxation, part meditation.’

  ‘Why?’

  She rested her head on his shoulder, tilting her face towards the last rays of the sun. ‘It rejuvenates the body, mind and spirit.’

  He nuzzled into her neck, planting soft, dry kisses in tiny touches on her skin, and whispered, ‘Namaste.’

  54

  Nick woke up on 6 August with two of his three children in bed with him. Only Delilah was missing, the others having migrated at some point between his coming up around eleven, and five, when he first woke, pushed unnaturally into the top left-hand corner of the bed by a starfish and a dervish. For a long while, he watched them sleep, forcing his breath into the peaceful, gentle rhythm of theirs, and smelling their familiar, sleepy smell. A year. It had been a year. They’d been only his for 365 days. But she was here, their fierce and fabulous mother, of course, in their precious faces, in their hairlines. The whorls at the napes of their necks were all Carrie, and so were their long eyelashes, and their smooth, golden skin. She was here, in the echo and the memory of everything she’d ever said about them and what she wanted for them. She would always be here.

  He wanted her to be as alive and vivid and real for them as she was for him, but he knew she wouldn’t be, and the thought brought tears to his eyes in the bed where he lay between them. She had loved them so.

  Last night at dinner he’d sought his family’s advice about the anniversary. The kids had been in bed. Bea was the only one who knew what today was. He wasn’t even sure how she knew, but she’d mentioned it a couple of times in the last few weeks, and a couple more in recent days. She’d announced it to him, in the hearing of her siblings, at bedtime, after he’d read them a story. Hearing the fact in her small voice had almost floored him.

  He hadn’t known what to say.

  Charlie’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘Anniversaries are hard. You can’t ignore them.’

  ‘Especially not where Bea is concerned. It’s pretty obvious that would seem strange to her.’

  ‘But I don’t want to churn them all up either.’

  ‘You may not be able to stop that, Nick.’

  ‘I know. But there’s a difference between that and initiating it.’

  Heather had been quiet, but now she was ready to speak. ‘Nick. Tell me to butt out if you want to …’

  Nick smiled. ‘No, Heather, please.’

  ‘I’ve never been in your position, so I –’

  ‘I’m really hard to offend, Heather.’ He laughed.

  ‘He is. I can vouch for that. I’ve been trying to for bloody years.’ Scott wasn’t sure what Heather was going to suggest, but he wanted to encourage her.

  Heather spoke a little more boldly.

  ‘So. You don’t want to ignore it. You don’t want them to be upset. So let’s do a thing. A little celebration of her. Give them a chance to talk about her. Look at some pictures. If we do it at breakfast, then distract them, get on with the day. If they come back later on, want to do more – especially Bea – then fine. You may find they don’t.’

  Scott squeezed Heather’s shoulder reassuringly, and looked at his brother. ‘Not a bad idea, Nicky.’

  Nick looked at Heather’s kind, open face and felt a rush of gratitude for her. ‘That might work.’

  She beamed. ‘Okay, then. Got some work to do. Scott – you can airdrop, right? And, Nick, you have your laptop, yeah?’

  Charlie grinned at Nick. ‘Let the woman work, I say.’

  And so the inaugural Carrie breakfast came to be. When Nick, carrying Arthur, and trailed by Bea and Delilah, came down the stairs, the table was laid for their mother’s favourite weekend breakfast – round pancakes with bananas and maple syrup. Scott’s laptop was somehow hooked up to project images onto a white wall – how the hell had she done that? The pictures that usually hung there had been taken down – and a series of images and short videos of Carrie was playing silently. Nick was almost transfixed. There she was, Carrie. Laughing, fooling about, blowing kisses. As he watched, the pictures traced a journey. An impossibly young and pretty bride. An expectant mother cradling her bump proudly. A new mum, tired and triumphant. In the swimming-pools, on the sofas and at the parks of their life together.

  The children saw the pancakes before they saw the wall. ‘Pancakes! Yippee! I love pancakes.’

  Delilah clambered onto a chair, and reached across to the large serving dish in the middle, picking one up in her hand and taking a bite.

  Then, ‘It’s my mummy!’ Bea froze for a long moment, every adult in the room watching her face, then clapped her hands. She pulled on the wooden chair where her sister sat, angling her to see the wall. ‘Look, Lila. It’s lots of pictures of Mummy. That’s you, in her tummy. I know, because that’s me, holding her hand. See?’

  ‘Aw. Look!’ Delilah didn’t stop eating but her eyes, too, were fixed on the wall. Bea helped Arthur into his chair, little mother that she was. ‘Wait a minute, Arthur. Keep looking. You’ll be in a picture in a minute.’

  Heather glanced from the children to Nick, clearly nervous as to how he might react. He tore his gaze away, and looked, dew-eyed, back at her. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just hugged her tightly. Over her shoulder he saw Scott, who nodded, then patted his chest above his heart. Charlie picked Arthur up, and sat down with the little boy on his lap, pouring syrup and cutting a pancake into toddler-sized pieces, but it was difficult with tears in his eyes.

