The Family Holiday

by Elizabeth Noble

  ‘I think you’re a little happy.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Hey, you two!’ Now it was Heather who appeared, in her impeccable whites, Hayley trailing behind a little less enthusiastically carrying a tube of yellow balls. ‘How are you doing?’

  The arch of her eyebrows, and the emphasis on ‘you’ confirmed what Ethan had already said. Laura smoothed her hair self-consciously. ‘Good. You?’

  ‘All good here. Just gonna play a quick set. Need to do something to exercise off all this cheese and wine and cake we’ve been having, huh?’ And she definitely winked.

  60

  Heather was reading on a lounger on the terrace, her hair tied in a high ponytail, wearing enormous dark glasses. She looked about twenty, Scott thought. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘You read my mind.’ She smiled at him briefly, then went back to the book. ‘Sorry. Good part.’

  Scott laughed. ‘It must be – you’ve been still for, like, an hour.’

  Heather wrinkled her nose, to acknowledge that she’d heard him, but didn’t look up again.

  In the kitchen he made two coffees, noting that there was only one unopened sleeve of capsules left. Just as well they were going home soon.

  Back outside, Heather’s book was on the floor beside the lounger. It had been replaced by Arthur, who had obviously climbed on and distracted her. He was sitting astride her, with one plump toddler leg on either side of her lap, and they were doing ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ together, the novel forgotten. Heather’s face and voice were animated, and Arthur rewarded her efforts with a raucous belly laugh every few seconds. She tickled his tummy, and he threw himself violently backwards, but she caught him, and as she pulled him upwards, he put his arms around her neck and clung to her. Heather’s eyes closed, and her arms held him tight. When she released him, Arthur kissed her square on the lips, a wet, noisy smacker, his hands holding her face still so he could, and it was her turn to laugh.

  Then, as quickly as he had come, Arthur was off again, sliding impatiently down onto the patio, with one quick pat on the behind from Heather, and tottering off in the direction of his sisters, who were sprawled on a checked blanket a few metres away on the lawn with their dolls. He was intent on disrupting their quiet game. Heather didn’t pick up the book straight away, watching him go with a fond smile.

  Scott put down one of the coffee mugs on the small wicker table next to her.

  ‘He’s a sweetie, isn’t he?’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks, honey. He sure is. I could eat him … Let’s have one. Let’s try and have one, at least.’

  The thing was, they’d completely ruled it out, really early on. They’d had a two-martini dinner at a little neighbourhood joint a few blocks south-east of the office, where they served crab cakes and celeriac rémoulade to die for, and decided, mutually, brave on gin, that kids were not going to be a part of the picture. Hayley and Meredith were enough for Heather, she’d said, and he’d told her that they would be enough for him too. Believed it. Been a little relieved, even, if he was honest. Children – at least children for whom he was responsible – frightened him a little. Teenagers – ready-made – seemed, to him, a good compromise. He’d thought he could relish the daydream of college graduations and weddings and driving licences, but the idea of nappies and tantrums and sleepless nights made him anxious. He was obsessed with Heather – consumed by her, by the physicality of her – and jealous of the idea that a baby would come between them, annexing her glorious body, her time and her love. He was too selfish for that, he’d thought. He’d only just found her. He didn’t want to share her. He’d never told her that. He’d been slightly ashamed of feeling that way.

  Something had changed. It had changed almost across these ten days. Maybe it was Arthur and Bea and Delilah, and seeing her with them. Maybe it was what she’d told him. He felt closer to her now than he ever had, against an unexpectedly lovely tableau of familial love. The ties that bind felt less like the ropes of bondage and more like lifelines now. This was good. Something had changed.

  But it was Heather who’d said it. He might not have been brave enough. She pushed the enormous sunglasses up onto her head, so he could see her pretty eyes, and he was surprised to see that they were shiny with tears. She was gazing at him, her lips pressed together, bright and worried, searching his face for a reaction. Not at all sure of him.

  He didn’t know why not.

  ‘Yes.’ He blurted it out.

  ‘Yes?’ She stood up excitedly.

