The Family Holiday

by Elizabeth Noble

  ‘Both of those things are true.’

  ‘I know. And it’s not like he’s died.’

  The words hung in the air.

  ‘Sorry, Nick. That was incredibly insensitive.’

  He put up his hand to stop her. ‘No. Don’t worry. It’s okay.’

  A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away, angry with herself. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Hey.’ He turned to look right at her. ‘Stop it. Don’t you dare say sorry to me. You have been the single most helpful, most present, most kind person to me and the kids since Carrie died. You could never, never need to say sorry to me. Do you hear me?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And no. He hasn’t died. And that’s good. Good for the kids. But that doesn’t mean this isn’t hard for you all. And I’m here. I’m gonna be here. I’m not sure I can be as helpful to you as you’ve been to me, but I can try, can’t I? I want to. You know, in some ways, it’s a relief.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s all been about me, hasn’t it? Poor tragic Nick. You know, at the house, with my sister, my nephew and my dad, who also, by the way, lost his wife, it just makes me realize. What happened to me was shitty. But shitty stuff happens all around. Not just to me. It’s nice to think about other people for a change. It feels … normal. Does that make any sense at all?’

  ‘It does, actually.’ He had turned back to where the kids were finishing. Arthur was wearing more of his ice cream than he’d eaten. ‘Wet wipes?’ Fran rummaged in her bag.

  ‘So we’re good?’ He’d wondered if they were going to talk about what had happened that night after supper, but now wasn’t the time.

  ‘Yeah. All clear.’ There didn’t seem to be a subtext in it, and for that he was grateful. He wasn’t ready to think about it, and she seemed to feel exactly the same, unless what had happened had been nothing at all and she didn’t know there was anything to think about.

  She smirked at him. ‘My pity party for a while. That’s what you’re saying.’

  He smiled back. ‘And you’ll self-pity cry if you want to.’ Fran was walking now, towards the sticky fingers and mouths. ‘But you’ve got to lay off the wine boxes, mate. Promise?’

  ‘Shan’t.’ She threw the word over her shoulder, not turning.

  47

  Hayley and Meredith were lukewarm, at first, at Heather’s suggestion that the three of them drive into Cheltenham for lunch. It was sunny again, and already very warm. The day seemed more suited to lounging than driving. The promise of shopping was the clincher. Hayley was too self-absorbed and slothful, and Meredith probably too young, to read their mother’s slightly brittle, bruised mood, but it wasn’t lost on the adults in the house, especially Laura and Scott.

  Laura was glad she was going. In front of Charlie, Heather had invited her but Laura had known from her tone she didn’t mean it. A woman understood. Charlie smiled benevolently at Heather, when she offered, and Laura felt a childish frisson of envy and possessiveness. He was her dad.

  She was confused about how she felt. She’d been wrong about Heather, she knew that. Unfair. But now whatever fledgling friendship had been established between them was besieged by maternal hackles, raised.

  Scott was glad too, if he was honest. Things weren’t back, yet, on an even keel. She wasn’t relaxed with the others in the house, as she had been. She’d been stepping warily around Laura, avoiding Ethan. What worried him more was how she’d been with him, after the time they’d spent sitting on the bedroom floor, after she’d told him what had happened to her. He’d had questions, but the time hadn’t seemed right to ask them. He’d felt incredibly protective, full of something between impotent anger directed towards a punk of a kid from decades ago and sadness. She’d retreated again. She’d gone quiet and it troubled him. Maybe she wished she hadn’t told him. He tried to fight the feeling that she was suggesting this shopping trip to avoid him. He’d offered to drive them, but had been rebuffed. She’d blustered more noisily than necessary, and with a forced gaiety that convinced no one he’d be bored and cramp their style.

  Heather didn’t talk much on the way. Plugged into their respective devices, the girls didn’t notice.

