“Jasmine!” her mother growled at her, while her eyes remained glued to the book she was reading. “Don’t you see? I’m a child pining for attention, Mom,” Jasmine responded and pouted her lips. Her mother turned a page of her cheap paperback and sighed.
“I wonder when you’ll begin to act your age. You’re a twenty-five year old woman. It must be all the kids you surround yourself with all the time,” she said, without lifting her head to look at her daughter.
She could be right, Jasmine thought. The only real conversations she had on a daily basis were with five-year-old tiny humans at the kindergarten where she worked. Her mother, Camilla Kiberd, had made it obvious that she didn’t approve. The unanimous dream of both her parents had been that their only child would grow up to become a doctor or an engineer; a profession that would reel in the money, in any case.
Jasmine had chosen teaching and she had chosen kids. Not for a second did she regret her decision, especially when she walked into the classroom to find a dozen shiny happy faces staring up at her. Her mother, on the other hand, never failed to remind her how disappointed she was with her daughter’s life choices.
“Your father would have been so disappointed!” is the line she threw at Jasmine from time to time; just to really rub it in.
Jasmine tore her exhausted gaze away from her mother and turned in her seat to catch the waitress’ eye again.
“What are you doing?” she heard her mother remark.
“I want some more ice cream,” Jasmine said, while she waved furiously to the waitress who still had not noticed her.
“Your sweet tooth will be the death of you,” Camilla admonished, her attention was diverted from the book finally. In fact, she always had time to throw caustic remarks at Jasmine.
“Relax, Mom. We’re on a holiday,” Jasmine said, and smiled broadly as the waitress finally began walking over to their table.
“Another one of those delicious cups of chocolate chip ice cream, please. And, Mom, anything for you?” Jasmine turned to her mother at the last minute.
“Just some coffee please. Black,” her mother spoke to the waitress curtly and smoothed the lapel of her grey jacket. She was every inch the properly dressed woman.
Jasmine watched her mother as she went back to concentrating on her book again. She had no idea where she had gotten her own looks from. While Camilla’s most striking features were her sky-high cheek bones, her straight and slim, somber lips, and a head of thick, straight hair which she now, like any proper sixty year old Englishwoman, chose to cut into a neat greying bob; Jasmine was an apple from a completely different tree. In fact, she was more of an orange. Her oval face barely gave away the hint of cheekbones; her lips were wide and in a perpetual pout, while her auburn curls were constantly unmanageable. Her mother was tall and slender, where Jasmine was petite with an ample chest – more than ample in most cases. Her father, too, had looked more like her mother than he did like Jasmine.
Jasmine sighed as she watched her mother read and gazed out of the smooth, cool glass panes that they were sitting next to. She could hear the seagulls in the sky and when she looked at it, it was bright blue and clear. She didn’t need to step outside to know that the sun would beat down on them, and yet, her mother was in a business suit. Well, she was always in a business suit.
“Aren’t you warm in that thing, Mom?” she asked.
“Don’t be silly, Jasmine.” That haughty tone in her mother’s voice which Jasmine knew so well had returned. “I couldn’t possibly have worn anything else,” she said while glaring at her daughter through narrowed eyes.
“Mom. It’s not a business meeting. It’s only a property viewing,” Jasmine suggested just as the waitress came back with the cup of coffee for her mother and a paper cup with two scoops of ice cream.
“Exactly. It is a business meeting. It’s a meeting between two individuals who will be embarking on a business contract,” her mother replied, as she gingerly pinched the handle of the cup with her forefinger and thumb. She even put her pinky finger out like only those who were royalty – or true snobs – did.
“He’s going to buy the house. You don’t need to impress him,” Jasmine said as she scooped a large spoon of ice cream into her mouth and relished the sensation of it melting in her throat. The feeling of it trickling down the heated skin on her lip was heavenly. Her tongue whipped out quickly to catch it before it fell down her chin.
“Well, if I don’t impress him and the house doesn’t sell, then I’m stuck with that place. And it’s falling apart with nobody else making any offers,” her mother’s voice had risen by a few decibels and Jasmine looked up with a raised eyebrow.
“Okay, okay,” Jasmine said, her voice muffled by the big dollop of ice cream in her mouth.
“I just can’t afford to have the property lying around anymore. At this rate it will never sell,” Camilla added and shut her book with an audible ‘swoosh’. Jasmine had never been able to develop the skill of consoling her mother. She was always too distant, too self-aware to betray the need to be consoled or allow anybody else to comfort her. So Jasmine didn’t try anymore.
“It’ll sell, Mom. The man is the wealthiest man in this town, you said yourself that he is a billionaire. This purchase will be pocket-change for him. He is clearly interested in it, and didn’t you say he knew Grandfather?” Jasmine offered instead, avoiding eye contact with her mother since she had mentioned the grandfather she never knew. Whom her mother despised.
