they would be safe.
From here, the view was of uninterrupted water and the cliffs hid the sprawl of bungalows and houses that crept over the wildness. There was no one else on the beach. The sun made our eyes water, and the coconut scent of the sun-tan lotion on our hot skin was whipped away by a salty breeze.
The children raced off, thought better of it as the stones bit their bare feet, and skipped their way to the edge of the water, squealing as the water splashed over their toes. Nathan sat down on the rug and stripped off his shirt. ‘They’re growing up, aren’t they?’
At six and four, this was overstating the case a little. ‘Way to go,’ I said.
Nathan always got burnt unless I took action. He was not someone who thrived in hot climates. I opened the sun-tan lotion, tipped a pool into my cupped hand and rubbed it into his back. ‘More,’ he demanded, ‘just there,’ as my fingers explored the area by his neck that was knotted and painful with tension.
After a bit he got up and joined the children. I pulled out my book, lay on my stomach and read. Every so often I looked up and watched my family failing to outwit the sea. The book palled and I dropped my head on to my arms. I could hear the sea vibrating, the tiny hiss of displaced sand and the click of stones. If I lay still and quiet enough, I thought, I could melt into this elemental world of sun, water and wide, open horizon.
Sam ran back with a fistful of shells to show me before transferring them to his base. ‘Poppy won’t get them there,’ he said.
I sat up and put my arms around his shoulders that felt so childish, so vulnerable. ‘Poppy doesn’t get everything,’ I reassured him.
He gave me one of his challenging stares. ‘Yes, she does.’
My fingers must have pressed too hard at the junction of his shoulder and arm, just where the nerves flowed under the skin, and he flinched. ‘No, Poppy doesn’t,’ I promised. ‘Wait and see.’
He pulled himself free.
‘Why don’t you help me get the picnic ready, Sam?’
He laid the rug with four different-coloured plastic plates and distributed the individual sandwich parcels I had made and labelled: on Sam’s I had drawn a smiling face, on Poppy’s a big teddy bear, on Nathan’s a pair of sunglasses. On mine, I had written, ‘Sleep’. Then he put out matching plastic mugs, carefully matching the colours to the plates.
We ate cheese and cucumber sandwiches, and drank orange juice. Poppy refused to eat either the cucumber or the cheese and gave them to me. For pudding we opened a packet of bourbon biscuits and a bag of apples.
I edged up beside Nathan so that our thighs touched. Hard, taut muscle alongside softer, sand-dusted flesh. Large though my feet were, Nathan’s were bigger, and the comparison always made me feel ridiculously feminine and cherished. ‘Happy?’ I asked.
He leant over and rubbed his nose gently on mine. ‘Never happier.’
I sighed with contentment. Nathan straightened and rubbed at his reddening forearms. ‘Can’t ask for much more,’ he said. ‘Can we?’
‘I’ll have to get back,’ said Sam. He clasped his hands on the tabletop, and his thumbs knitted together. ‘I think you and Dad need to get together.’
He was hoping to leave with some hope, and it was a relief to have to think about his needs. ‘I’ll make you some sandwiches.’
I cut bread, and buttered it, noting with surprise how competent my movements were. I took care to slice the Cheddar thinly. Tiny parings fell on to the table; I brushed them away.
Sam watched me and accepted the neat foil packet. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘Oh, yes, I did. You don’t know how much. Thank you for letting me.’
‘I was just wondering,’ he said, ‘if you and Dad aren’t sorted out, maybe you’d like to come to Greece in July with Alice and me?’
I launched myself in his direction, caught him round the waist and kissed him. ‘Certainly not, but you’re the most wonderful son for even considering it.’
He held me tightly. ‘Thought I should ask.’
‘A sacrifice too far.’
‘Have you talked to Poppy?’
‘Not yet, but I will.’
‘She’ll take it badly’
‘I know’
When Sam left, number seven Lakey Street returned to silence. I switched on the radio but it was playing a violin concerto. Each sweet, perfect note cut into me, like a knife slicing my flesh. I gasped, gagged, lunged forward, snapped it off and fled from the kitchen.
My study was on the first-floor landing, a space kidnapped from the turn in the stairs. Its window overlooked the garden and fitted badly. I kept a rug on the chair to wrap round myself on cold days when I sat at the desk I had squeezed into the space. The family scoffed at the term ‘study’, and at the idea that I needed one. For years, the children had had their own way of making their disapproval felt: they made a point of thumping up and down the stairs as noisily as they dared – ‘Shush, Mummy’s working in her study,’ they told each other, in whispers guaranteed to penetrate the Tower of Babel. I sat there now, so cold that I had wrapped the rug round me twice.
I picked up the phone and rang Poppy. ‘Darling, are you all right?’
‘Mum, will you stop fussing over me? I’m fine.’ Her voice softened. ‘But it’s nice to hear you.’
‘Dad didn’t ring you last night?’
‘Out until the wee small hours, Mum.’
‘Darling, I have to tell you something. I’m afraid… I’m afraid Dad has found…’ That sounded so bald and I thought Nathan deserved better. ‘He has fallen in love with someone else and has left home.’
Poppy’s cry of disbelief echoed down the phone. ‘Who? Which woman?’
‘Minty.’
There was a long, long silence. When Poppy spoke, she sounded different – quite old, in fact, and as if a joyous element in her had shrivelled and died. ‘The old goat. Dad’s turned into an old goat.’
‘Please. Don’t say that about him.’
‘But it’s
‘It’s a bit more complicated. Obviously, he had come to a point where he felt he must have a change.’
‘I don’t want to hear,’ Poppy shrieked. ‘I wish you’d never phoned. Mum, I can’t talk about it. I’ll have to talk to you later.’
‘Of course.’
At that Poppy calmed down. ‘I should be comforting you – and I will, I promise I will, Mum, but I’ll have to get over the shock first.’
Next, I dialled Timon’s private number.
Timon’s wife, Mary, bitterly resented intrusions at weekends. We had discussed this sometimes at office parties and she told me that one of her tactics was to freeze people out. When she answered the phone I got the freezing treatment. I explained that I would not have dreamt of ringing on a Sunday morning unless it was necessary. ‘Oh, well, then,’ she said, caught perhaps by curiosity, ‘but we do have guests.’ She handed the phone to Timon.
‘Rose, has something happened?’
A food-processor sprang into life in the background, accompanied by a meaningful clash of saucepans. ‘I thought I should explain that I shall have to sack Minty on Monday’
‘I see,’ said Timon. ‘Listen, can you hang on? I’m going to change phones.’ When he came back on the line the noises had stopped. ‘Could you give me the details?’ So I did.
‘Nathan has left you for Minty.’ Timon gave a short laugh that meant, ‘Who would have thought there was life in the old dog?’ which made me angry on Nathan’s behalf. ‘This certainly presents complications,’ he said.
‘I can’t have her in the office. You do understand?’
‘Hang on.’ Timon became formal. ‘There are rules and regulations, Rose.
I swallowed. ‘All right. But I won’t have her sitting in my office. She will have to go somewhere else.’