  Scott pulled her to him, held her tightly, and spoke into her hair, and then into her mouth, kissing her passionately. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’

  Hayley, passing, curled her lip disdainfully at their public display of affection, oblivious to the momentousness of the exchange. ‘God. Get a room, you two.’

  61

  ‘So what are we all going to do today, then? Last day and all that.’ Nick poured tea from the pot into a mug and leant against the windowsill.

  His children were already seated around the table, eating Rice Krispies. ‘A picnic! A picnic!’ Bea and Delilah bounced in their chairs at the kitchen table, banging their spoons.

  ‘Rounders competition.’ This was Charlie.

  ‘Rounders and a picnic.’ The smallest people amended their chant.

  Charlie chucked the girls under their chins. ‘Sounds like an excellent idea, my darlings.’

  ‘Rounders is softball, right?’ Heather asked.

  Meredith nodded. ‘More or less. We play it at school.’

  Laura peered into the teapot, and topped it up with water from the kettle. ‘Do we even have the stuff for rounders?’

  ‘We certainly do.’ Charlie smiled. ‘Bats, balls, even some little plastic cones for the bases. They’re in that cupboard in the boot room.’

  ‘How many of us are there? Enough for two teams?’

  ‘Plenty. I’ve asked Lucy and her husband to join us. When she came round yesterday to talk about check-out she mentioned they’d be around. I thought it would be fun.’

  ‘So you’ve been planning this, huh?’ Laura winked at her father.

  ‘Might have been.’ He was pleased at the reception his idea was getting. This was just what he wanted. Everyone involved.

  Bea was counting and muttering names under her breath.

  ‘How many of us are there, then, sweet Bea?’

  ‘Ten. No, twelve, with Lucy and Col. If you don’t count Arthur.’

  ‘Arthur …’ This was Arthur, disgruntled at the idea of not counting.

  ‘We have to count Arthur. He needs to run for his old granddad. You can do that, can’t you, Arthur, old chap?’

  Arthur nodded enthusiastically, without much understanding of what he was agreeing to.

  ‘That’s settled, then. Rounders and a picnic.’

  ‘Have we got what we need for a picnic?’

  ‘We’ve got loads of crisps and biscuits and cheese and stuff. Tomatoes.’

  ‘Lashings of ginger beer?’

  Heather looked puzzled.

  ‘Seventies childhood cultural reference. Don’t worry.’ Scott slung an arm around her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you and I pop to the deli, grab some stuff?’

  ‘I’ll go and tip the youths out of their beds.’

  ‘I might … ask a friend. To come.’ Laura spoke into the room, half hoping no one would hear her in the cacophony of breakfast and planning. But they did.

  Nick, halfway to the stairs to rouse Ethan and Hayley, raised an eyebrow. ‘A friend?’

  Laura hated the pink blush she could feel rising. Everyone was looking at her.

  Charlie put his arm around her, protective. ‘The more the merrier, sweetheart. You ask your friend.’

  ‘Yes, ask your friend …’ Nick’s voice lingered on the word more than his father’s had, but the amused tone was just as fond.

  Laura paused, desperate for the family chaos to wash over the awkward moment.

  She didn’t have to wait long. ‘That’s f
ourteen.’ Bea looked exercised. ‘If Auntie Laura brings a friend, there will be fourteen people, which makes two teams the same size.’

  62

  The caterer had come in again for the last night, although it had all been a lot more casual than the evening of Charlie’s birthday celebration. There were three interesting salads of the kind you could never quite be bothered to make for yourself, two baguettes, a chicken and mustard casserole, and some very superior, chef-style chicken nuggets for the children. And two pillowy pavlovas for dessert. All left for them to help themselves.

  Charlie had put all the booze everyone had brought on the kitchen island, declaring that the bar was open, because who could be bothered to take half-drunk bottles of anything home?

  They were all in the lightest mood, happy, sunkissed, relaxed.

