The Holiday

by T. M. Logan

  ‘Maybe not. But we can do a damn sight more than just talk.’

  She slammed the door on her way out.

  21

  Sunday night was our night, when we would leave the children and men at the villa and have a women-only meal. Just the four of us, a chance to catch up without interruption, to talk to each other properly, enjoying good food and wine for a few hours. Knowing what I did, there was nothing I wanted to do less – but there was no way to get out of it.

  I put on my newest dress and sat at the dressing table, brushing the knots out of my hair on autopilot. Brushing, brushing, brushing. I didn’t recognise the washed-out reflection that stared back at me: dark shadows beneath my eyes that I had done my best to disguise with concealer, pale skin that seemed untouched by a full day of Mediterranean sunshine.

  A full day. Twenty-four hours since I had found out about Sean’s lies, here in this bedroom. The weight of that knowledge lay heavy on my chest, like a kind of grief. As if I was grieving for my marriage, for what we had already lost – and perhaps would never be able to regain. Grief for me and Sean, for the years we had spent together, for what we had once been together and what we had been reduced to. Grief, too, for one of the closest friendships I had ever had, because I couldn’t shake the feeling that Rowan was the one trying to take my place in Sean’s heart. Had perhaps already taken my place.

  And now Lucy. Watching her grow up into a smart, wonderful young woman had been one of the greatest joys of my life. But the way she had talked last night, her tears on my shoulder, the way she had looked when we found her and the boys at the gorge, it was as if there were two people inside her now, fighting for the upper hand: the original Lucy, my sweet, funny, optimistic daughter, and this new person, this distant, argumentative young woman who kept secrets from me, who wouldn’t let me in any more. I knew, in an abstract, scientific way, that teenagers were like that, it was how their brains were wired, but seeing it up close left me feeling foolish and inadequate. She had started keeping secrets from me, secrets that forced a wedge between us.

  A realisation struck me as these two trains of thought collided. I put the hairbrush down on the dressing table.

  It was so obvious, why had it not occurred to me before? How could I have been so stupid? Maybe Lucy was reacting to us, to Sean and me, or whatever it was he was doing behind my back. She had sensed something going on beneath the surface of our marriage, just as I had, but she didn’t know how to articulate it. This was her way of acting out: she was confused and upset and felt she couldn’t talk to either her mum or her dad about her fears. Could that be it, or at least part of it? I resolved to talk to her. Not yet, but soon, when I knew a little more.

  The children should be our priority, however badly messed-up everything else became.

  I stood and went to the window, opening it wide into the air-conditioned bedroom and feeling the oven-like heat of the day wrap itself around me. The view was breathtaking: wide open skies, green fields ready for harvest, little ochre-roofed farmhouses dotted here and there. The leaves of the olive trees below me moved gently in a light breeze, tiny ripples ruffling the surface of the infinity pool.

  Daniel was down in the garden below, Sean’s camcorder in hand, skipping along, filming the pool area and the back of the villa.

  For the first time since we’d been here I felt a moment of peace, a moment of pure tenderness: my bright, funny boy, so innocent in his love of funny videos and slapstick and silly jokes. So unaware of everything that was going on beneath the surface. He caught sight of me and stopped to wave, his high voice echoing across the quiet garden.

  ‘Mummy! Hello!’

  I waved back and gave him my best smile as he zoomed in on me. After a moment he waved again and then he was off, disappearing around the side of the villa with the camera held out in front of him, chattering as he went.

  I felt my smile fade and checked my watch. It was nearly time to go.

  22

  The air had a golden quality, the evening light soft and honey-warm as the sun sank towards the hills.

  Rowan had driven us into the foothills of the Monts de L’Espinouse, to the little town of Olargues. Perched in the shadow of a ruined medieval castle, our table at Les Amis gave stunning views down into the Jaur valley as it softened into dusk. Below us was the curving stone arch of the Pont du Diable, the Devil’s Bridge which, according to local folklore, had been built by the Devil himself in exchange for the first soul that walked across it.