  Laura stepped forward and did it for him, then moved to where Heather was leaning against the door. ‘You’re a bloody star, do you know that? A bloody star.’

  55

  Laura told herself she intended to apologize to Joe, and that was why she was wandering towards his place. To take the blame for what had happened, and to smooth over what would seem to them both now, surely, an embarrassing episode. It was more adult, she said to herself, to seek him out, to tackle the inevitable awkwardness head on. They were here for a couple more days – she was bound to run into him. She wanted him to know she didn’t expect anything from him. Or hold what had happened against him.

  She’d never had a one-night stand. Wh
at an admission. She almost had, once, at university. She’d been pissed and taken some guy back to her room, thinking that everyone else did it, but her flatmate, Lou, had hammered on the locked door long enough to get rid of him: she said she knew Laura would be really cross with herself in the morning if she went through with it. She was right, of course. Laura had always been too careful. She’d have agonized and analysed and effectively sucked out of the encounter whatever illicit pleasure she might have had in it.

  So did what had happened with Joe count?

  She hadn’t gone there expecting it so much as daydreaming about it, so that when it had it was almost like it had been happening to someone else. What had surprised her the most was the tenderness afterwards. He’d wanted her to stay – he’d been kind and considerate and affectionate.

  But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a one-night stand, did it? A one-night stand with a good guy. There were still good guys.

  Whatever her reasons for seeking him out, though, she couldn’t not.

  He was in his workshop when she arrived, adjacent to the house, two barn doors open, and the sound of a machine making his whereabouts known. He didn’t hear her come in. He was wearing a conker-coloured leather apron over jeans and a T-shirt, goggles and a mask. He was working on the table they’d picked up the other day, sanding off layers of paint and varnish to reveal the pale wood underneath.

  For a while she just watched him work. He was unbelievably sexy in concentration. Then she stepped two, three paces around the edge of the room until she knew she was in his line of vision. When he saw her, he switched off the machine, pushed the goggles onto the top of his head, and pulled down his mask. Beneath it he was smiling broadly. He looked pleased that she was there. ‘Didn’t hear you come in!’

  ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  ‘You’re not. I’m due a break. I’m happy to see you.’

  ‘You are?’

  He walked towards her. ‘Of course.’

  When he drew level with her, he put one hand on the back of her neck and kissed her. It wasn’t a polite kiss, or a friendly one. It was hungry. He smelt of sawdust and, just a little, of clean, fresh sweat.

  ‘I was hoping you’d come. Give me a sec to get this clobber off.’

  ‘You don’t have to stop on my account. I don’t want to hold you up.’

  Again the smile. Laura wondered if he knew exactly how sexy it was. She figured, at his age, he must do.

  ‘No, I want to.’

  With the apron and the safety gear put neatly on the workbench, he came back towards her. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Come and have some tea with me.’

  She let herself be led into the house. He filled the kettle and switched it on, took mugs down from the thick oak shelf behind the sink. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good. I’m good. I wanted to say, you know, about the other day …’ She felt like an awkward teenager, blurting. He came to stand close to her, and the feeling got worse. And better.

  And then, before her agonizing and awkward explanation or apology, or whatever it was, could continue, they were kissing, and his arms went around her and moved lower, firmly pulling her into him, and the kettle boiled, and no one wanted tea any more …

  ‘That went well,’ she said, much later. ‘I came to apologize.’

  He murmured into her neck, ‘Apology accepted.’

  She pushed him away, with no conviction whatsoever. ‘I’m serious. I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  ‘You’re pretty good at it.’

  ‘And you’re determined not to let me be serious, even for a minute.’

  He sat up, shoulders back, assuming a sober countenance. ‘Sorry. Serious. Go.’

  It was her turn to smile. ‘We don’t know each other.’

  ‘What would you like to know? I’m an open book.’

  ‘I don’t know … How did you get here?’

  ‘In the existential sense?’

  ‘No. The actual sense. I know bits and pieces but I can’t fit any of it together.’

  ‘And that bothers you?’

  ‘A bit.’

  He sighed, but he was still smiling.

  ‘Okay. Fair enough. It’s pretty simple. I stepped off the conveyor-belt. I was oh-so-conventional at one point. University. Good job in the City. Made my old dad proud. Saw a gap in the market. Started a business. Financial services. Please don’t make me tell you about it. Sold the business a few years later, made a few quid. Professional life going well, personal life down the tubes. Don’t spend too long trying to figure out whether the two things are linked, but I suspect she waited to leave me until I was worth a bit. She took half, but it was half of quite a lot. I wasn’t Gordon Gecko or anything, but it was enough. I hated having to let her take it, and I hated myself for hating it. I woke up one morning in my empty bed in my Canary Wharf flat and realized I didn’t need to stay there. Had nothing left to prove to myself or anyone else in that arena. Wanted something different. Came here. Didn’t do a lot for a year or so. And then I got bored. I’m not a do-nothing type of guy. There’s only so many books you can read. So I took on the garden for Lucy and Col. Started the upcycling. That’s where you find me. And now I have a life I truly, truly love.’

