It was only a year ago, yet it seems like a lifetime since we drove along the spectacular Italian coast road, and I felt my stress unfurling behind me like a long, floaty scarf. Danger was the last thing on my mind as I abandoned my angst to the pristine white clouds gobbling up the debris of daily life. Even the fringe of fear that had recently been edging around my stomach was slowly being nibbled away.
Dan was with me, the children were on the back seat all fast asleep, and I remember thinking, I have everything I need now, here in this car, and no one can take it from me. We needed this break, I was excited at the prospect of spending time together as a family – two whole weeks of fun and no worries. I couldn’t wait to play with the children, eat tonnes of pasta and lie under that hot sun. Most of all, I looked forward to me and Dan just spending time together, talking about everything and nothing, enjoying each other’s company, remembering why we were together.
I turned away and gazed out of the passenger window. ‘You have to work at a marriage; the best marriages don’t just happen,’ my mother-in-law had said. And she was right. Joy was always right.
Dan was driving too fast again. I clutched the passenger seat with one hand and my seat belt with the other, but didn’t comment. I didn’t want to spoil the mood so tried to focus on the shimmer of heat rising from the road ahead. My inner voice was begging him to slow down, our children were sleeping on the back seat, this was precious cargo. The winding roads were too narrow for more than one car, and I held my breath as we swept along, climbing up into the hillside rising above the glittering sea now. I stopped myself from saying anything about his speed. I would feel like a killjoy – the nagging wife as opposed to the sexy carefree one I wanted to be.
But, after fifteen years of marriage, we sometimes communicated without words, and when he glanced over, Dan must have caught the panic on my face.
‘So, you don’t like doing 100 miles an hour on high coastal roads?’ he said, with a smile. ‘Weird.’
‘No, I bloody don’t,’ I laughed, ‘and I’m not weird,’ I added, slapping his arm affectionately. ‘We might be in Italy, but you’re not part of the Ferrari team and this isn’t a race track.’
‘A boy can dream.’ He glanced over at me and smiled, squeezing my knee affectionately.
‘Eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel please,’ I said in mock indignation, leaving his hand on my knee, enjoying his attention. With three children under ten, a hand on my knee was as close to foreplay as it got for us, but I was sure this holiday would put everything right.
I turned around again to check the three perfect, sleeping faces on the back seat and was, as always, filled with a rush of love.
‘Can’t believe they’re being so considerate and sleeping in sync,’ I said. ‘Such delicious peace, but it’s almost too quiet.’
‘Not for long. We’ll be there soon, and then they’ll wake up. Let’s enjoy the peace,’ he said, his eyes on the road. ‘I can’t wait, big pool, loads of vino, big blue sky – chasing them round the pool,’ he said, gesturing to the back seat with his head, and finally slamming on the brakes. I felt sick.
‘You’re still going quite fast, Dan,’ I said in an attempt at a light-hearted voice, sheathed in panic. Dan wasn’t usually a fast driver, it felt dangerous – he felt dangerous. Was he becoming a middle-aged thrill seeker? My thoughts flickered briefly to my friend Jackie’s husband, who bought a sports car and left her for a teenager.
Eventually, Dan slowed down and I relaxed slightly, enjoying the gorgeous view, as we climbed higher up the mountain road.
We were spending our annual holiday, as always, with Dan’s family, his parents and brother. This year was something of a watershed as Dan’s parents, Joy and Bob, had decided to retire from the family business and wouldn’t be returning to work after our two weeks away. Dan had been part of the company for twenty years, but now as their parents stepped down, his younger brother Jamie had suddenly decided to come home and join ‘the firm’.
Now thirty-two, Jamie had never been involved in the family business, a small property company on the outskirts of Manchester. He was too busy seeing the world and on visits home would enthral everyone with colourful and probably exaggerated stories from Nepal, Thailand, Africa, the coasts of Australia, the killing fields of Cambodia. It was all a far cry from Dan, who’d gone straight into the family business that recently he’d worked hard to keep afloat. Meanwhile, their parents indulged their youngest son, allowing him such freedom, tempered only with an affectionate eye roll whenever his latest ‘adventure’ was mentioned.
‘My free-spirited son won’t be pinned down,’ Joy would say, feigning frustration but glowing with pride. She missed him dearly when he was away but was delighted when he FaceTimed her from some exotic destination, always brandishing his Instagram photos for anyone who cared to look – and even those who didn’t.
