by Lucy Diamond
‘Okay, let me think,’ he said, because he was never happier than when he had a puzzle to solve, a plan to bring about. ‘So where are you now? Right, well, keep going east and head for the Dartmoor area. In the meantime I’ll find us somewhere to stay and book us in. If you stop at the next services, I’ll text you details of where we’re going. Then I’ll get the boys all ready, stuff them into the car and meet you there later on. How does that sound?’
How did it sound? It was kind of a relief to have him deciding for her, actually. So much of his work was about scooping up failing businesses and turning them around. As it turned out, he seemed to be pretty good at scooping up a struggling mother and suggesting practical solutions for her too, albeit belatedly.
‘Somewhere nice,’ he added, when she didn’t immediately respond. ‘Somewhere with a swimming pool and room service. You won’t have to do anything, if you don’t feel like it.’
A swimming pool and room service . . . this was becoming better by the minute. The back of Olivia’s throat felt prickly. It felt as if she was being rescued, looked after. She wasn’t sure she deserved it, after having run away and flaked out on him all week, but she was grateful he still cared. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘We’re a team, remember,’ he told her. ‘Standing shoulder-to-shoulder. I promise you that we’re going to get through this together and make it work. Okay?’
And so, once they’d finished the call, she’d started the car and driven on to the next service station where, as promised, a text awaited. It felt like a grown-up sort of treasure hunt, following the link to find herself at the website of a hotel on the far edge of Dartmoor, which had a spa, a very nice restaurant and a babysitting service. They could only fit us in for three nights – fully booked otherwise, but it can be a little holiday while we work everything out, he’d written beneath the link. Hopefully see you later. Text me what you want me to pack for you. I love you.
She loved him too, she thought now, pouring her tea and stirring in the milk, appreciating the light breeze that ruffled the heads of the roses and sent a sweet scent drifting her way. It was gorgeous here: serene and classy, yet comfortable and relaxing. This felt like a place where she and Mack could reconnect and talk to one another with honesty about what they both wanted, their visions of a future life together. A family holiday, but different.
Maybe later tonight when the boys were asleep, they could talk some more. About Aidan and her part in his death. About her own mum vanishing and how it had been as if a piece of Olivia had gone with her too. Mack knew the basics about Leon, but now she’d have to tell him that her first son might be returning to her life in the future, and that she hoped he’d be okay about this. Having started talking honestly at last, she wanted to delve further into these subjects, expose them to daylight and another opinion, rather than burying them all again. Perhaps it would help to find a counsellor to work through them as well, she thought. Someone who could maybe give her a few coping strategies while she was there, to shore up her defences against spiralling right down again. She gazed out at the wide white sky and felt as if she might be open to possibilities again – or at least to accepting some help.
She remembered her brother’s concerned texts just then and sent him a message. Hi Danny, she wrote. All good here. Thought for a minute I had turned into Mum – couldn’t cope. But I’m going to sort things out with Mack. We’re meeting up later. Think we will be okay. x
He replied moments later. I get it. You can always talk to me, remember. Good luck and let’s catch up properly soon. x
Feeling a hundred times better than she had done a week earlier, Olivia sipped her tea and let out a long exhalation. Then her phone rang, jerking her out of her reverie and she fumbled to answer it, assuming it was Mack again or maybe Danny. But there was an unfamiliar number on the screen. ‘Hello?’ she said.
‘It’s Lorna,’ came the reply and Olivia’s heart clenched with immediate dread. Oh no. That hadn’t taken long.
‘Hello,’ she said warily. Following her letter that morning, Lorna and Roy were certain to have a lot of questions, some of them potentially very angry ones. There was a strong possibility, in fact, that they would hate her by now. Her grip tightened on the teacup, so tightly that she had to set it down, fearful it might shatter between her fingers. She wasn’t sure she could bear hearing Lorna’s wounded rage right now.