  Charlie, expansive with happiness, had asked Lucy, Col and Joe to join them, but the three tactfully claimed to have good reasons why they couldn’t. He watched Joe say goodbye to Laura, around the corner, where they thought no one could see them. They spoke for a while, heads close together, and then he kissed her on the lips, tender and gentle, stroking her cheek, the other hand holding hers. As he walked away, their arms extended, fingers still entwined, lingering a moment. Laura turned back, wistfulness on her face, and he wondered how it would play out, the fledgling thing between them.

  Inside, someone put an iPod on shuffle and the kitchen was suddenly full of eclectic music. Laura bumped hips with Nick, who took her hand and spun her in a pirouette under his arm, one way and then the other. When Duran Duran’s ‘Hungry Like The Wolf’ came on, the three siblings sang the chorus into imaginary microphones, giddy with instantaneous nostalgia, to an audience delighted and horrified in more or less equal measure.

  Heather had made a pitcher of martinis. Scott referred to it as ‘neat gin with vermouth wafted over it’, and told the old New York joke about martinis being like breasts – one wasn’t enough and three was one too many. Nick poured a large one for himself, and a slightly smaller one for Ethan. ‘That’ll put hairs on your chest, kid.’

  ‘Ew.’ This was Hayley. ‘Who wants hairs on their chest?’

  ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’ Heather giggled, slipping a hand inside Scott’s shirt.

  ‘Oh. My. God. Gross.’ Meredith hid her face in her hands, but she was giggling too.

  Ethan took a sip from his glass, and immediately coughed. More laughter ensued.

  ‘I wanna try it.’ This was Hayley. Ethan handed her his, and she sipped gingerly. ‘Mm. Nice …’ Sipped again. Ethan rolled his eyes, and took the glass from her.

  ‘Don’t even think about it!’ But Heather’s tone was light as she passed Hayley a compromise glass of white wine. Hayley hesitated, then cut her losses and took it, clinking glasses with Ethan.

  ‘Selfie?’

  He frowned, but then put his arm around her shoulders, raised his glass into the shot and leant in as she held her phone at arm’s length.

  ‘Hashtag family.’ But the sting was gone from the humour, leaving just a new, tentative, gentle mocking. It wasn’t lost on Heather, or on Scott and Laura.

  ‘What is it with you kids, anyway?’ Nick asked. ‘Why does everyone have to be waxed and smooth all over – men and women?’

  ‘Nick!’

  ‘I mean it. It’s weird. You all want to look like Morph, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Who in hell is Morph?’

  Laura tried to google Morph, the smooth and hairless Plasticine man from their childhood television. Got, instead, a gimp suit on a sex-toy website, which created more hysterical peals of laughter.

  Heather made mocktails for Bea and Delilah. Bea was brave, and took a bite from an olive, but spat it out straight away, brushing frantically at her tongue to get rid of the taste.

  Somehow, among the noise and the chaos and the banter, plates and cutlery were collated, the table was laid with napkins and water glasses, and the caterer’s platters were carried over.

  Charlie stood in the corner, and watched them all, with a huge lump in his throat. This was what he had wanted. This was what he wanted to capture like a photograph and remember for ever. This … this. Daphne was here in the room. He knew it.

  It wasn’t the moment for toasts or speeches. Calling for silence so he could speak mawkish words, invoke their dead mother, thank them for being here or seek thanks for facilitating it risked breaking the spell. And the spell was so lovely. He spoke in his head instead, just to her. Here we all are. Her lovely face was so vivid in his mind. I’ve done it, darling. I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here with us.

  63

  Home. Laura had to push the door hard, nudging ten days’ worth of post out of the way, to open it. She put her suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, and stooped to gather up the pizza-delivery fliers and unsolicited catalogues. In the kitchen, she filled the kettle, and put a mint teabag in a mug. There was no milk for a builder’s tea – she’d ordered an online shop but it wasn’t coming for a couple of hours. Ethan had made straight for the stairs. ‘Throw your washing onto the landing, love.’ You weren’t home until the washing-machine was going. Just like Mum. Not quite as bad. Mum would have stripped you in the kitchen so she could have a full load. She smiled at the memory. The pot of basil she kept on the windowsill was half dead, and she put it under the tap while the kettle boiled, then opened the back door and the window: it was stuffy in there after ten days all locked up.

