The Other Woman

by Jane Green

  And so I think I’m entitled to feel ever so slightly pissed off, given that the minute we walk into the master bedroom it is immediately clear that Linda and Michael have no intention of moving out to make way for us.

  Linda’s trashy novels are piled high on the book stand, her shoes lined up on the floor, and a couple of pashminas draped over the armchair in the corner.

  Still, I open the armoire door just to check, and sure enough it is filled to bursting with Linda’s and Michael’s clothes.

  “Fuck!” I hiss, sitting down on the bed as Dan looks concerned.

  “I’m sorry,” he sighs, putting an arm around me. “I know you were looking forward to staying in this room, but it will be fine; we’re still going to have a lovely time.”

  “I know, I know. I’m being horrible, and particularly because this is their holiday and they are paying for it. I was just so looking forward to staying in this room.”

  “Well, let’s go and check out the others and bag ourselves the next-best room before one of the others gets to it.” Dan grins, pulling me up, and I reluctantly follow him out.

  The bedrooms are called, in turn, the blue room, the green room, the yellow room, and the maid’s room. Although putting the children together seemed like a good idea at the time, when we actually see the maid’s room we realize that there’s barely enough room for one travel cot, let alone three.

  “Couldn’t we put them all in the same cot?” Lisa groans as we laugh.

  “No, but we should make a deal. Whoever has the smallest bedroom has the maid’s room for their child.”

  “Bags have the smallest bedroom,” Lisa says hopefully, but in the end we write the room colors on pieces of paper and draw them from an ashtray, Lisa closing her eyes and muttering “yellow room, yellow room, yellow room” as she fumbles around for her magic piece of paper.

  Lisa has the blue room, Trish and Gregory the green, which is probably the biggest aside from the master, and Dan and I the yellow, which may be the smallest but has the distinct advantage of having a tiny little balcony overlooking a red-tiled roof, with an olive orchard below.

  A rickety iron table with two chairs sit on the balcony, and as soon as we’ve shoved everything away in a huge cherry armoire that’s squashed against the corner of the room, we take Tom outside onto the balcony and sit for a while, drinking in the sunshine and the view.

  “Come on,” Dan says eventually. “Why don’t we put Tom down and go for a swim?”

  I think my Miraclesuit is pretty damn miraculous. It’s just a shame it doesn’t reach down to my knees because my cellulite could definitely do with a miracle or two. I cover the offending areas with a huge semisee-through sarong from Accessorize, and swish down to the pool with my sun cream in hand.

  It seems we have all had the same idea. Trish is rubbing cream into Gregory’s back, and, as we round the corner, Trish looks up and grins, gesturing at Lisa, and I hear a sharp intake of breath from Dan.

  “All right, deep breaths. Relax,” I mutter, patting his arm gently, although I have to admit, oiled up and floating round the swimming pool on a raft, bare breasts pointing toward the heavens, she does look pretty damn amazing.

  “Lisa,” I call, as she lazily floats toward us, “I think your breasts ought to have a government warning. My husband’s about to have a heart attack.”

  “What’s the point in spending all that money on them if there’s no one to see them?” she shouts.

  “Point taken,” I say. “Anyway, you’ll certainly make my father-in-law’s day, if nothing else.” I then mutter to Dan, in a much softer voice, “Not sure what your mum will think, though.”

  “She’ll probably turn green with envy,” Dan says. “And demand to know who her surgeon is.”

  Dan pulls a couple of sun loungers next to Gregory and Trish.

  “Okay,” Trish says, standing up and shielding her eyes from the sun. “Given that we are all seeing one another nearly naked for the first time, I need to get a few things out of the way. These”—she turns around and gestures to her calves—“are my revolting varicose veins, which are hereditary but have been exacerbated massively by that little peach known as Oscar. This”—she grabs a handful of dimpled thigh—“is my orange peel, and this”—she pats her protruding stomach—“is, again, the mark of Oscar the Terrible.”

  “Darling,” Gregory says, raising himself up on his elbows, “why on earth are you insisting on pointing out all your imperfections? You don’t hear me saying anything about mine.”

