by Daisy Tate
‘Mum? Are you okay?’
Regan, her little worrier, stuck her head between the two front seats. Felix was still engrossed in one of those doorstop fantasy books of his.
‘Yes, darlin’. Just got a little something in my eye.’ She made a show of trying to extract an invisible speck before rubbing her hands together and singing out, ‘Right, my beloved offspring! Let’s get glamping!’
She breathed in a huge lungful of sun-saturated wildflower meadow and cow poo, ignoring the little twist in her heart that the scent always brought.
The wafty, pungent aroma of home.
She pictured her brother Rocco getting ‘the girls’ in for the afternoon milking session. Her dad still helped, but at seventy-something and just a wee bit more absent-minded than he’d been since Mum had died, Rocco had started filling in the gaps until, over the Easter hols, it had become very clear he was running the farm on his own. The fact that their small farm had yet to be eaten by some big nameless, faceless conglomerate or turned into so-called affordable housing, well … thank god for big brothers.
She waved her foot in front of the rear sensor and watched the hatch open like some sort of Star Wars portal. Charlotte’s quirkily wrapped present sat atop a jumble of duffel bags, Monty’s camera bag and last-minute panic packing.
She carefully set the camera gear to the side, praying Monty’s latest craze, Instagram ‘portraiture’, would finally bring some cash in. More than likely, the equipment would end up in the loft with the rest of his ‘sure things’ when yet another inspiration hit. Sure. He was busy with the kids, juggling the household finances and being the family chauffeur, but surely he could see it was time to start eBaying some (all) of his rejects. She’d have to find a more delicate way to suggest as much. Last December, after squeezing past the home-brewing kits, the cheese-making equipment, and the empty beehive in a vain attempt to find the Christmas tree decorations, she’d told Monty that the loft should be renamed The Attic of Unfulfilled Potential. He’d not spoken to her for the rest of the week. He was a sensitive little bear, her Monty.
She scanned the area for Charlotte. It was doubtful Emily had arrived yet. Not with her workload. Freya was still a bit shell-shocked Izzy was coming. And nervous. It had been ten years since she’d seen her last. At her and Monty’s wedding. She wished they hadn’t bickered, but who ran off with the bride’s toddlers to drop Pooh sticks in the river without telling anyone?
Okay. Fine. There was a part of her that would always be a bit funny about the fact Monty dated Izzy before her. Clarification. Monty and Izzy had hit all of the bases. Done it. Had actual sex. Hopefully enough time had passed that it would no longer be weird that one of the most beautiful women in the world had seen her husband’s penis. Sure. It had been actual years prior to Freya’s access to said penis, but still. Yup. Feeling extra grown-up now. She’d definitely moved on. That’s right. Moved on from the fact that her blue-eyed, Poldark-esque husband and one of her best mates had had sex. With each other. In the nude.
As she turned, something caught her attention. Was that …?
It looked like a drunken hedgehog.
They were nocturnal, so what was it doing out here in broad daylight? Surely, it wasn’t … was it?
Yes. It was definitely lurching around. Dehydrated? Starving?
Freya grabbed Monty’s Pearl Jam hoodie from the pile of clothes he’d stuffed into the back of the car and scooped it up into the thick cotton.
‘Kids!’ She beckoned for them to come out. ‘We’ve got a medical emergency here.’
Freya held the hedgehog’s tiny little face in front of her own and cooed, ‘It’s okay, darlin’. We’ve got you.’
A premonition jolted through her.
Babies.
It was technically too early, but … climate change. She gently tipped the hedgehog over and exposed her stomach. It looked swollen. She traced her finger along the creature’s tiny pink feet, then atop the soft white arc of her belly. ‘Do you have some hoglets growing inside you?’
‘She’s pregnant?’ Regan looked as if she’d found a treasure chest.
Freya secretly wished her daughter would become a vet. Between the mice, the budgies, the runaway tortoise, and, of course, Dumbledore, the family Labradoodle, Regan was definitely the family’s number-one animal lover. Maybe a proper summer at her family’s farm would do the trick.
‘Should we ring the RSPCA?’ Her daughter’s delicate fingers hovered above the hedgehog’s spines.