‘I just don’t get the complete turnaround. Why on earth has our Jamie suddenly decided to give it all up to work at Taylor’s with me? It won’t last,’ Dan was saying as we headed for the villa.
‘Mmm, no beaches, no exotic food, no gorgeous women in bikinis – what on earth will he do?’ I sighed, thinking of the photos of Jamie, a montage of blue skies, beaches and beautiful people.
I understood Dan’s slight resentment; his little brother’s lifestyle seemed rather selfish, not least because his parents often had to help him financially. The Taylors were what Joy described as ‘comfortable’. They weren’t rich and, understandably, Dan resented the way his parents gave his brother handouts. But Jamie was still Joy’s ‘baby’, and she and Bob would do anything for their two sons. Joy missed Jamie terribly when he was travelling, and when he didn’t call or text for a while she’d pore over his social media, hungry for titbits. ‘I can always find my Jamie on his Instagram,’ she’d say, like he’d set up his photographic account for her personal use. She’d delight in some photo of Jamie on a beach in Cambodia and be amazed when he turned up on the doorstep. ‘But your photo says you’re here,’ she’d exclaim, holding up her phone, and he’d point out that it was posted days ago and she’d laugh and shake her head in wonder at ‘my Jamie’ and his online ‘magic’. I reckon she knew exactly what was going on, it was all part of the game she played with her ‘boys’: a way of making them feel special, superior even. I was never sure with Joy who was playing who – though I think it’s safe to say that despite appearing as the ingenue, Joy was usually in the driving seat.
‘I spoke to your mum yesterday before we left, she says the villa’s lovely. They got here about eight last night,’ I said, as we continued along the Italian coastline. ‘I just hope they take time to relax and kick back a bit,’ I said wistfully. This was an impossible dream for me. As well as being a full-time nurse and mum, I also maintained Taylor’s website, which sometimes felt like another job. Consequently, relaxing was sadly not on my daily agenda while at home, but for the next fortnight I wasn’t going to do a thing, and the website could wait.
‘Imagine Dad being with Mum all day when they retire, she’ll never let him rest.’ Dan smiled, shaking his head slightly at the thought.
‘He’ll be being dispatched to Sainsbury’s for sun-dried tomatoes or pickled figs or whatever it is she’s giving the ladies who lunch that day,’ I added.
He glanced over and we smiled knowingly at each other.
‘They don’t have much in common, do they? I sometimes wonder what they actually talk to each other about, your mum and dad.’
Dan shrugged. ‘What do any couple talk to each other about?’
My heart stung a little at this. Is that how he saw us too, as any couple? Did he see us like his parents, an old married couple with little in common? I didn’t have time to hurt for too long, as he negotiated a tight corner. Too fast.
‘Dan, please slow down,’ I said. ‘The kids are in the back. What’s wrong with you?’
I saw his jaw tighten, but he did slow down.
The drive from the airport at Naples to our villa was, according to the satnav, just over an hour. We’d gone from the bustling city to glimpses of calm, glittery ocean and now we were climbing up the steep hillside past vineyards. Canopies of feathery green leaves in every shade of green played hide-and-seek with the sun.
Between the trees, the sea appeared now and again below us, shimmering in the dusk – how beautiful it was. I remember feeling a rush of excitement for the fortnight ahead. I couldn’t wait to swim with Dan and the children, cook lovely food with Joy, and spend long afternoons all together in the sunshine. Our lives were so busy that this would be a rare chance to talk, spend time with the children, and Dan’s parents too. It was going to be wonderful, just what we all needed. My real priority this holiday was getting Freddie used to water and teaching Alfie to swim.
My dad had taught me to swim in the local baths. We’d go every Saturday afternoon and, one Saturday, on my ninth summer, I swam a whole length. I remember feeling like an Olympian, my feet off the ground, my arms splashing and heaving me forward, Dad cheering me on. The following winter he was killed when his lorry took the wrong turning on an icy road.
Mum never got over my Dad’s death and our lives changed overnight. At nine my childhood ended and I spent the following ten years mopping up her grief, until she died herself. It was cancer, but I knew really it was a broken heart, and at the age of nineteen I was an orphan, alone with no family. Until I met Dan, and the Taylors.
A little voice from the back of the car suddenly punctured my thoughts. It was Violet, my nine-year-old, who, as the oldest child, was responsible, sensible and slightly anxious. ‘Are we there yet?’ The sunlight caught her long, golden hair as we drove through the trees, and I took a moment to look at her, my little girl was growing up.