  “That’s because you’re perfect.” She winks at me.

  “I knew there was a reason I married you.” Gregory reaches over and squeezes her hand affectionately.

  “Honestly?” Trish frowns. “I just want to make sure everything’s out in the open. I’ll never forget going on holiday with my parents and some friends of theirs, and as soon as we were back at the hotel my mum kept talking about how saggy her friend’s boobs were, and how she never had any idea how pear shaped she was. I couldn’t stand to think of your going back to your room and talking about my cellulite and varicose veins, so I figured if I made a big deal of them myself, there wouldn’t be anything left for you to talk about.”

  Dan looks at Trish, shaking his head. “You’re really weird, do you know that?”

  Trish shrugs. “Just practical.”

  I look over at Lisa doing her best Hawaiian Tropic ad impersonation.

  “Has Lisa had the pleasure of counting your imperfections yet?”

  Trish nods. “Of course.”

  “And let me guess, she doesn’t have a single imperfection of her own, does she?”

  “I do!” Lisa shouts from the pool. “I have the worst spider veins on my thighs you’ve ever seen. Look.” She points to her thighs. Acres of taut, golden skin.

  “She doesn’t, does she?” I grin at Trish.

  “Couldn’t find a one.” Trish grins back.

  “And I’ve got loads of ingrowing hairs on my bikini line,” Lisa yells. “Horrible huge purple bumps—”

  “Okay!” Dan interrupts her. “I think that’s enough for today.”

  “Hear, hear,” echoes Gregory. “And for the record, can I say that all three of you are the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen. Ow!” He shoots Trish a look as she gives him a sharp nudge. “Although, and I’m not biased, I do have to say that my wife is the most gorgeous of all.”

  “I knew there was a reason I married you,” Trish says to Gregory, and leans down to give him a kiss.

  “Isn’t this completely blissful?” I put my book down, roll over and plant a kiss on Dan’s hot shoulder. “Mmm. You taste of coconut.”

  “This is wonderful.” Dan smiles at me. “Isn’t it funny how you never realize you need a holiday until you’re actually there, and then you wonder why on earth you don’t do it more often?”

  “Until you get home, and then three days later you forget you were ever even away,” I say, smiling. “I’m going to go and check on Tom.”

  “Will you look in on mine?” Lisa shouts. “Although I think she’ll still be sleeping.”

  “I’ll come with you and check on Oscar.” Trish hauls herself up from her lounger and stretches. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if they were so exhausted they just slept all afternoon and we could laze around all day pretending we didn’t have children?”

  “Not that we’d change anything…” I give her a look.

  “Absolutely,” she laughs. “Not that we’d change anything. Except perhaps that we’d all have full-time nannies on holiday.”

  Oscar is still sleeping peacefully, arms and legs akimbo, snoring and snuffling quietly.

  “Aren’t they so gorgeous when they’re asleep?” Trish whispers, gently shutting the door as we go to look in on Amy, also fast asleep.

  We walk down the corridor toward our room, and Trish turns to me, looking puzzled.

  “Shh!” she says, and we both stop and listen.

  “That’s weird.” She frowns. “
I could swear there’s conversation coming from your room.”

  “Is there? I mean, I know my child’s a genius but isn’t that a bit much, even for him?” I start to laugh, and then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of Linda’s voice.

  “There’s my good boy.” Linda’s sitting on the bed, bouncing a giggling Tom as I open the door. “Who loves his grandma?” she’s crooning. “Who loves his grandma?”

  Tom looks over at me and immediately his little face crumples and he holds out his arms for Mummy.

  Ha!

  I rush over and take him, patting his back and kissing him, looking furiously over at Linda. “Did you wake him?” My voice is murderous.

  “No!” she says, eyes wide and innocent. “We came back and I just wanted to see him, and I didn’t know which room he was in, but I swear, when I opened this door his eyes were open and he was looking at me.”

  “So how long has he been up?” I look at my watch, still furious.

  “I told you,” Michael speaks up for the first time, shaking his head and looking at Linda. “I told you not to come in.”