  Radio 4 was playing in the front, as usual. Melvyn Bragg and some dry historians talking about an obscure nineteenth-century courtesan. But Heather wasn’t really listening. She was processing. Something had clicked in her brain when she’d told Scott what had happened when she was young. She had never spoken about it before to anyone. Having done so now changed several things. It cemented in her mind how deeply she trusted her husband – and how much she loved him. How safe she felt. It unlocked, somehow, why she felt so protective and so easily triggered about her own girls. Those two things about her had run along parallel tracks in her brain, but now they had crossed, and her parenting made more sense to her. It was hard to explain, but perhaps saying it out loud had taken the power, the trauma, out of it. She should have done it years ago. She should have shouted from the rooftops the moment it had happened, of course. She shouldn’t have felt shame or even fear. She shouldn’t have let it cast a shadow over her life. So it wasn’t that it had happened she regretted. It was how it had affected her. What she felt now was a small, powerful sense of freedom.

  In Cheltenham, they busied themselves on the main shopping street for a few hours. Trainers and books for Meredith, clothes and makeup for Hayley. An armful of particularly glorious apricot roses and some interiors magazines for Heather. Some colourful garden games for the little ones back at the house. By two o’clock, Hayley and Meredith had realized they were ravenous, and they found an Italian restaurant. The girls ordered pizzas, which they devoured while their mother pushed a garden salad around a plate and nibbled at the edges of a garlic flatbread. They’d finished before she was a third of the way through. The waitress approached the table, and made to back away again, seeing that she had so much food left on her plate. Heather beckoned her.

  ‘I’m done, thanks.’ She beamed at the woman to let her know she wasn’t going to complain.

  ‘You’re eating less than normal,’ Meredith observed.

  ‘As if that’s even possible’, was Hayley’s wry aside.

  Heather looked at them sharply, and put her fork down to stir artificial sweetener into a large glass of iced tea. She’d read all the books she was supposed to read about how not to infect your daughters with the food nonsense you yourself subscribed to, but they weren’t stupid. They knew she stayed as slim as she was through concerted effort. ‘I don’t care for the dressing. That’s all. You can bet I’m having ice cream.’

  She meant sorbet. And she meant three spoonfuls. But they all knew that.

  ‘Are you okay, Mum?’ asked Meredith.

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘You’re not.’ Hayley cocked her head on one side. ‘So don’t pretend you are. You didn’t kiss Scott goodbye when we left. Not properly. It was a peck. Did you guys fight?’

  They both fixed their wide eyes on her.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘So you did?’

  Meredith’s face registered real anxiety and Heather felt a stab of guilt. She didn’t want either of them to feel anything less than totally stable and safe. Not ever. She leant forward and pinched Hayley’s cheek. It was meant to be an affectionate touch but it seemed harder than that, like a reproach. Hayley flicked away the gesture in annoyance. ‘You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?’

  ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ Meredith announced. She’d lost most of her American vernacular, as her sister had, within days of attending an English school, sensing that it was an irritant to their new classmates, but when the three were alone together, it crept back. ‘Two scoops chocolate and one raspberry for me, please.’ She skipped off.

  ‘So what’s wrong?’

  Heather took a deep breath. There wasn’t time now to tell it
all. Meredith would be back in a minute. It had taken a lot out of her to tell Scott. It felt incredibly strange to have another person know her story, after all these years. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted Hayley to know. Her aim was to teach her everything she needed to know to keep herself safe – so safe – without ever having to hear what had happened to her mother.

  ‘Was it about Ethan?’

  ‘Why would you ask me that?’

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  Hayley shrugged. ‘I feel like you don’t.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I didn’t think I would. But I actually really do. He’s a nice guy.’

  Heather nodded.

  ‘I mean, I know what happened with Arthur was really bad. And I know there’s all this drama … but when you speak to him, he’s just a sweet boy. Smart too. He’s sad.’

  Heather smiled at her. ‘And you’ve spoken to him a lot, have you?

  The omnipresent shrug. ‘Quite a lot, I suppose. He’s the only person my age here, you know!’

  ‘Do you know many English boys his age?’