‘I’m ringing to thank you,’ Lorna said, though, which came as such a surprise to Olivia that she had to blink several times before she could register the words. ‘For telling us, I mean. We’re going to find Leon, we want him to be in our lives. We are so delighted by the news, I . . . Well, I’m as giddy as a kipper, to be honest. I can’t believe it!’
Olivia gazed into the middle distance, but was no longer aware of the calm surroundings. She hadn’t been able to believe it, either, that shocking day almost twenty years earlier when she had discovered the pregnancy. She had never quite been able to believe it, even as she sat there in that noisy, overheated maternity ward, dazed after the shock of the birth, holding that small warm person with a plastic tag around his ankle. The same small warm person who, if all went to plan, would shortly be discovering that he had two new grandparents. Lorna was right: it seemed impossible to believe, even now. ‘I’m glad,’ Olivia said, uncertain of what else to say.
‘I was just wondering, though: if we do track him down, should we tell you?’ asked Lorna. She sounded all fired up, as if she were about to jump in a car and go knocking on doors for Leon as soon as she put the phone down. ‘Do you want to know whatever we find out? See him?’
Here they were: the biggest questions of all, ones that Olivia had avoided looking at for so many years. While her secret was sealed away, hidden from sight, it had been easier to put him out of her mind, that little baby whisked away who-knew-where. And yet now that the secret was out, she wasn’t sure there was any way back. Maybe she didn’t want to go back anyway, though, she thought.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If he wants to, of course. I owe him that much.’
‘Okay,’ said Lorna. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’ There was a pause and then she added, ‘We’re really grateful for this. Can we stay in touch, whatever happens? There’s a proper connection between us now, isn’t there?’
‘Yes,’ said Olivia with a lump in her throat. Lorna had helped her when she had been down on her knees, at her lowest point. Who wouldn’t want a person like that to stay in their life? ‘Of course we can keep in touch.’
‘I know you’ve lost your mum, but you’ve got me now, don’t forget,’ Lorna went on. ‘You know where I am, if you ever want to come back – with or without the rest of your family. And I’m just at the end of the phone if you need a chat, okay?’
She might have buried her only child, but Lorna was still such a good mum, Olivia thought with a pang. And as someone who’d been feeling as if she could really do with a compass and set of directions when it came to motherhood, this offer couldn’t have come at a more welcome time. A huge tide of emotion rose over her. Gratitude that both Lorna and Mack were reaching out to her, offering their hands to haul her up from the depths. She’d even go as far as to say she felt the first glimmerings of hope. ‘I would really like that,’ she said.
‘Good,’ replied Lorna. ‘Because I would really like that too.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Izzie had muted the notifications from her group chat for this long, but now she took a deep breath and braved herself to take a look at how the others had responded to her confession. Just to get the recriminations and probable banishment over with. Opening up the chat, though, she quickly realized that she hadn’t been the only one who had embellished details of their wild summer.
While it was true that Lily was going to the music festival, her boyfriend couldn’t afford a ticket after all, so her mum had arranged for her to tag along with her older cousin’s crowd instead, which was going to be way less fun.
Miko had notice
d plenty of hot boys at the lido, but she hadn’t dared chat any of them up and she definitely hadn’t flashed anyone in the changing rooms.
Tej had crashed a party, but in truth had spent most of her time there vomiting in the upstairs loo after too much vodka. Then she’d fallen over in the garden, right in front of the girl she fancied, and some of the sixth-form boys had taken photos of her and laughed at her, so she’d gone home early.
Ruby had ended up kissing the gorgeous boy she had a crush on, but he’d made a horrible comment about her braces and she’d been so embarrassed she’d hit him, then he’d walked off without saying another word. She’d seen him in town the day before yesterday and he’d totally blanked her.
Out they all came, one confession after another, points knocked off each girl’s totals until they were all rubbishly low. Somehow or other Ruby was even on minus figures. This is exactly the sort of thing that Miss Crowley used to go on about in PSHE, Miko had said, with several eye-rolling emojis. Peer-pressure meltdown!!