“Yeah, apparently my father encouraged his stamp collection when he visited here on his holidays. You know, when he was shacking up with that woman,” Jasmine’s mother said through gritted teeth, her anger being vented on her molars. “At least, that is what he says in his letters. Anyway, I suppose we’ll simply have to wait and watch,” she added and opened her book again.
Jasmine couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She still couldn’t forgive herself for agreeing to accompany her mother on this trip. At least it has the potential of being a much needed holiday, Jasmine said to herself as she looked out through the window again, her gaze settling on the sprawling golden sand and the greenish blue waves crashing gently somewhere in the distance.
Chapter 2
“This looks cozy I suppose,” Jasmine smirked as she stepped out of her mother’s car and banged the door shut.
“Careful with the door!” she heard her mother yell out to her, but she had already run up the broken steps which led to the big wooden door. This door might have been rich brown and looked polished decades ago, but definitely didn’t any longer. She craned her neck up to get a good long view at the house and to her, it was marvelous. The white paint was peeling and had gray patches of damp in the corner, the bottle green painted wooden shutters had chunks missing from them and even from outside, Jasmine could smell the musty scent of locked up spaces.
“This is pure romance,” she sighed just as her mother reached her side, joining her in staring up at the house.
“Well, if anything it’s a dead romance,” Camilla said, pulling a key from her purse.
“I can’t imagine why this hasn’t sold yet. It doesn’t take a wild imagination to know how this place could potentially look if it’s repaired and looked after,” Jasmine was chirpy and excited. Her parents had never brought her to this house before as her mother rarely ever spoke about her grandfather, but finally this dilapidated place seemed to solidify her roots.
“My father didn’t have a very respected reputation around this town. It might have something to do with that,” her mother replied as they stepped in through the door together and entered a large hallway. There was very little light inside, and the few slivers that entered through the holes in the windows illuminated the thick films of dust that had settled on everything.
Jasmine breathed in. The smell was an odd combination of old books, decaying upholstery and the scent of the nearby beach. It was heavenly and stifling at the same time.
“Somebody should have taken
care of this place,” her mother said as she walked across the hall, staring up at the chandelier that had too many broken or missing pieces to count as one anymore.
“We didn’t even know it existed,” Jasmine turned to watch the older woman walking slowly along the wall, staring up quietly at the faded paintings hanging on the patchy walls.
“What does that mean?” Jasmine asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. She knew how her mother hated curiosity.
“It means that our father bought this house and lived here with his mistress any chance he could get. We didn’t know it existed until he died and left it to us.” Her mother was surprisingly talkative today and Jasmine was finding all of it very hard to believe. It was overwhelming to hear so many words coming from her mother’s mouth that didn’t include censure of anything Jasmine did.
“Are you serious?” is all Jasmine could respond with and watched as an ironic, short laugh escaped her mother’s lips.
“As if this house was going to make any difference. He drank all his money away or gave it to that woman for all we know. And this house became more of a burden than a profitable inheritance,” Camilla continued. She was turning doorknobs, opening and then shutting the doors that surrounded the circular, central hall.
Jasmine stood silently in the middle of it all. She literally had no response. She was certain that anything she could possibly say to her mother would result in a fight.
“We never met her,” her mother continued, not even noticing Jasmine didn’t respond to her earlier statement. Jasmine thought she detected a hint of despair in her mother’s voice, but then it quickly changed to anger again.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I had no idea,” Jasmine said weakly, watching as her mother stood under the chandelier.
“I just want to get rid of this house and finally begin to move on,” she continued, letting out an exhausted sigh. “As long as this house remains with me, it will serve as a constant reminder of how terrible he was as a father.”
More than being surprised at the things her mother was saying, the fact that she was so willing to talk about her father and her own feelings, was what was new to Jasmine. She decided to pat her mother gently on her shoulder, but she quickly moved away and Jasmine let her hand drop back to her side.
“The last thing I want is a pity party. Now, help me make this house somewhat presentable,” her mother said with a sudden change in her voice. Jasmine looked around her and smiled.
“When was the last time you dusted anything, Mom?”
***
Jasmine wiped her brow as she ran a wet sponge over a large glass-top coffee table in the living room for the last time. She stood up from her hunched position and looked around her. The thick curtains had been dusted down, as had the carpets; while the sofas and chairs were covered with sheets of plastic. She and her mother had spent the last four hours dusting, cleaning, and wiping as many surfaces as they possibly could. The rest had to be covered or hidden. She knew that the house still didn’t come close to what might have been its former glory, but like her mother said, at least now it looked ‘presentable’.”
“I might go down to the beach for a bit,” Jasmine said when she met her mother in the hall again.
“Why? We have to prepare for the evening, Jasmine. Don’t go running off in the middle of this,” her mother glared at her, but Jasmine had already brushed past her and opened the front door, missing the look directly but feeling it boring into her back.
“The place is as clean as it can possibly be for the moment. I’m done,” she said and walked out of the house. She could hear her mother call out to her and remind her to be back as soon as possible.