‘Not far now, darling,’ Dan said soothingly.
‘Are Granny and Granddad already at the villa?’
‘Yes.’ I turned to smile at her, her fretful little face pale from waking somewhere strange. ‘They arrived yesterday, sweetie. Granny says it’s a lovely villa. Boys, boys.’ I touched Alfie’s leg. ‘Try to wake up, we’re almost there.’
Four-year-old Alfie stirred, still half-asleep, but, at two, Freddie was unable to process waking up in the back of a strange car and started to cry. Alfie told him to ‘Shut up!’ Then Violet told Alfie to ‘Leave him alone,’ and as they began an argument, Freddie’s cries just got louder and louder. Oh, the joy of having three children. When they were excited and happy, it was an overload of wonderful bubbling happiness, but when they were grumpy or tired, they just endlessly ricocheted off each other.
I dreamed of just five minutes’ peace, and the luxury of reading an uninterrupted chapter of a book or the heady prospect of a lone toilet visit, which could make me dizzy with desire.
I turned around to offer calming words to the passengers on the back seat. ‘Not long now! Tell me what you see out of the window?’ I asked, hopefully, and the boys started shouting about trees and rocks. Then Alfie said he’d seen a dinosaur and Violet said he was stupid and another vigorous argument ensued.
‘Good job, Clare,’ Dan laughed.
‘I’d like to see you do better,’ I said and stuck out my tongue, which he caught a glimpse of and smiled at. ‘Come on now, kids, calm down,’ I said gently and, going against all the parenting bloggers’ advice, made vague promises of a swim and ice cream on arrival if everyone behaved. The bickering immediately melted as Violet excitedly told the boys she’d be having ‘strawberry ice cream with sprinkles’. Alfie suggested ‘mashed frog flavour’ and collapsed into fits of laughter, before Violet informed him, ‘That isn’t a flavour, stupid.’
Smiling, I turned back to look through the window, just as we drove past a gaggle of young women in shorts and realised with a jolt that, at forty-one, I was probably old enough to be their mother. I envied their relaxed, youthful beauty, and all that ‘me time’ we don’t appreciate until we have kids. I was once like them, but now I didn’t even get chance to shave my legs. Long gone were the days of a pre-holiday bikini wax, whole body exfoliation, followed by fake tan and a glam new summer wardrobe. I really should have made time to shave my legs though. I could almost hear Joy’s voice. ‘Good grooming is the best gift a woman can give to herself – and her husband,’ she’d once told me. She’d meant it as a piece of motherly advice, and I loved her for it, but Joy’s advice on marriage was decades out of date. I hoped these days we were evolved enough for our partner’s feelings not to be altered by the state of one’s leg hair growth. I wondered if Dan would even notice my hairy legs. I doubted it, and they weren’t exactly a priority for me either. Whatever Joy’s Stepford advice on a wife’s good grooming, no one died because they didn’t shave their legs or wear lipstick. For the next two weeks, I was going to slob around as much as I wanted, and not waste precious time applying make-up or de-fuzzing my body.
Finally, we pulled onto the steep gravel driveway of the villa that would be our holiday home for the next two weeks. Tucked between the sea and the mountains, the large three-storey villa looked like it had once been rather grand, but the crumbling white paintwork showed the ravages of sea air.
Dan had barely put the handbrake on when I leapt out of the car door and walked towards the trees for a better look around. The air was still bubbling with the day’s heat, especially after the cool air con of the car, but there was a faint breeze coming from the coast below, and it tasted of salt, tinged with pine. The garden was framed by cypress trees, and beyond was a bright turquoise mosaic tiled pool and, further still, a spectacular ocean view that in the dusk had opened up into a million shades of blue, melting into golds.
I wanted those first moments alone, just me taking it all in, breathing in the clean, quiet air in anticipation of what was to come. While Dan helped the kids to disembark, I took this moment for myself and held it, like a butterfly in the palm of my hand, until it flew away, disappearing into the last fragments of the day’s sun.
After about ninety seconds of peace – a long time for me – the children began their vigorous campaign. ‘Mummy, Mummy…’; ‘Mummy, can I have…?’; ‘You said we could…’; You promised…’ And so it began.
Alerted by the children’s eager voices, Joy suddenly appeared, freshly lipsticked and powdered, Bob ambling behind, smiling in anticipation.
