The skin on Alice’s shoulders was burnt to a crisp: red raw and shiny. She shrieked when Hannah dabbed on after-sun lotion with the tip of her finger. ‘That hurts!’ she yelled, pulling away and grabbing the bottle. ‘I’ll do it myself.’
‘Well, if you’d listened to me yesterday, it wouldn’t have got this bad.’
Hannah hated the I told you so in her own voice, but how could Alice have been so stupid? The sun was blisteringly hot here, so much more powerful than at home – not that they saw much sun at home. But she knew it was partly her fault too: she’d seen her daughter was burning and tried to point it out, but should have insisted she cover up. How stupid to have let a fourteen-year-old take responsibility for herself like that.
Hannah was in no position to criticise: she remembered being just as foolish, as a pale teenager desperate for a tan. One afternoon, with A-levels looming and her life overshadowed by revision, she had lain in Regents Park, books spread out in front of her on the grass. For a while she watched the people sitting nearby, listening to the distant sounds of animals in the zoo, as the wind cooled her skin nicely in the hot sun. So nicely she didn’t notice the heat building up. By mid-afternoon she’d dozed off, and had only woken as the park started to empty and the roar of rush hour traffic encroached on the peace and quiet. As she rolled over and tried to stand up, she immediately realised how badly she was burnt. The backs of her calves and neck felt as if they were on fire, the skin unbearably tight and every movement sent stabbing pains down her legs. Walking slowly home, it seemed like the seared skin was about to rip itself from her bones.
By the time she got back she was in tears, in too much pain to be embarrassed when her mother had to peel her shorts off her legs inch by inch, before helping her into a bath of cool water.
‘You’ve given yourself first degree burns,’ the GP said disapprovingly the next day, after Jean helped her hobble down the road to the surgery.
Now Hannah could see the same agony on her own daughter’s face: a combination of pain and humiliation at having done something stupid. It didn’t help that Suzy’s tan had deepened during the course of yesterday afternoon. Her body was glowing and bronzed, and a smattering of freckles had appeared across the bridge of her nose, making her even prettier.
‘Leave me alone,’ hissed Alice, as Hannah watched her try to apply moisturiser. ‘Just go away.’
As they sat eating, there was a sudden clattering from the pool area, as if someone had thrown a sheet of metal onto the ground.
‘Is that the police back?’ asked Hannah.
‘Surely they would have knocked on the door?’ said Lizzie, getting up to investigate.
There was a clanking, then an engine roared into life behind the hedge, sounding like a motorbike at first, then settling into a thudding like a pneumatic drill.
Lizzie came back. ‘It’s the pool man. He’s opened that cupboard at the end and is doing something with the machinery – turning it all off, I suppose.’
‘I hope that’s not going to last long,’ shouted Nick above the roar.
It did. After a couple of minutes, they gave up on the idea of breakfast in the sun and moved everything indoors onto the kitchen table. Even there, the dull rattle was invasive. Suzy came downstairs, sulky at having been brutally woken up, and threw herself onto a bench, ignoring all attempts to engage her in conversation.
After a further five minutes, Marcus went to find out how long the noise would be going on. ‘He says he has to drain the pool using the pump, and there’s some other strange vacuum thing,’ he explained. ‘It’s going to take a while, because the level doesn’t seem to have gone down very far yet.’
‘Shall we get out of here, then?’ said Lizzie. ‘We were going to the market anyway, so let’s do it sooner rather than later.’
It was decided Marcus would take the girls and Lizzie first, drop them in town, then return for the others. Jimmy wasn’t happy at being called back from the field, but with the roaring coming from the swimming pool, Hannah had no desire to stay there with him and sit in the sun with her book.
‘Let’s start walking down the lane,’ suggested Nick as Marcus’s huge black car glided out of the drive. The pool man’s blue van had Piscines de Provence emblazoned on the side and, as they walked past it, Jimmy peered through the open rear doors. ‘He’s got lots of leaf picking-up things in there,’ he said. ‘Do you think he’d give me another one that I could use with my beetles?’
They had only gone a couple of hundred yards when they saw Marcus driving back towards them. ‘It’s not far at all,’ he said cheerfully, having struggled to turn the large car in the overgrown lane. ‘No idea where we’ll park though, the place is heaving.’
As she climbed into the back seat, Hannah wondered if Lizzie had told him about their conversation earlier. He didn’t seem as abrasive this morning, nowhere near as full of his own importance. But perhaps he was just relaxed after a good night’s sleep. He and Nick were talking about how they’d manage to find Lizzie and the girls when they got to the market, and Marcus barked with laughter when Nick suggested that, with any luck, they might only find Lizzie.
‘It would do Suzy good to get lost in a French town for a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘She’d actually have to speak some of that GCSE French that we’re paying so much to go in one ear and straight out of the other.’
He caught Hannah’s eye in the rear-view mirror and winked. She grinned back at him; he wasn’t all that bad really. She must try to be more tolerant.
As they approached St Julien de Vigny, it was obvious market day was a major local attraction. Cars were parked on the verges along both sides of the road and people were walking towards the town carrying empty bags and baskets. Marcus pulled up onto a space at the side and they started walking, along with everyone else.