New hashtag: Summer of Fail, suggested Tej, deadpan.
Reading their confessions, Izzie didn’t feel completely exonerated – it wasn’t like anyone else’s exaggerated claims had caused their mum’s actual relationship to crash and burn in such an embarrassingly public way, but all the same, she felt slightly less of a boring freak. They understood why she had gone so overboard.
You’re not going to believe this, I know, but I did actually meet a really nice boy yesterday, she posted mournfully, adding some of the photos she’d taken of the two of them on Swanpool beach. We hung out and kissed (true!) and were meant to be meeting up last night, but I had to bail on him because I’m grounded. Will probably never see him again now. TYPICAL!!!!!
So typical you could almost laugh. Or give up. No, she still hadn’t heard anything back from Fraser, despite checking her messages every five seconds or so. Karma, she thought glumly each time she refreshed her in-box to find nothing new there. No reply had come from George, either, following the message she had eventually sent him earlier: a digitally tweaked picture of The Lute Player, now with a rockstar headband and skull patterns on her peasanty white shirt, plus a speech bubble coming from her mouth, which read, I’M SORRY.
Dear George, this is my fault, not Mum’s, she had written. She can’t tell you the details of what happened because she knows it will embarrass me, but basically she really, really likes you and is sorry that you got dragged into my stupid mess. And me and Jack like you too, so please give her another chance. Sorry again, love Izzie.
She’d even – and this was a measure of just how sorry she was – added a PS about Seren.
PS: I meant to say, Seren can have all my old Sylvanian Families if she wants them, there’s a massive boxful in the loft.
But, like Fraser, George had gone quiet on her too. Perhaps she’d blown it with both of them. Being rational and philosophical about it, she could see there was a certain balance at work there, in terms of justice: she had lost Mum George, therefore she had to sacrifice Fraser and lose him too. When she wasn’t being rational and philosophical, though, it just felt bloody rubbish.
In the room next door, Em was still in bed, drearily wondering if she had the energy to get up and make lunch for everyone, or whether the kids would have to forage for their own food today. The latter, she decided. Meanwhile she had never felt less like eating. It seemed just another worthless pursuit, like falling in love or trying to be a good person. What was the point?
From now on, she had decided, she would be single forever. Yes, she was resigned to it, absolutely. Relationships were for optimistic idiots, those who didn’t know better. They never worked out, and it was too difficult when you had teenage children in tow anyway; her loyalties were always going to be divided. Maybe once the children were grown-up – say, thirty or so – she’d muster up the stamina to try again, but for now she would be better off slogging along on her own. In fact she’d go as far as to say that she’d sooner get a dog than another relationship. At least with a dog, you were guaranteed uncomplicated loyalty.
So that was cheering – not. Added to which, she had a raging hangover, whimperingly bad, thanks to the impromptu holiday women’s piss-up last night. Still, she’d enjoyed herself at least, what with the three of them setting the world to rights, and they’d had a laugh too, in between their confessionals. Honestly, what was it about being on holiday that made a person throw caution to the wind? She had certainly poured her heart out – well, they all had, to be fair. They’d even ended up swapping numbers and promising to keep in touch. She wondered how Maggie and Olivia were both bearing up so far today, and if they were currently enduring the same drilling headache that she was. God, and Olivia had been planning to ring her husband as well, to broach some peace talks! She was clearly a tougher woman than Em, if she had managed such a thing.
Hope all going well, she texted her spontaneously. Good to chat last night. Best of luck, whatever you decide.
Best of luck to all of them, she thought rousingly, feeling a tiny bit better. Best of luck to every goddamn woman, in fact, who was struggling along this summer, trying to survive the holiday period as best as she goddamn could.
The rallying sentiment was enough to make her sit up, suddenly sick of lying around feeling sorry for herself. No, she would not flop about moping for a moment longer. She was in beautiful Cornwall, in a lovely cottage and she had worked bloody hard to pay for this fortnight away. There was still a week left here and she would damn well enjoy it too – George or no George. Onwards and upwards!