‘Yes. Definitely. Unless they have a wildlife clinic here. Felix, love. Can you grab Dad’s woolly hat, please?’
Her gangly son tripped on his way to the back of the car. Poor lad. All limbs and no coordination.
‘She’s soooooo cute!’ Regan lightly brushed her fingers along the hedgehog’s spines.
‘I’m pretty sure she’s pregnant.’
‘Can we call her Persephone?’ Felix asked.
‘We can call her whatever you like, darlin’’
‘This is great,’ Regan cooed. ‘I love it here already.’
And just like that … the long weekend stretched before Freya as a place of wide, joyful possibility.
Izzy couldn’t move.
C’mon Yeats. Get out of the van!
An overwhelming instinct to turn round and head straight back to the airport hit so powerfully it made her light-headed. Why was she doing this, again?
‘Mom?’ Luna whispered from the back seat, puppy firmly nestled in her lap despite Izzy’s entreaties to keep him in his newly purchased crate. ‘They’re staring at us.’
Freya and Charlotte were, indeed, staring. Well. Smiling. Waving. Beckoning. Wondering why the hell Izzy wasn’t running towards them like a lunatic and joyously screaming her head off like she would’ve back in the day.
Get a grip, big breath in and … she flung the car door open, ran towards her friends, arms wide open and shouting at the top of her voice. ‘Aloha, ladies!’ She threw in a whoop. Ten years in America taught her a whoop always helped.
They countered with some British-style whoops. A bit perplexed. A bit delighted. Mostly uncomfortable.
Bless. Despite the jitterbugs, it was great to see them. If she kept making a big show of things, it’d be no big deal. Same ol’ Dizzy Izzy.
‘Hey hey, girlies!’
As the space between them diminished, Izzy just managed to keep her game face on. Charlotte looked like a proper grown-up now. Blonde, in good shape, and immaculately put together with a splash of … Stepford Wife wasn’t exactly right because Charlotte was too damn sweet, but … hmmm. She’d have to think on that. As usual, Freya was pulling off something mere mortals couldn’t. An asymmetrical pastel-striped skirt, a camouflage tank top sporting a skunk sitting on top of a landmine, and a pair of Converse. As she got closer she clocked a few more crinkles round her eyes, a proper divot between her brows, and just a hint of the softness that came with the passage of time. Like, she could talk. Should she stick with the plan to blame her own eye crinkles on Hawaii or ruin everyone’s weekend with some blunt honesty?
Before she could decide, she was enveloped in one of Charlotte’s trademark hugs. Charlotte held onto her for just slightly longer than most people would; the type of hug that reminded Izzy of the three years Charlotte had been big sister and mother all rolled into one. Izzy breathed her in, her familiar scent filling her nostrils: expensive hair product mixed with Miss Dior.
Izzy took a step back and gave Charlotte a proper wow! look at you scan. Pretty as ever. A tiny bit stressy, but Charlotte had always been a bit gah! whenever there was an event on the horizon.
Freya stood awkwardly to the side, curling one of her purple-dipped curls round her finger. When Izzy opened her arms wide, Freya stepped into them, giving Izzy that astonishingly familiar ‘I hate you but I love you too’ hug that meant she still hadn’t got over the fact she and Monty had done it. Ah well.
Izzy put Freya out of her misery and stepped back. ‘You
both looking amazing. Not aged a day.’
They protested and Izzy pretended she hadn’t been lying.
The women were standing in front of a rather impressive selection of wheelbarrows. Every colour of the rainbow, the barrows were bedecked with hand-painted flowers and names. Mabel. Ruth. Esmerelda.
‘Look what we’ve found!’ They parted as one and revealed an Isabelle.
‘Awwww, girlfriends! You shouldn’t have.’ Izzy pressed her mountain of coils back from her face and went to stuff her hands in her back pockets, only to remember she had dressed up for her friends in one of her two maxi-dresses rather than wearing her go-to cargos.
‘Your hair looks nice,’ said Freya.
Izzy lifted her hand self-consciously to the coif. Kind, but no one was fooling anyone. She looked like a train wreck. The years of surfing had kept her fit, but the last couple of years? Ugh … She couldn’t even go there. ‘Where’s Emms?’