  “But I didn’t wake him,” Linda insists. “He was already awake.”

  “Fine,” I say. “But how long has he been up?”

  “I came in about ten minutes ago.”

  Michael snorts and I know she’s lying, but I haven’t got the strength. “Fine,” I repeat. “So he’s had about an hour and a half rather than his usual three hours, which means he’ll be horrific by five. Thanks a lot, Linda. Will you be the one to look after him when he’s completely overtired and screaming later today?”

  “Yes,” she says eagerly. “Of course. It would be my pleasure,” and I just roll my eyes and leave, stomping back out to the pool.

  “I don’t believe your mother.” I stand in front of Dan’s sun lounger, making sure I block all his sun and throw a big shadow over him.

  “What?” Dan sighs. “What’s she done now?”

  “She’s here, and she woke Tom up from his nap and she’s been playing with him, and you know what he’s like when he hasn’t had enough sleep. Now he’s going to be horrible later on. I can’t believe she did that. I just can’t believe it.”

  “Okay, okay. Relax. I’m sure she didn’t mean to. I didn’t even know they were here. Where are they?”

  “Inside somewhere. I didn’t even know they were here either. I found them playing with Tom in his room.”

  “You stay here and calm down. I’ll go in and say hello. They should probably come outside and meet everyone. Here, give me Tom, I’ll take him in.”

  “So your mother can get her hands on him again?” I practically spit. “I don’t think so. Tom can stay here with me.” I make myself busy rustling around in the beach bag for the Factor 30. “Go on, off you go. We’ll be fine.”

  After twenty minutes—during which I calm down considerably, although it is beginning to get rather tiring, dashing around after Tom, who keeps trying desperately to crawl into the swimming pool—Dan, Linda, and Michael all come outside to say hello.

  And okay. I have to admit it. I take great pleasure in Linda’s face when Lisa climbs out of the pool and glides over to shake her hand, still wearing only a large smile and the skimpiest of bikini bottoms.

  Linda, in leopard-print swimming costume with a matching sarong, is clearly mortified and doesn’t have a clue where to look.

  “How do you do?” she says formally, shaking Lisa’s hand and staring intently into her eyes, pretending not to notice or be embarrassed by the fact that Lisa is about as close to naked as you can get.

  Michael, on the other hand, grins delightedly.

  “Hel-lo!” he says, raising his eyebrows, and looking like the cat that got the cream as Linda turns to no one in particular and rolls her eyes. “How lovely to meet you,” and he shakes Lisa’s hand, still grinning, and gives her a very obvious once-over. “So you’re a good friend of Ellie’s? It’s always a pleasure to meet Dan and Ellie’s friends.”

  I nearly fall over backward. This is Dan’s dad. His dad! His henpecked, graying, unsociable dad. His dad, who doesn’t display an ounce of charm or charisma outside the walls of the courtroom, who appears to have suddenly and rather unexpectedly morphed into Leslie Phillips.

  “I say,” I fully expect him to continue, “for young mums you gels are beng on.”

  Of course he doesn’t say that. He turns to shake hands with Trish and Gregory (“I felt like apologizing,” Trish says later. “Sorry I’m not a six-foot blonde with pneumatic tits”), although he excuses himself at the first opportunity and goes for a swim, only, I suspect, to get a better view of Lisa’s body, as she positions herself back on the float.

  Trish raises her eyebrows at me. “He’s a bit of a boy, your father-in-law!” We watch him doing some lengths, pausing at each end to take a breath and look over at Lisa.

  “I know!” I start to laugh. “Who would have thought! My old gray father-in-law fancying Lisa! I didn’t know he had it in him.”

  “Oh, come on, he’s not so old and gray,” Trish says in surprise. “In fact, I think he’s quite attractive. Maybe your mother-in-law should watch out.”

  “Oh, yuck.” I make a face, but find myself looking over at Michael through new eyes. Could he be attractive if he wasn’t my father-in-law? I’ve never found myself attracted to older men, but I suppose if I were, and if he wasn’t Dan’s father, and if I didn’t know he was quite as henpecked as he is, I might find him attractive in a Michael Douglasish kind of way.