  When she had left, everything had been different. She had a muscle memory of that angry, tense, brittle person who had spent hours sitting at the kitchen table in despair and impotent rage. A shiver of sadness rippled through her. She wasn’t going back there. She was drawing a line. Then. Now.

  She took the mint tea to the table, and started to separate the post into recycling and opening piles. Mostly, as ever, it was bills and bank statements. There was a letter, with unfamiliar handwriting on the envelope, no address on the back. She opened it, scanned to the bottom of a second page of writing, and felt her heart beat faster when she saw Claudia’s name. She put the letter on the table, as if it were too hot to hold, and sat back in her chair, then took a deep breath and picked it up again. Read it once, fast, scanning the lines. Read it again, more slowly, saying each word out loud to herself in her head. Put her face in her hands and wept.

  Dear Laura

  I thought a great deal about the conversation you and I had in the café that day. I’m glad we met. If we hadn’t it would have been easy for me to never consider your son, a fact I am not proud of but need to acknowledge.

  Everything you said was right and fair. Ethan did nothing wrong, and nor did Saskia. Rupert did. He had no right to barge into your home and speak to you and to Ethan in the way he did. It was wrong, and it was wrong of me to defend him to you. I’m sorry.

  He will not be taking anything to the police. This will go away for ever for Ethan, but only if he and Saskia break up. Really break up. Rupert can’t get past it. I have tried. But he can’t.

  Saskia is going away. You might remember my saying how much he hated the idea of her being at boarding school: that tells you how high emotions are still running for him.

  This is the best that I can do.

  He is a difficult man, but he’s my husband and Saskia’s father, and I am sure you will appreciate that family is everything to me.

  Saskia understands. You need to make Ethan understand. I hope it won’t be too hard for him. They haven’t seen each other for ages now. I do hope that some of the intensity they felt has passed. They are, after all, so very young.

  I realize, reading this back, that it sounds very Shakespearian and dramatic. I’m sorry for that. But it is for the best, I’m sure. I hope you understand.

  I wish Ethan all the best: I honestly do.

  Claudia

  He already knew it was over: the conversations they’d been having, in the last couple of days, made her feel confident that he didn’t see a fu
ture. He’d guessed, hadn’t he, that Saskia would not be coming back for sixth form? She sensed his starting to move on. She’d even thought, once or twice, that he was slightly surprised at feeling okay.

  And now the threat had gone away. She exhaled deeply, and let relief flood through her. The three a.m. fears of what could potentially happen to Ethan had had her in their grasp for weeks, even though Alex, Scott and Nick had told her it wouldn’t happen – that an angry father was striking out in the only way he could. The risk to her boy’s future had seemed immense, the injustice of it staggering. She felt almost giddy with relief, standing in the kitchen gazing out at her parched, neglected garden. She imagined the conversation that had gone on between Claudia and Rupert. Laura wondered what threats and bargains Claudia had had to use. It was a strange, discordant thought that Claudia was stuck in a difficult marriage, and she wasn’t. It wouldn’t have been easy for her, convincing him, not so much not to do anything but to stop threatening to do something.

  First she needed to share the news with Ethan upstairs. Maybe they’d order Domino’s, to celebrate – open a couple of beers. He’d be low-key, with her, she knew. And that was okay. Alex would need to know too. She’d text him. And he’d be happy to hear it. But then, she realized, she would come downstairs, pick up the phone, and tell Joe it was all going to be okay.

  ‘Cocktails at lunchtime? Who even are you? Where is my beloved, risk-averse, jolly-sensible friend?’

  Laura had ordered before Mel arrived. It was a long-standing date, made before the holiday. Mel cherished the occasional day in town. They might see an exhibition, do a bit of shopping. A film even. But lunch first. Two passionfruit martinis were waiting on the table.

  She stood up and hugged her friend. ‘So, so good to see you.’

  ‘You too, love.’ Mel threw her handbag strap over the chair’s back, and ran her fingers through her unruly hair. ‘Am I late?’