‘Not here yet.’ Charlotte’s mouth looked as though it wanted to keep on going and say something else. Oooo-kay …
Eventually Izzy had to fill the silence.
‘I can’t believe I’m not last!’ Izzy was always last. ‘Does that mean I get a prize?’
Freya rolled her eyes in an ‘oh lordy, look who hasn’t changed at all’ way. It was a wonder it had taken this long. Freya had been the least tolerant of her messiness. Her lateness. Her general inability to pin herself down. The fact she’d got a starred first for her degree despite not having appeared to have studied all that much. That had particularly annoyed Freya.
Charlotte, on the other hand, had always treated Izzy as if she were a wonder. Her poet mother. A childhood of flitting from one academic hotspot to the next. Dining with royalty one day and living on beans the next. Your life sounds so romantic. Until this very moment, Izzy hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed her.
A sudden urge swept through her to throw herself at Charlotte’s feet and beg her to make all of the incredibly difficult decisions she still had yet to make. Charlotte would choose well. Charlotte would choose impeccably. Emily was helping the best she could, but she wasn’t exactly well equipped in the sensitivity department. Charlotte was. She would know which tack to take. Which path to follow. Like marrying Oli, for instance. That had panned out well. City lawyer. Country life. Beautiful children. Hiring super-fancy glampsites for her fortieth. From what Emily had relayed, everyone still thought Oli was a bit of a wanker, but on the whole? Charlotte’s life was just as she’d planned. Perfect.
Behind her, she heard the van door slide open. The enormous canine fur-ball that was Bonzer ran between Izzy’s legs, his voluminous puppy fluff tickling her calves as he settled himself in front of her. One ear up. One ear down. Fur the colour of an apricot. And the biggest, brownest eyes in the universe. He’d break the ice. Everyone loved a giant puppy.
‘Izzy?’ Charlotte’s hands fisted, except for her index fingers which were pointing at Bonzer. ‘Ummmm … is this a dog?’
Except maybe Charlotte?
‘We left our dog with a pet sitter,’ Freya said pointedly.
Well, bully for you.
Explaining was always an option. She could pour her heart out. Detail the Amazonian effort it had taken to leave Hawaii, come back to the UK, find a school for Luna, a van, a puppy. But she’d get flustered and leave bits out, fuelling yet more ‘typical Dizzy’ eye-rolls. So she smiled and said nothing.
Charlotte, on the other hand, fell over herself apologizing.
‘I’m so sorry, Izz. I thought I said on the WhatsApp that there were no dogs. Remember? They have some health and safety issues here and Oli’s a tiny bit allergic.’ Charlotte pinched her fingers close together, as if doing so would make the dog evaporate and all of the awkwardness that came from not having seen one another in over a decade would *poof!* disappear.
Izzy flashed Charlotte her apology grin. The one she used to use when Charlotte reminded her she forgot to get tea bags. Or to Freya when she’d neglected to take out the rubbish. Or Emms (plus a fluttering of eyelashes) when she hadn’t strictly finished one of her term papers and maybe, kind of sort of, needed just a leeeetle bit of help. They always moaned at her. They also always forgave her.
Was that why she’d come back? So she could be with people she knew would take her in no matter what? Screwing it all up over a puppy simply wasn’t worth it.
So she smiled, boofed her forehead with the heel of her hand and made a goofy face. ‘Girl, you know what I’m like with fine print! I never exactly got on the WhatsApp thing because of changing phones and countries. Tell me what I gotta do to make it up to you? Sing? Dance? Bake cakes? You probably already did that, didn’t you? I’ll be your birthday slave all weekend.’ She put her hands into prayer position and made sad clown eyes until, finally, they laughed.
‘I’m so sorry, but he can’t stay,’ Charlotte’s eyebrows templed in a way that suggested she understood the pickle Izzy was in, but matters were out of her control. ‘The manager was very insistent. I had to sign a disclaimer.’
‘Really? It’s just … I’m not asking for me, it’s more …’
Everyone turned as the world’s most beautiful child ran up alongside her.