‘Kids!’ she called, fluffing up her hair in the mirror. She had been lying down for so long it had completely flattened against her head. ‘Come and have some lunch, and let’s make a plan for this afternoon. Something really fun! Jack, we could go zorbing, if you still want to do that?’
Just at that moment her phone rang. George, she read on the screen.
‘Are you sure this is safe?’ Maggie asked with a nervous laugh. ‘I’m not about to plunge to an early death or anything?’
The man tugging on the straps of her harness to check they were secure considered her question for a moment. He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, tall and rangy, with an infectious enthusiasm. ‘Absolutely not. You’re going to have the best and most exciting ten minutes of your life. Or at least this week,’ he amended, with a wink.
Amelia seemed gleeful about her mother’s shortcomings. ‘Mum, you’re such a wuss,’ she said, loud enough for the queuing people behind them to hear.
Here they were, on a timber platform 150 feet high up in a forest, just like the dream Maggie had had the other night, only this time there was a dual zip-line and she and Amelia were about to take the plunge together, side-by-side. Elsewhere at the activity centre you could try water sports, a terrifying-looking giant swing and go-karting. None of these things sounded remotely sensible or unscary to Maggie, but Amelia had actually squealed in delight upon hearing where they would be spending the rest of the day. ‘Oh my God, amazing! Thanks, Mum,’ she had cried, apparently ecstatic at the prospect of throwing herself off cliffs in the name of fun.
Following their separation, today felt very much like a new start. They’d stopped at a small Devon pizzeria en route, to share thickly cheesed pizza and far too many side dishes – ‘Whatever you want,’ Maggie had said, feeling generous with happiness. There Amelia had given a lengthier account of her stay, with topics ranging from the disgustingness of Celeste’s BO to Will’s taste in music (as cheesy as the pizza, apparently), but also how the two of them planned to message each other a single photo encapsulating their week every Sunday night from here on in. A digital father–daughter exchange.
‘I love that idea,’ Maggie said in delight. ‘What a great way to get to know each other.’
‘I know! His challenge to me, he said,’ Amelia replied through a mouthful of garlic bread. ‘I think it’ll be quite cool, trying to sum up my news in one image each time. I mean, we are going t
o chat as well,’ she went on. ‘We’re not going to be, like, silent weirdos, communicating only by photos or anything. He said he would try and come to my parents’ evening and everything this year. And when I said I was going to audition for the choir, he was like, “Right, I’m coming to see any concerts you’re in then, try and stop me.”’ She licked her fingers and Maggie noticed her small, proud smile. ‘Which is kind of nice. Although the music probably won’t be tragic enough for his taste, so . . .’
Maggie laughed. ‘More education for him,’ she said. ‘But yes, that will be nice.’ Her heart swelled a little that Will had come good like this, that he had suggested such things moreover, rather than feeling obliged to out of some grudging duty. Then she girded her loins for the next part of the conversation. ‘Now then,’ she said, rather more sternly. ‘Moving on: I was wondering if there was anything you might need to confess to me. Regarding a tequila bottle?’
Amelia’s face went dark pink and she froze, stricken, a triangle of pizza sagging midway up to her mouth. Any hopes Maggie had nursed about there somehow being a good reason for the bottle in the pictures resembling the one she’d won on the tombola immediately went up in smoke. Guilty as hell.
‘Ah,’ Amelia said carefully. You could practically hear the gears in her brain spinning as she tried to think of a plausible excuse. ‘Right. This is what you meant on the phone, about needing to talk.’
‘Exactly. So talk.’
The dark pink was spreading out from Amelia’s cheeks and down into her neck. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, staring at her coleslaw as if it might somehow help her out here.
Maggie eyed her over a forkful of salad. ‘I need more than that. Come on, Amelia, this isn’t like you. Or is it? Is this what hanging around with Tara Webster and that crowd has turned you into?’
Amelia’s gaze was still lowered. ‘No.’