  We had ordered food and were waiting for starters of mussels and scallops and tomato galettes. Normally the conversation flowed when we got together: work and children and schools, reminiscences about university life in Bristol, our shared house as an inseparable gang of four, parties and nights out.

  But not tonight. Jennifer had barely said a word to Rowan all evening and I couldn’t hold on to the thread of any conversation for more than a few minutes before my mind started wandering again, looking for clues in what each of them said and how they seemed. Izzy was valiantly keeping things going with one of our standing jokey tales about the first time we had gone for a meal in a restaurant as freshers at university. That night, she and I had gone to the ladies and when we returned the other two were already on their way out of the door, giggling drunkenly. It was only when we were halfway down the street that Rowan admitted they had run out without paying the bill – at which point I had marched them back to the restaurant and insisted that we paid up.

  ‘Nice that Rowan has got us a table near the exit so she can try her usual trick,’ Izzy said with a smile. ‘Old habits die hard, eh, Mrs James?’

  Rowan held her hands up.

  ‘I can assure you, that was the first and only time I’ve ever done that.’ She gestured at me. ‘Couldn’t bear to be shamed again by Mrs Goody-Two-Shoes here.’

  I looked at her, trying to smile, trying to think of something to say, but all I could think of was her whispering in Sean’s ear at the beach this afternoon. Hugging him for just a little too long.

  ‘Shame you?’ I said with a tight smile. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  Rowan sipped her drink, giving me a quizzical look.

  Izzy raised her glass suddenly. ‘We should have a toast,’ she said.

  ‘To what?’ Rowan said.

  ‘Being forty?’

  ‘Oh God, really? That’s way too depressing.’

  ‘Forty is the new thirty, according to Oprah.’

  ‘How about a toast to all of us being together again?’

  We clinked glasses and drank. Icy champagne bubbles bursting against the back of my throat usually reminded me of my wedding day, that first beautiful glass before dinner as Sean and I circulated among our guests, newly married, basking in the afterglow. But tonight it tasted bitter.

  I put my nearly full glass down on the table.

  Jennifer took the tiniest of sips and sat back with a frown.

  ‘What is it, Jen?’ Izzy said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m still a bit freaked out, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh. Sure, right.’

  ‘After what happened with the boys this afternoon.’ She turned to Rowan. ‘Why you didn’t tell us about the gorge?’

  ‘I’m so—’

  ‘Jake could have been killed,’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘Any of the children could have been killed, wandering down there in the woods. It’s so dangerous.’

  Rowan put down her glass, nodding apologetically. ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘My client mentioned something about the French having a bit of a sketchy attitude to health and safety, but no specifics. I was going to go down there and check it out myself on our first day but everything got away from me with the unpacking and getting things set up.’

  ‘How is it even allowed? How can they rent it out to people?’

  ‘It’s private land,’ Rowan said. ‘There are signs up, but they’re not legally obliged to fence it off because it’s not actually rented out to the public. Sorr
y, guys.’

  ‘Has anyone ever fallen off?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. My client wasn’t very specific, he just said that there was this spectacular rock face at the bottom end of the property.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what might have happened if Jake had slipped.’ She put a hand over her mouth. ‘It’s too awful to even think about.’

  ‘I understand that. We’re all in the same boat here, Jen.’

  ‘But being a full-time mum, things are different for me – Jake and Ethan are my whole world. Everything is about keeping them safe.’

  Rowan leaned forward, elbows on the table.

  ‘I feel the same way about Odette.’

  ‘I know you do,’ Jennifer said. ‘But it’s not the same, you’ve got all this stuff going on with your company, all these distractions, and it seems so irresponsible that your client didn’t tell you about the gorge, about the danger and—’

  I put a hand over hers.

  ‘It’s OK, Jen. We’ll keep an eye on all the kids, we’ll look out for each other.’