It was evening by now, but the sun was still out and bright as Jasmine walked lazily down the driveway and onto the unkempt narrow trail which she assumed would lead her to the beach. She could smell the sea and hear the accompanying seagulls, a smile creeping across her face as they swooped down on the water. The humidity had made her curls poof up and added a few inches to her otherwise slight height. If nothing else, Jasmine was grateful that she’d worn a pair of white cotton shorts and a thin printed blouse. Anything else would have been enough to roast her immediately.
Chapter 3
When the beach came into view, Jasmine took off her leather sandals and skipped over to the sand, digging her toes into the warm, rough texture. She’d forgotten her sunglasses and her tanning lotion in the house, but she wasn’t too bothered. She took in a deep breath of the scent of the sea and kept walking. She had to raise her hand to shade her eyes, but she could see a handful of people lazing around and a few kids chasing each other. This is the life, she said to herself and smiled. It wasn’t hard to see why her grandfather had picked this town as his annual getaway.
When she came closer to the water she sat down, folding her legs in front of her and placing her head on her knees, letting the sun seep into her skin and relax the tenseness in her muscles after spending so many hours cleaning. A few feet away, a man was lying on a beach towel, his face facing the sun. He had definitely come prepared for sunbathing; his dark glasses shielded his eyes from the sun, while a book lay open and forgotten on his chest. He seemed to be much older than she, although Jasmine found herself admiring his sculpted body. His tanned skin was smooth; the muscles on his shoulders and abdomen looked effortless, as though he was involved in hard physical labor on a daily basis. His bare chest was covered in a spray of dark curly hair. Jasmine jerked her head away when she saw him shifting in his spot; she wasn’t sure if he’d seen her staring at him behind his dark glasses.
She went back to admiring the view until she was uncomfortable with the silence again. Her days spent having loud and endless conversations with five-year-olds had put her in the habit of talking incessantly. She tried clearing her throat to get his attention, but he didn’t budge.
“Lovely day,” she finally said, loud enough for him to hear. She could see that he tilted his head in her direction, but he didn’t say anything in response.
“The sun never seems to set here,” she said, trying again for conversation. This time she said it directly to him and continued looking at him, forcing him into a response.
“Yup,” was his short and succinct reply. Jasmine smiled, she had her ‘in’. She dragged her bottom in the sand and wiggled over closer to him.
“Are you on a holiday as well?” she asked him, pasting a bright smile on her face. She could sense that he was studying her, even though his eyes were hidden behind his dark glasses. He didn’t respond for a few seconds, but Jasmine continued to stare and smile. He finally seemed to let out a sigh, pulling his glasses off his face. His sparkling, yet piercing blue eyes took Jasmine by surprise. They were focused directly and narrowly on her face and she couldn’t help but look away, embarrassed.
“No,” he said after what seemed like too much time. Jasmine looked back at him, gave him a weak smile and turned her face away again. She knew his eyes were still on her, making her feel naked and exposed for some reason.
“You’re clearly on one,” he said after a few moments. Jasmine looked back at him and tried to nod and smile.
“Yeah. Sort of,” she said and unconsciously licked her lips. Without the large glasses covering his face, she could now see his rugged sharp jaw lines clearly. He was clean shaven, while his thick, greying hair was neatly cut and brushed back. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and Jasmine was growing increasingly uncomfortable under his glare.
“So you live here? That must be lovely,” she finally said, hoping to distract him from studying her so keenly. He smiled suddenly, and her heart nearly stopped. His slim lips stretched broadly, and a boyish sparkle made his eyes shine even more brightly. Jasmine couldn’t help but smile back; even though she wasn’t entirely sure what they were smiling for.
“It is indeed,” he said eventually and in one quick motion placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose again and picked up his book.
“What are you rea
ding there?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Ulysses and Us,” is all he said and offered no other explanation or illuminating insight into a book, which for all he knew Jasmine might be interested in. He didn’t even look away from the page he was concentrating on.
“Ah, Joyce!” Jasmine said, trying to drag the conversation on a little further.
“About Joyce,” he corrected gruffly. She could see that his brows were scrunched above his glasses. She bit down on her lip and decided to leave him alone, even though she had no idea what she had done to offend him. She turned around to face the sea again, although she remained in the same spot, a few feet away from this man she couldn’t stop stealing glances at from the corner of her eye.
“Have you read Ulysses?” she was surprised to hear his voice and turned around. He was looking at her with a smirk on his face, his glasses were off again. For an older mature man, he sure couldn’t make up his mind.
“I tried and failed three times over; now it’s only a doorjamb,” she said, trying to make a joke. It obviously didn’t impress him, but he still smiled.
“You’ll get there. I don’t think I managed to finish it before I was thirty-five myself and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since,” this sudden softening of his tone took Jasmine by surprise, a pleasant surprise that made her heart skip a beat. The fact that he was willing to have an actual conversation with her made her self-conscious and she held her head up higher than usual.
“Do you read for pleasure or is it connected in some way to your work?” she tried to further the conversation and turned her body to face him again. He laughed at that and she liked the sound of it, it had a sort of wise and self-assured tone to it.
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