‘Hello! Welcome! Oh, I’m glad you’re all here safe and sound,’ Joy said, as she hugged us all. She smelled of damp roses.
Bob was his typical warm self. His usual refrain of ‘lovely, lovely’ could be heard as he hugged us all, visibly delighted to have his family around him again.
‘Come on, Clare, let’s leave the men to carry those heavy cases. Let me show you the garden,’ Joy urged, grabbing me by the elbow and guiding me through an archway of green while Bob helped Dan with the luggage.
The kids danced around and the men’s talk of roads and journey comparisons faded as Joy and I headed towards the large garden, now sinking into twilight. Always aware, I carried Freddie, while calling for Violet to keep an eye on Alfie near the pool, while Joy pointed at the bougainvillea smothering the Italian tiled doorway. ‘The colour!’ she gasped loudly. I marvelled at it and, as the kids screeched excitedly around the pool, she talked about what we’d eat and the wonderful recipes she’d discovered since our last holiday the previous year. We both enjoyed discussing and dissecting recipes and loved cooking. It was something that bonded us, something I’d once shared with my own mum, and in her own way, Joy had been there for me. ‘I’ll never be your mum, but I’ll be the closest I can,’ she’d said to me at our wedding. Her kindness had made me cry, but she was there with a tissue to save my make-up. Just like a mother. In the years since, she’d kept to her promise, and times when I’d been desperate for support, she’d stepped in and been the mother I needed.
‘I’m preparing risotto for tonight,’ she said as we admired the garden together. She said risotto in an Italian voice. She’d never said it like that before, had probably heard a waiter in the previous evening’s restaurant. Joy was a chameleon. Having grown up in a working-class family with no money, aspiration was in her DNA and she sometimes sat rather awkwardly between two worlds. Her life seemed divided into past and present. Bob was her penniless teenage sweetheart who’d eventually been able to provide her with the life she felt she deserved and given her access to a different world. And though they weren’t hugely wealthy, she’d certainly moved up in the world – a detached house with the same postcode as Manchester United footballers in Cheshire is considered royalty when you’re from a backstreet terrace.
Over the years, Joy had transformed herself, hiding her roots under good tailoring and listening to the other ladies who lunched, emulating their voices, mannerisms and old-fashioned ideals. Men were meant for two things in Joy’s world: making money and lifting heavy stuff. Everything else was left to ‘us girls’. Meanwhile, Bob had been too busy making money to put on a tie or lose his northern vowels, but somehow they rubbed along.
‘Muuum, can we swim now?’ Violet was calling me from the other side of the large pool.
‘Oh darling, I’m not sure…’
‘Pleeeeeeease,’ she started, which set the other two off.
I was too tired from travelling to argue, and wanted an easy transition into the villa that night, so within seconds I’d given in.
‘Okay,’ I sighed, with a roll of my eyes. ‘I have to go and supervise,’ I said to Joy. I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt – if I rolled up my jeans and kept the children in the shallow end, I could paddle with them.
‘Oh, darling, don’t you think it’s a little late for them to swim?’ Joy said pointedly. This was a rhetorical question as if I was expected to agree with her and simply announce my change of mind to the children. It was a long time since Joy had had children, and she sometimes seemed to forget that a broken promise could mean the start of World War Three. As indomitable as Joy could be in the face of disobedience, three frustrated kids on the verge of tears was far more daunting to me.
I could see this was an inconvenience for Joy who was no doubt ready for her gin and tonic. ‘It’s never too early for a drink, the sun is always over the yardarm somewhere in the world,’ was her holiday mantra most afternoons. And as hard as she tried to hide her feelings now, she couldn’t. Her lips locked together like she’d sucked a tart lemon. She’d had in her mind the perfect image of her grandchildren, like a photograph, sun shining through their blonde hair like halos. She expected them to be sweet and biddable, have supper, go to bed and fit into her plans without a quibble. But, sadly for her, the kids didn’t get the memo.
As lovely as she was, there were times when none of us quite came up to Joy’s expectations, even her precious grandchildren, and this wasn’t how she’d planned our arrival. She held her hands together tightly over her stomach like if she didn’t anchor them down she might be forced to swim too. Poor Joy looked in pain. She loved our girlie get-togethers on holiday, as did I, but with the men busy unloading the car, we were on children duty until Dan appeared or the kids were safely inside. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t be her gin-drinking companion yet. On the other side of the pool, Alfie was already stripping off.