  She’d never heard him speak as much in one go before.

  ‘Is that the kind of thing? Helpful?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Your turn?’ At her expression he laughed. ‘Come on. Fair is fair.’

  Laura took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Okay. Well, I guess the difference between us is that I was shoved off the conveyor-belt. I’d climbed on voluntarily. Early twenties. Married the first guy who asked. Thought I’d be happy just because I wanted to be. Had Ethan, who is the light of my life, and pretty much the only reason I don’t consider myself to be a total failure. Gave up work, gave up too much of myself, if I’m honest. Homemaker. Then he left me for a younger model, just like in all the books and films. Took me out at the knees. That’s where you find me. Trying to get up off the mat.’

  ‘It’s a good sob story but, frankly, I’m not sure I’m buying it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Because that’s not who I see. You’ve told me most of that already.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I’m serious now.’

  She blushed.

  ‘Look at me, Laura.’ She met his gaze. ‘You’re not that woman.’

  And she almost believed him. ‘I don’t know what woman I am. I mean, my world has shifted on its axis. Everything around me is different. I know I need to adapt. But am I finding myself, or reinventing myself? That’s the question.’

  ‘Are you getting nearer an answer?’

  She smiled. ‘I think I might be.’

  56

  The cinema had been Heather’s idea. The latest Pixar film was showing at the local multiplex. She’d persuaded Hayley, who in turn had cajoled Ethan, who said he’d only agree because there was no chance anyone he knew would see him going into a kids’ film. Which was only partly true. Films like Toy Story and The Incredibles had played on a loop in his house for years.

  Meredith, Bea and Delilah hadn’t needed any persuading, and neither had Charlie, who recognized a nap opportunity when he saw one. When Laura, Scott and Nick had been young, cinemas had served gin and tonic and let you smoke in certain rows and he’d never had to be asked twice to take them, in exchange for nine holes on a Sunday morning. Now that cinemas offered nachos and people talked through entire features, he wasn’t quite so keen, but he wanted to be with the kids while he could. Nick stayed behind with a sleeping Arthur, and Scott agreed to drive them on condition he didn’t have to go in. They all fitted into his big car.

  ‘So what do you think your mother’s up to, Eth?’

  Ethan shrugged at his uncle’s question.

  ‘A sudden passionate interest in gardening?’

  ‘Or gardeners?’ Hayley giggled.

  ‘Oh, God. I don’t know! I’d really prefer not to t
hink about it.’

  ‘Fair enough. Leave Ethan alone,’ Charlie chided.

  Scott raised one hand in surrender. ‘Okay. Okay. I was just saying …’

  ‘Well, don’t just say!’ But everyone’s tone was light and teasing.

  ‘Well, I think it’s nice if Laura’s found …’ Apparently Hayley couldn’t decide on a word to end with.

  ‘A new hobby?’ Heather supplied. ‘Me, too. You go, girl.’

  ‘Really. Please. Enough,’ Ethan implored, but he was laughing now too. He’d noticed, like everyone else, that his mum was sneaking off. But she was different when she was around. Good different. Lighter. Brighter, somehow. And he liked it.

  Charlie insisted on paying for the tickets. Heather countered that she’d buy snacks, and the group huddled for a while at the Pic ’n’ Mix. Ethan showed the girls how to maximize space in the cup with shrewd loading, and made Delilah squeal by brandishing a long jelly worm at her.

  Heather watched him. He was just a kid after all. A sweet kid.

  Once they’d paid – the snacks coming out more expensive than the tickets themselves – Heather and Charlie waited with Ethan and Hayley in the foyer while Meredith, who cherished every opportunity she was given to have sole charge of the little girls, took Bea and Delilah to the toilets.

  Ethan took a sweet from his tub, threw it into the air and ducked to catch it in his mouth.

  ‘Let me try that,’ Hayley said, taking one from his pot, and tossing it upwards from an open palm. Before she had a chance, Ethan grabbed it. ‘Oy! You!’ she admonished.

  ‘Nut – you nut!’ Ethan showed her the chocolate-covered peanut in his hand. ‘Aren’t you allergic?’

  ‘Gosh. Yeah. Thanks.’

  ‘Thank you, Ethan,’ Heather interjected, keen for him to know that she’d seen what he’d done.

  ‘You’re welcome. No problem.’ Ethan dismissed her thanks with a brief wave, but Charlie saw the briefest flush in his grandson’s cheek and, not for the first time in the week, felt a rush of gratitude towards his daughter-in-law.