  And although I’m not going to tell Trish that she’s right, she is right about looking at people in a new light when you see them with next to nothing on.

  I had never given a second thought to what my father-in-law might look like without clothes, but I have to say, seeing him here in swimming trunks, I’m pretty surprised by how fit he is. Put it like this, for a man who must be in his late fifties, his physique looks like that of a far younger man.

  “Do you think he’s really flirting?” I say, watching Michael pause again after swimming a length, and look over at an oblivious, still-floating Lisa. “It’s just so weird to think that he might actually be flirting with a friend of mine.”

  “Nah,” Trish says. “I don’t think he’s really flirting. I think he’s just enjoying the scenery. He’s probably never seen anything like it before. Not that close, anyhow.”

  “Oh, those famous south of France hilltops, you mean.”

  “Those would be the ones.” And we both grin.

  Dan walks over and sits on the edge of the sun lounger. “Ellie, will you do my back?” I sit and massage in the cream, planting a kiss on the side of his neck when I’ve finished.

  “Mmm. Thanks. I’m going to take Tom into the pool. Want to come in with me?”

  “Let me just go and get the camera. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Good idea.” Trish stands up with me. “I’ll go and see how Oscar’s doing, and if he’s awake, we can take some group shots.”

  By early evening I’ve forgiven Linda. The afternoon was exhausting. Dan and I took turns dashing after Tom, who is now crawling at the speed of light, and even though he’s permanently wearing his floaters, I’m terrified every time he gets within about twenty feet of the pool.

  “Didn’t we say this was supposed to be a relaxing holiday?” I huffed at Trish at one point.

  “Ask your mother-in-law to take him,” she muttered, gesturing over to where my mother-in-law was pretending to read her book, looking longingly at Tom every few seconds.

  “No,” I said, but as Tom struggled in my arms I couldn’t help myself. “Linda?” I said. “Do you want to take Tom?”

  Linda almost fell over in her eagerness to reach us, as if she had to get to him before I changed my mind. “I’ll take him inside,” she said. “We’ll play some games. Come along, my darling, Grandma will show you what she’s got you.” She whisked him away, and for once I didn’t protest, just lay back with a lazy smile on my face and l
et all the cares of the day slip away.

  “What do you think the chances are of going out for dinner tonight?” I ask Dan when we are alone in our room, one looking after Tom while the other one showers.

  “Who? You and me?”

  “No, silly! Us! All of us. Do you think your parents will mind?”

  Dan frowns. “I think they might, actually. You know, it is our first night here, and they probably want to get to know everyone. And you know my mum; she’s probably been working overtime making some delicious supper.”

  “So that’s a no, then?” I harrumph miserably.

  “To be honest, I don’t even want to ask her,” Dan says. “We’ve got masses of time. And tomorrow we’ll all go out. They won’t mind babysitting and we’ll go and find somewhere lovely in the village. How’s that?”

  “Okay,” I grumble, flicking past my new floaty chiffon dresses in the wardrobe and reaching for a pair of shorts instead. “I guess my glad rags can wait another day.”

  By the evening, our first evening here, if today is a sign of what’s to come, it looks like all my fears about Linda and Michael were over nothing, and despite their being here we’re all going to have a wonderful time.

  I would almost go so far as to say Linda has been incredibly hospitable today, not to mention helpful with Tom. Then, while the girls bathe the kids, feed them supper, and put them to bed, Linda rounds up the boys and they throw together the kind of delicious supper that we sometimes have at home—but somehow it never tastes as good as when you’re eating it on a terrace in the south of France.

  We appear in the living room at around seven-thirty to find platters of food laid out on the coffee table: hot crusty baguettes, prosciutto, Parma ham, salamis, Bries, Camemberts, Reblochons, cornichons, roasted peppers, pâtés, and olives.

  And that’s merely the hors d’oeuvres.

  Lisa lives up to her reputation in a seventies retro print Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress that flashes her thighs as she sits down, and Trish and I nudge each other and giggle like schoolchildren every time we see Michael’s eyes dart down to her legs.