  ‘Like we always have done,’ Rowan added forcefully.

  Jennifer gave a little nod, but wouldn’t look at any of us.

  I drank another mouthful of champagne, swallowing back the bitterness.

  ‘Hey, I almost forgot,’ Izzy said, breaking the silence. She reached into her handbag. ‘Look what I found. My brother was clearing out her garage. Boxes and boxes of my old stuff that she’s been looking after while I was away and I haven’t looked at in years.’

  She produced a slim paperback book, Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, and from within its pages plucked a photograph, a colour print that was creased and bent at the edges.

  ‘Nineteen years ago.’

  Rowan picked it up.

  ‘Oh my God! My hair. What on earth was I thinking?’

  ‘I think it was your Jennifer Aniston phase. The graduation ball. Remember?’

  She passed it on to Jennifer, who studied the picture in turn. Finally, she allowed herself a small smile.

  ‘Izzy, you’ve hardly changed a bit. What’s your secret?’

  Izzy shrugged.

  ‘Not having kids?’

  The picture came around to me and I held it up to the light of the candles flickering in the middle of the table. It showed us standing close together, shoulder to shoulder, arms around each other’s waists. Ballgowns and big smiles and glasses of bucks fizz, balloons and streamers strewn at our feet while young men in tuxedos milled around in the background of the shot, a big white marquee set out in the central quad.

  The picture had caught Rowan mid-laugh, hair styled and tinted like the Friends actress, in a deep crimson ballgown; next to her was Jennifer in a sleeveless pale-green two-piece that showed off all her curves; Izzy, her chestnut-brown hair cut pixie-short, stunning in a black cocktail dress – the only time I could remember her wearing a dress. And me at the end of the row, in royal blue.

  God, we looked so young. But we looked happy. Like anything was possible.

  Izzy leaned over to get another look at the picture in my hand. ‘Wasn’t that the night Jen finally snogged Darren Burton?’

  ‘That was you, if memory serves,’ Jennifer said indignantly. ‘I was still on the rebound.’

  ‘From who?’

  Jennifer hesitated.

  ‘You know who,’ she said quietly, giving me a quick glance. ‘Sean.’

  ‘Oh,’ Izzy said. ‘Right. Forgot about that.’

  The mention of Sean stopped me in my tracks. Jennifer had never talked about her relationship with him in those terms before. The ball had been in May but they had broken up the month before, as we came up to the Easter break. Had she still been on the rebound a month later, still hurting from the break-up?

  And why mention it now?

  Rowan pointed to a lad with a ponytail in the background of the picture.

  ‘And after Darren Burton threw up,’ she said to Izzy, ‘you moved on to his housemate.’

  ‘God, yeah! I vaguely remember him – what was his name again? Kissed like he was trying to suck your face off.’

  ‘Nice,’ Rowan said, laughing.

  Izzy clicked her fingers and pointed at me, as if she’d just remembered something else.

  ‘I tell you what I do remember,’ she said. ‘That was the night, wasn’t it? The night you and Sean first got together.’

  I nodded. It was true, in a way. That was the night we had first got together, at least in public. The first time we had held hands, danced together, kissed, with other people around. The first time he’d held me so close I could feel his heart bumping in his chest, when we didn’t care any more who saw us.

  The whole truth and nothing but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

  The truth was, I’d been in love with Sean since the end of our first year at Bristol. I had admired him from afar while he went out with a string of girls who were prettier, cleverer, and more confident than me. I’d been in love with him for the one month, three weeks and four days he was with Jennifer. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it just did. And slowly, Sean had become aware of my feelings. When he split up with Jennifer he told her he was freaking out about revision and worried about getting kicked out of uni, and he wanted a break to focus on his exams. It was at least partly true, but there was more to it than that. Much more.

  There was me.

  He broke up with her because of me, because of what had been growing between us.