  Hayley narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘A few.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Mum! Really! I have friends with brothers. There are guys at parties. Around.’

  ‘Anyone special?’ She tried to keep her voice casual, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.

  ‘No one. I’d have told you.’

  ‘Would you?’ She sounded sharper than she meant to.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And your mates? Do they have boyfriends?’

  ‘Some, yeah. Why all these questions, suddenly?’

  ‘You’re growing up. Sometimes I don’t notice it because I see you all the time.’

  Hayley looked quizzical.

  ‘Do you know how I found out you’d learnt to roll when you were a baby?’

  ‘No. How?’

  ‘You rolled off the bed. I was changing you, turned around to get something – a wipe maybe – and when I turned back, thud, you were on the floor.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I was behind the curve. That’s the point I’m making. It’s kind of been that way ever since. I just don’t wanna be behind that particular curve.’

  ‘The guy curve?’ Hayley’s tone was amused.

  ‘The guy curve. I want you to be able to talk to me, to tell me anything.’

  ‘I will. I can. I said so to Ethan. When we were talking.’

  ‘And you think I’m being unfair to him?’

  Hayley smiled. ‘Yeah. I do.’

  ‘Okay, then. I’ll try. For you.’

  ‘Good.’ Hayley proffered a spoonful of sorbet. Heather smiled and took it from her, just as Meredith skipped back from the loo.

  As she stirred sweetener into her cappuccino, Heather looked from one daughter to the other. ‘How are you both doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, how are you? Really.’

  Meredith laughed. ‘So serious, Mom. I’m fine. I love Bea and Lila and Arthur so much. I want to see them all the time after the vacation. I really hope Nick will let me babysit them sometimes. I mean, we’re cousins, right?’

  Heather nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And Charlie is so nice. And Nick. And the house. I love the pool. All of it is cool.’

  She had ice cream on her chin. Heather passed her a napkin, and turned to Hayley.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘It’s been way better than I thought it might be. It’s nice, feeling like you’re part of a family. We’ve never really had that. I didn’t know I missed it, but when you’re surrounded by it, and watching them – Scott and Laura and Nick – doing their sibling thing, and Charlie just loving everyone, it’s really nice. I like how they’ve included us. It feels good.’

  Heather smiled.

  ‘You like them, right?’ Hayley seemed desperately keen for Heather to say yes.

  She felt a pang. ‘I do. I really do. I mean, I love Charlie. What a sweetheart. Nick is funny. More like Scott than either of them think, I reckon.’

  Hayley nodded. ‘Laura takes a bit of getting to know, but she’s not in a good place. And, yeah, they’re pretty great.’

  Heather took their hands. ‘I love you, my girls. You’re brilliant, you know that?’

  ‘So can we go back to Zara and get that jacket I liked, if I’m so brilliant?’

  48

  It was late in the afternoon when Ethan sought out his mother. It had taken huge reserves of patience for Laura to give him space. She’d taken a book outside to read, but it lay unopened beside her on the bench. She’d laid her head back against a cushion, and closed her eyes, letting the late-afternoon sun warm her face. Her mind wandered back to the time she’d spent with Joe. It seemed much longer ago than it was, but the reminiscence was clouded by the persistent feeling that she should have been here. With Ethan.

  He slid onto the bench beside her while her eyes were still closed, but she knew, with some inexplicable maternal instinct, that he was there. She waited for him to speak.

  Eventually he did.

  ‘Been a shitty couple of days.’

  She opened her eyes, and looked at her son. He was sitting forward, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the ground.

  ‘I was an idiot and nearly hurt Arthur. And then I was an idiot and made a right show of myself.’

  ‘Stop saying “idiot”.’

  ‘Mum! I. Was. A. Fucking idiot.’

  ‘Okay. You can say “idiot” about the pool stuff but not about the rest.’

  He smiled tightly.

  She sat up. ‘Can’t defend you on the pool. But it happened, and you’ve owned it, and you didn’t hurt Arthur. He’s fine, love. And no one thought you meant to do it, and everyone knows you’ll never, ever do it again. So park that.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ethan nodded slowly, decisively.