Market stalls stretched the length of the main street, and there was no need for signs explaining it was temporarily pedestrianised, because no vehicle could have made it through the throng. On all sides were traders shouting and locals bartering down the price of cheese, bread and fresh vegetables. The tourists stood out a mile, with their brightly coloured clothes, impractical shoes and pale skin, and all around them they heard other English voices as people discovered souvenirs they couldn’t live without – from handmade jewellery and leather bags, to tablecloths and chunky pottery.
It was chaotic, but wonderful at the same time. Hannah grabbed Jimmy’s hand and pulled him close as they threaded their way between the stalls, surrounded by smells that were almost as overwhelming as the sounds. To one side an entire table was loaded with bulbous heads of garlic, the size of tennis balls, and further ahead they could see rows of chickens roasting on spits in an open oven. Alongside traders selling meat and olives, there were displays of fresh lavender: sprigs tied with purple ribbons, lined up in neat rows on tables.
They eventually bumped into Lizzie halfway down the main street, but she hadn’t seen the girls since they arrived. ‘They’re probably eyeing up the local talent,’ she said. ‘There are a lot of gorgeous French boys wandering around.’
Marcus bought two roast chickens for lunch, and Nick handed over some coins in exchange for several crimson tomatoes the size of grapefruits thrown carelessly into a paper bag by a man with a cigarette hanging off his lower lip.
Jimmy, wide-eyed with amazement at everything they came across, dragged Hannah to look at a stall surrounded by metal cages. Dozens of tiny birds flapped and fluttered between the bars, their feathers a dazzling array of colour: blue, red, yellow, green, flashes of purple. Other tourists standing nearby were clearly entranced by the birdsong, but to Hannah the agitated cheeping sounded desperate; she longed to open the cages and let them soar above the market into the intense blue sky.
‘Can we buy some?’ asked Jimmy, turning to look up at her, his face glowing with excitement. ‘I could keep them in my bedroom, and when I’m at school they could fly around until I got home again.’
Hannah shook her head, smiling. ‘You know we can’t. How would we get them home?’
His brow creased as he thought. ‘We could put them in those high cupboards on the plane, the ones where you put my backpack and the plastic bag with your drink in. It would be nice and dark so they could have a sleep.’
After nearly an hour, they headed to the main square and commandeered an area outside one of the many cafés, where inside space spilled effortlessly out onto the pavements in a jumble of tables and chairs. They ordered coffee, with an orange juice for Jimmy, and Lizzie tried again to text Suzy. ‘No idea where they’ve got to,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit irresponsible really.’
Hannah turned to Nick and rested her fingers on his forearm. ‘How was Alice earlier?’ she asked quietly.
‘She was okay.’ He nodded. ‘Just a bit raw, like we all are. I think she’s been trying not to think about it, and she was shocked to see you crying.’
Hannah sighed. ‘I was shocked myself.’
‘It’s good we’re here,’ he said. ‘We all need some distance.’
‘Are you managing to put it out of your mind?’ she asked.
He smiled ruefully. ‘I’m only thinking about it a couple of times an hour – which is an improvement on constantly.’
‘Oh, Nick.’ She ran the tips of her fingers across his warm arm, where the freckles were already blending in with the bronzing skin.
‘Here they are!’ bellowed Marcus.
The girls were walking towards them across the square. Suzy was wearing a white crop top and a pair of orange shorts, so tight they looked as if they were cutting into the tops of her thighs. Hannah noticed a silver stud protruding from her exposed belly button.
‘God, when did she get that done?’ she asked Lizzie.
‘I know – I hate it. I said she couldn’t, but she went ahead and did it anyway.’
Alice was wearing the new sundress she’d got in Primark. It was pretty, and she’d been delighted when they bought it. But it hung down to her knees and the straps across the shoulders were wide; beside her voluptuous, scantily clad cousin she clearly felt over-dressed and drab. She scowled at Hannah as they pulled out chairs and sat down. Her face and shoulders were scarlet, and she radiated anger as well as heat.
‘Where have you been?’ asked Marcus. ‘Eyeing up the local talent? Tracking down les jeunes hommes?’
Suzy rolled her eyes. ‘Dad, you are so sad.’
He guffawed loudly and clicked his fingers to attract the attention of a waiter.
‘Don’t do that!’ hissed Suzy. ‘It’s really condescending!’
‘Deux Coca-Colas, mon ami, s’il vous plait, pour ces belles jeunes dames.’
The waiter looked at him disparagingly and walked away without acknowledging whether or not he intended to fulfil the order.
‘Lighten up, ladies,’ Marcus said. ‘Don’t take yourselves so seriously.’
He was beginning to get on Hannah’s nerves again; his half decent behaviour earlier must have been a temporary blip. Why on earth had their mother been so fond of this man? Lizzie had met him when she left university, and from the first time she brought him home it was obvious – to Hannah at least – that there was an element of hero-worship involved. Lizzie was quiet, self-effacing; when she gazed at Marcus in those early days, she seemed transfixed, in awe of him. She laughed at his jokes, listened attentively to his explanations, asked his opinion when she doubted her own.