‘Mom?’
Her daughter, Luna, slipped her hand into Izzy’s and looked up at her, those bright blue eyes of hers still a bit of a surprise each time she saw them. A bit like a Siamese cat’s. Sapphire brightness against silky smooth skin. Just a shade or so lighter than her own. Luna was her very own flesh and blood and yet, every time she looked at her afresh … goose-bumps.
Izzy turned to face her friends. How to introduce the daughter she’d never told any of them about except for Emms who was really letting the team down by not being here.
Freya’s jaw had dropped open. Not a cute face. A bit like Edvard Munch’s The Scream.
Subtle.
Charlotte, on the other hand, smiled warmly.
Thank you.
‘Well, who do we have here?’ Charlotte squatted down, introduced herself to Luna, and shook her hand.
Izzy knew she could rely on Charlotte. ‘This is Luna.’
‘Luna! That’s a beautiful name.’ She looked back up at Izzy, ‘Sooo … I guess there’s been a bit more than surf camp in your life since we’ve seen you last.’
‘Yup. Just a little.’ Understatement of the year.
Where on earth was Emily? She’d always been better at telling Izzy off for things than Charlotte had. Charlotte had never been any good at telling anyone off for anything. Which was very likely why her children had no respect for her and her husband was having an affair, but that was another matter.
Izzy held the puppy up. ‘Are you absolutely positive the puppy can’t stay?’ She waved his paw at them.
‘Izz. Sorry, it’s just that … Oh, this is terribly awkward …’
The last thing she wanted to do was upset Izzy’s newly discovered daughter. Charlotte could feel a little bit of her self-possession slipping away. Her friends were bound to see through it, of course. A true friend wouldn’t need X-ray vision to tell she was barely holding it together. It had been years since they’d all lived together, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. Freya had definitely noticed something was up. Since she’d arrived, she kept pointedly making reference to their husbands. Did you know our husbands are at the pub? What will our husbands make of this yurt, these olives, those cows? Maybe not the cow part, but she wished Freya would stop pressing the point that the two of them were married. To husbands. How on earth was she going to get through the weekend?
Time to have a grown-up talk with Izzy away from little girl ears.
She smiled at Izzy’s daughter. What was she? Nine or ten? Such pretty blue eyes. So, like Izzy, but she must look like her father, too. Whoever he was. Charlotte knew there was no point in asking Izzy about the father outright. She’d never liked being pushed on personal details. They’d just have to wait until Izzy was good and ready.
/> Such pretty eyes.
Charlotte had always loved blue eyes, especially Oli’s. Light blue like a perfect summer sky, she’d once thought. Lately, today especially, they seemed cooler. Chilly. Like ice.
Right. On to this talk. ‘Luna, if you like, the children are around somewhere …’
Freya helpfully jumped in. ‘My children have got a hedgehog they’re looking after until management bring down a little house for it. Perhaps you’d like to join them, Luna?’
Luna looked up at her mother with a pleading expression. How Izzy ever said no to that face was beyond her. Perhaps she didn’t. ‘Can I stay here with Bonzer? We’ll sit in the car.’ Luna stroked the puppy, which licked her hand.
Izzy raised her eyebrows at Charlotte’s micro ‘please can you just do this’ look, then smiled softly at her daughter. ‘No, Booboo. It’s a beautiful day, no one is sitting in the car.’ She gave her daughter a hip bump, pulled her incredible mane of dark, coiled hair away from her face and kissed Luna’s forehead. ‘Why don’t you go check out the hedgehog? They don’t have those in Hawaii.’
‘Felix and Regan would love to meet you,’ Freya added. ‘My two. They’re twins!’
Charlotte could see that Luna was clever enough to know she was being moved on so the grown-ups could talk about ‘the situation’ without her.
‘C’mon. I’ll show you.’ Freya put out her hand as Luna, clearly intrigued by the prospect of a brand-new mammalian discovery, gave in and took it. ‘Charlotte?’
Her cue to sort out the problem. This one she could handle. Unlike the wayward husband problem. That one would have to wait.
Before Izzy could blink, she found herself handing Bonzer’s lead over to Sittingstone’s estate manager.