  ‘Okay? Really?’ She looked at him pointedly.

  He nodded again.

  ‘Running away –’

  ‘Don’t say it like that. I’m not a kid. I didn’t “run away”.’

  ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to treat you like a kid.’ How on earth did a parent stop treating their kid like a kid? How had Mum and Dad made that change? Gradually? Reluctantly? Or was there always a single moment when you looked at your child and saw an adult – fledgling, maybe, but the unmistakable outline of a grown-up?

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What?’

  Now he shook his head in something like despair. ‘I don’t know. The two things just sort of collided in my mind. I didn’t want to stay, because I knew everyone was totally pissed off with me. And I didn’t blame them. And I just thought that if I could talk …’

  ‘Talk to who? To Saskia?’

  ‘Oh, God, I don’t know. To Saskia. Her mum. Maybe even her dad.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I wanted to explain myself. I was lying up in that bloody room in the eaves, pretty much hating myself, and I just got – got really panicked. About what he said to me about what he could do.’

  ‘Ethan …’ Her heart ached for him. She’d known, the second she’d seen Rupert’s face, what real danger he posed. Was she wrong not to have spelt it out to Ethan from the start? She’d been protecting him, but she couldn’t, could she? She hadn’t.

  ‘And something else, too. I just got afraid that he’d have persuaded her, you know, that I’d …’ He couldn’t say the word.

  He was blinking hard now, and she knew he was trying not to cry. She didn’t want to scare him off but she couldn’t help herself: she put a hand on his leg. When he didn’t shrug it off or brush it away, she moved a bit closer.

  And a dam broke.

  His words were hard to hear, almost lost in the heaving sobs. ‘I couldn’t … I couldn’t …’

  ‘I know, Eth. I know you. I know.’

  He almost collapsed onto her chest. He was too big, really, ungainly in her em
brace. She felt winded by the weight of him. But she put her arms around him and held him as though he were a small child again, as if he’d scraped his knee falling off his bike, or woken from a nightmare, although this was far harder, and let him cry.

  Eventually, after a long time, he was still, and calm. He sat back, still close to his mother, and rubbed his face with the sleeve of his shirt, his arm pushing his hair back from his forehead.

  ‘I know it’s over, by the way.’

  She didn’t look at him.

  ‘I’ve known for a while.’

  Laura had known, of course, almost from the minute Rupert had burst into her house, but she didn’t know that Ethan knew, too. Not really.

  ‘It’s ruined.’

  ‘Sweetheart …’

  ‘We couldn’t get past it.’

  She didn’t want to tell him he was wrong.

  ‘But it wasn’t what he said. It wasn’t like he said.’

  She pressed his hand. ‘I promise you I know it wasn’t, my love.’ She had to keep saying it. He needed to know she believed him. Believe that she believed him.

  Some vestige of the old familiar rage that had been eating her for the longest time reared again in the pit of her stomach. How dare he – that ghastly man – how dare he do this to her boy, make him feel like this? Whatever had happened between Ethan and Saskia – and no one really believed they would stay together beyond A levels, or university, or into their twenties – their memories of their relationship should be positive. For the experience to be tainted by Saskia’s father wasn’t fair, and the injustice gnawed at her. She didn’t know how to fix it – how to reverse the effects of someone else’s careless words and agenda. But she would try.

  She felt the lioness stir, and begin to prowl, within her. She felt strength returning. The steel in her spine she’d been aware of in the last little while was building volume. Rupert had better watch out. Claudia might have persuaded him to let it go, but if she hadn’t, Laura would fight him. This was her son – his future. Never get between the mother and her cub and threaten the young. Alex had better be careful too. For the first time in ages she almost relished the thought of getting home, getting back into the lawyer’s office, getting the divorce moving so that she would be free of him. Free. Strong. She’d got it wrong – moping about happiness. It was the wrong way around. Free and strong must come first. Joy would surely follow.