  Me, comforting a heartbroken Jennifer who couldn’t understand why her first serious boyfriend had ended their relationship. Who had convinced herself that she was too straight, too highly strung, too high maintenance for him. Me offering sympathy and wine and a shoulder to cry on, and all the while fighting the guilt that I was the cause of her misery.

  Had I really been a good friend to Jennifer, back then? A true friend? I suppose I knew the answer to that.

  ‘Yup.’ I smiled. ‘That was the night me and Sean finally got together.’

  ‘You know what?’ Izzy said. ‘We should do a selfie, just like this picture.’

  ‘So we can see how haggard and crap we look now compared to then?’ Rowan said.

  ‘Shush, Rowan, you look absolutely lovely. Stand up now, everyone.’ Izzy took her phone out and began marshalling us into position, in the same order that we stood in the old photograph: Rowan on the left, then Jennifer, then Izzy and me on the end. We stood like that, backs to the low wall at the edge of the patio, arms around each other’s waists, smiling for the camera just like we’d done 19 years ago.

  ‘Say cheese!’ Izzy said, holding her arm out to get us all in the shot.

  The camera clicked once, twice, and she held the phone’s screen out to us so we could all see.

  ‘Perfect.’

  I looked at the picture. The four of us, just like always. A beautiful meal on a fine warm evening, the lights of the valley below twinkling in the darkness. A wonderful time with my dearest friends, people I had known more than half my life. People close enough to be almost family.

  It should have been perfect, but one of them had turned it into a lie.

  And maybe that was no more than I deserved.

  23

  Sean

  Sean used the stubby pencil to cross out another box on his game sheet. That was his big street, full house and Yahtzee all gone. He would be lucky not to finish last. He sighed and handed the dice and shaker to Russ, who was taking it all very seriously.

  He studied the other men for a moment: Russ and Alistair, opposite him on one of the big sofas, an awkward pair if ever he’d seen one. Russ, all angles and elbows and alpha-dog cheekbones next to Alistair – soft edges and sloping shoulders, beer belly and bushy beard. Did either of them know? Did either of them have the slightest inkling of what was going on? Russ seemed to spend half the day on his mobile phone and the other half drinking rather than paying close attention to what was happening around him. Alist
air, on the other hand, appeared more observant, more tuned in most of the time.

  Jake and Ethan were sprawled at each end of a sofa, Lucy cross-legged between them. Each was splitting their attention between taking their turn in the game and their respective mobile phones. Dinner was finished and the two younger children had been put to bed.

  Russ rolled a full house straight off the bat.

  ‘Get in!’ He clenched a fist in triumph and wrote the score on his sheet.

  Alistair took the dice from him and rolled three ones, a four and a six.

  ‘Here we go, boys. Your old dad’s going to get a Yahtzee.’

  He picked up the dice and rolled them twice more, ending up with three ones, a two and a three. A bust.

  Jake shook his head, exchanging a glance with his younger brother.

  ‘You really are crap at this, aren’t you, Dad?’

  ‘It’s a game of luck, my boy. Now chess, on the other hand, that’s more my thing.’

  ‘Isn’t chess, like, the most boring game ever invented?’

  ‘All skill, no luck, Jake. How a game should be. When I was your age I was—’

  A high-pitched cry reached them from upstairs.

  ‘Daddy! Daddy!’

  Sean muted the music again and looked over at Russ.

  ‘Yours or mine?’ he said.

  Russ turned his head towards the sound, narrowing his eyes. A moment later, the cry came again.

  ‘Daddy!’

  ‘Mine, I think,’ Russ said, popping the cap off another bottle of beer and taking a long pull. ‘But she’ll stop in a minute.’

  Jake and Ethan took their turns before the cry from upstairs came again.

  ‘Daddy!’

  Sean smiled at Russ, pointing towards the stairs.

  ‘Definitely yours,’ he said.

  Ethan gathered the dice back into the little plastic cup and handed it to Lucy, who took it from him as she scrolled one-handed on her phone.