‘No, Alfie, not at that end,’ I said, ‘it’s deep. Come over here.’ I headed off in his direction, looking back at Joy apologetically, while she smiled but raised her eyebrows in vague disapproval. ‘Alfie wait… stop!’ I shouted, as he continued to take off his clothes, throwing them in the air like he was bloody Magic Mike. ‘Alfie, if you don’t come to the shallow end NOW, you will have to come inside,’ I said, in an attempt to show him who was boss.
‘NO!’ he shouted, following up with a slight change of tack. ‘Muuum…’ He began an elongated whine.
‘You promised we could swim,’ said Violet, finishing off her sibling’s sentence from the other side of the garden.
‘You haven’t even looked around yet. Wouldn’t you like to see inside first?’ Joy called to Violet, who wasn’t buying the blatant attempt at distraction and didn’t answer. ‘Mum and I are going inside,’ Joy then threatened, presumably hoping they’d abandon the pool in favour of viewing the interior decorations – she had no clue.
I looked from her to Alfie, now standing precariously on the edge of the pool, totally naked, while Violet stood in the shallow end waiting for me. Maybe part of me would have liked to follow Joy in and see inside, to wander into the beautiful villa, drinking an ice-cold G and T with a bright wedge of lemon while she gave me the tour. But, damn it, my four-year-old was standing precariously close to 6 feet of water.
‘It’s a little late, Clare, are you really allowing them to swim now?’ she asked through perfectly painted lips.
‘I promised,’ I offered apologetically, but before she could respond, there was a loud smack followed by a terrifying silence.
A terrifying deathly silence as Alfie disappeared was followed by the equally terrifying rush of loud, intermittent screaming, as he desperately tried to get his breath in 6 feet of water. Everything felt like it was in slow motion. I was focussed only on one thing and barely saw or heard anything else. I was vaguely aware of Joy open-mouthed watching him, as I instinctively dumped Freddie in her arms. I powered across the ground to the side of the pool to reach my drowning four-year-old, jumping in fully clothed and gathering every ounce of strength I had I grabbed my little boy, lifted him from the depths and dragged him up to the surface. I held his sobbing face above the water as he tried to breathe and cry and call ‘Mummy!’ all at the same time, and I thought I might have a heart attack, but that didn’t matter, I just had to get him to safety.
Eventually, with a little help from Joy, we both climbed out. She was still holding Freddie and had already instructed Violet to run inside and get towels.
I hugged him close. I wanted to cry, to hold him forever and just sob with relief, but I also had to stop him from doing this ever again and so channelled my tears into stern words once he’d recovered slightly.
‘Alfie, that was so naughty,’ I said, removing my wet T shirt and jeans and taking a towel from Joy. ‘You could have really hurt yourself, and Mummy’s very cross.’ I frowned to make my feelings clear.
‘Told you we should have gone inside for gin,’ Joy said under her breath. She was white with shock as I’m sure I was too.
‘Yep, you were right, Joy,’ I murmured back.
‘So, Alfie, what have we just learned?’ Joy asked gently.
‘Not to get wet?’ His little chin was trembling – it had scared him.
‘I think what Granny means is you just learned that you must never jump into the water like that without a grown-up there, or your armbands on. It’s too deep. You won’t ever do that again, will you, Alfie?’ I added.
He shook his head vigorously. I just hoped it had scared him enough to be careful, but not so much he wouldn’t want to go near water ever again.
‘I think we should all go inside, so you can choose your beds,’ Joy said to the kids, once Alfie and I had taken off our clothes and were wrapped in towels. In that moment, I was grateful to have Joy around, even if she did take over a little. Within minutes, the children were racing up the stairs, Alfie’s near-death experience forgotten. By him at least.
‘Hold Freddie’s hand tight on them stairs,’ Bob called to Violet from the landing where he and Dan were still sorting the luggage.
‘Those stairs, darling,’ Joy corrected, as Violet negotiated Freddie up the steps, Alfie following on, as my mother-in-law and I watched from the bottom of the stairs.
Bob rolled his eyes at me and I smiled. ‘You and Alfie been for a swim already?’ Bob asked, looking from me to Alfie. Joy and I watched on from the hallway and glanced at each other.
‘Don’t ask, Bob.’ I smiled.
‘Yes, let’s put it this way, it’s gin time for Clare and Daddy time for our Dan,’ Joy laughed, leading me into the sitting room.
I jus. . .
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