In the kitchen, Ant was reading the Daily Mail on his iPad.
‘Look what Sarah made,’ I said, showing him the flower.
‘That’s cool,’ he replied, barely glancing up from the screen.
‘Coffee?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Coffee would be good. So what did your big butch sister have to say for herself?’
‘Oh, not much,’ I told him. ‘She wants to become Italian. That’s the latest thing.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘She’s going to apply for Italian nationality,’ I explained. ‘Something to do with Brexit and her job.’
‘Right,’ Ant said disinterestedly. ‘Fair enough.’ He was clearly far more interested in the article he was reading than anything Kerry had had to say.
I crossed to the coffee maker and switched it on, then slipped in a capsule, and as I waited for the ‘ready’ light to come on, I licked my lips, turning the words over in my mind, trying them out for size.
It felt for some reason as if I’d reached a fork in the road. It seemed as if the slightest nudge could send me off down a different track, and that the repercussions on my destiny could be major. I was struck by a sense of foreboding that made me hesitate. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it silently. I opened it to speak again, but then failed for the second time to make a sound.
‘Kerry thinks—’ I finally managed, but just at that moment, Ant’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and said, ‘Christ! They’re keen.’
‘Who’s keen?’ I asked. I was assuming it was going to be about work.
‘Joe,’ Ant said.
‘Oh? What does he say?’
‘He’s asking if we’ve had any more thoughts about Spain,’ Ant said. ‘Because otherwise Amy’s going to invite someone else. Reading between the lines, I don’t think Joe’s that keen on whoever she’s got in mind.’
‘Ah, right,’ I said, my finger hesitating over the coffee button. ‘And have we? Had any thoughts, I mean?’
Ant shrugged. ‘You gonna make that coffee or not?’ he asked.
So I pressed the button and the machine lurched into action.
‘I suppose it might be better than hanging around here,’ he said, as the coffee maker buzzed and the brown liquid dripped into the cup.
‘Really?’ I said with consternation. ‘Gosh. Then maybe we could, um . . . What would you think about us going on our own?’
‘On our own?’
‘Yes.’
‘To Spain?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I mean, there’s no reason we have to go with them, is there? And we could always go away with them later, when we know them better. I’d still like to go to Spain and get some sunshine, but just maybe not with them.’
‘Speak Spanish, do you?’ Ant asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, you know I don’t, but I don’t think we nec—’
‘Amy does,’ he said, interrupting me. ‘She’s fluent, apparently.’
‘Does she?’ I said. I had no recollection of any discussion about that subject.
‘So it would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Plus, they’ve got the house booked and everything’s sorted. I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘You’re actually thinking of saying yes, then?’ I said, so shocked I had frozen with Ant’s coffee cup in my hand.
Ant shrugged again. ‘Why not?’ he said, reaching out for it. ‘What have we got to lose?’
As things turned out, getting passports for the whole family was devilishly complicated, and as not one of us had ever had one before, and because we needed them all at the same time, the process required multiple trips up to London.
At the first meeting they’d warned Ant that it would take up to six weeks to complete the process, and though, in the end, it took five, we were unable to book the same flights as Joe and Amy, who were flying at the beginning of August.
But to be honest, leaving later suited me better. Though we’d seen them four more times before they’d left, even spending a pleasant afternoon around their pool, I was still feeling a bit nervous about the intimacy of sharing a house with them. Avoiding travelling with them on top of everything else seemed like a plus to me, despite the stress of having to deal with all the travel arrangements alone.
Flying for the first time was an amazing experience. I had butterflies in my stomach all morning, and when the plane finally left the tarmac I couldn’t help but break out in a crazy grin. I almost cried, if I’m telling the truth. I was flying, like a bird! And we were on our way to Spain!
The girls took the whole thing in their stride, chattering and fidgeting excitedly throughout – kids are so adaptable at that age, nothing fazes them – while Ant looked pale and stared rigidly at the advert-covered headrest in front of him. As we’d got up at 1.30 a.m. to make our flight and as Ant had never been a morning person, I couldn’t tell if he was scared or sick, or just tired. But as he would rather have died than ever admit to any of those, I simply left him to his own devices.
By the time we stepped off the plane, it was eleven in the morning, local time. The temperature, the pilot said, was thirty-six degrees.
Now, we’d had quite the heatwave back home just before we left, with temperatures reaching a sultry thirty-five. But this – this thirty-six degrees in Malaga – was a completely different kettle of fish. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced, and by the time I reached the bottom of the steps, I was soaked.
‘Can this really be just thirty-six?’ I asked Ant as we crossed the tarmac towards the bus.
‘It’s the humidity,’ a stranger beside us said. ‘It’s a hundred per cent today.’
‘It’s like a bloody sauna,’ Ant replied. ‘I hope it’s not gonna be like this the whole time.’
I found passport control unreasonably stressful and, despite the air