‘Everyone does that with a new boyfriend,’ her friend had insisted, when Hannah had a moan about it later. ‘You’re reading too much into it.’
But it had still seemed excessive to Hannah. And, even if she acknowledged her little sister was in love, that didn’t explain why Jean accepted him so readily. She had been a bright woman, independent enough to have brought up two daughters on her own, and capable of much more than she’d ever had the chance of achieving. Surely, she should have seen through a blustering, arrogant man like Marcus?
‘Suzy, those shorts are far too tight,’ Lizzie was saying. ‘They don’t leave anything to the imagination. Where did you get them? I don’t remember seeing them before.’
With hindsight, Hannah realised the way Jean had reacted probably wasn’t about Marcus, so much as about Lizzie. The favourite daughter had married a man who was a bit of a pompous ass, with a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and unable to stop himself offering an opinion on everything and anything. But Lizzie was still the favourite daughter, and if she loved Marcus, then so would Jean. She had welcomed him into the family with her habitual charm and warmth and never given any indication that she was anything other than thrilled that this man had whisked her daughter off her feet.
But then along came Nick, and as he quickly became a permanent fixture in Hannah’s life, she felt the unfairness of it all even more keenly. Marcus was the one who made Jean laugh, the one whose infrequent visits were anticipated and enjoyed so much. He would sit back in the large crimson armchair in her front room, legs outstretched, a glass of Scotch balanced on the arm beside him, while she fluttered around, fetching him a bowl of crisps, showing him the frames she’d bought for the latest school photos of Ben and Suzy.
‘I bet you’ve been working hard, Marcus,’ she’d say. ‘Your job does sound so stressful.’
It didn’t matter that Nick worked equally long hours. Or that he was kind, considerate and always on-hand to do odd jobs or running repairs. He was the son-in-law who popped in on his way home in the evenings, to mend a cupboard door or retune the telly when the aerial blew over in a storm. He was the one who spent hours tinkering with Jean’s temperamental lawnmower so he could take the top inch off the grass in front of the house for her. It was Nick, not Marcus, who pored over her bank statements and piles of disorderly credit card receipts, filling in her tax returns and sending off the relevant forms when her TV licence needed to be renewed or an insurance premium needed paying.
Jean had loved Nick, Hannah knew that; she just never seemed to love him quite as much as she loved Marcus. In the same way that she hadn’t loved her eldest daughter quite as much as the younger one.
‘Bloody lazy Frenchman!’ Marcus was saying now, leaning back in his chair and waving towards the back of the café to attract the waiter’s attention. ‘Is he going to bring those drinks out or do I have to go and pour them myself?’
‘He’s probably ignoring you because you were so rude,’ said Suzy.
‘Why was I rude? I just asked him to bring drinks for you girls – it’s his job for God’s sake!’
‘Did you buy anything, Alice?’ asked Hannah.
The girl glared at her. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, maybe some clothes or presents for your friends? There are loads of gifts on those stalls and you’ve got that spending money we gave you.’
‘Oh yes, great – twenty euros. That will go far,’ Alice retorted sarcastically, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glowering down at the table.
Hannah was speechless. When she’d handed Alice a twenty-euro note at Heathrow, it had been received with thanks and appreciation. After less than twenty-four hours in Suzy’s company, her daughter had undergone a personality transplant, with all warmth and affection replaced by antagonism and resentment.
Hannah was tempted to say something equally sharp in reply, but forced herself to stay silent. This was going to be a long week.
‘Pourquoi attendons-nous?’ said Marcus loudly.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Alice.
‘It means why are we still waiting for those drinks.’
‘Where did you learn to speak French, Marcus?’ asked Nick. ‘I had no idea you were such a linguist. To me you sound almost fluent.’
‘Lived in Paris when I was younger,’ he said. ‘My misspent youth.’
‘He had a French girlfriend,’ said Lizzie. ‘The love of his life before me.’
‘Totally overshadowed by you, my sweet,’ he said, reaching out to grab her hand. ‘I met this girl when I was doing my A-levels. She was over in the UK studying, and afterwards I went back and lived with her in Paris for two years.’
‘Two years! Wow that must have been serious?’
‘Not really, I was young. But it was good for my French, spoke it like a native when I went back to London. Although it’s rusty now.’
Still better than mine, thought Hannah, somewhat reassured that she couldn’t be expected to speak a foreign language as well as someone who had lived there.
When the waiter eventually arrived with the Cokes, the girls finished them quickly; as they all got up from the table Marcus slapped down a couple of notes, waving away Nick, who was taking money out of his wallet.
‘No, no, this one’s on me,’ he insisted.
‘Let me contribute,’ said Nick.
‘Marcus!’ said Lizzie. ‘Maybe we should split everything down the middle?’
‘Won’t hear of it! Right, come on, everyone, back into the fray. I don’t think we’ve been down that side street over there?’
As they followed him through the crowds in a haphazard crocodile, Nick put his wallet back into his pocket. ‘That was good of him.’
‘Yes, but we can’t let him do it all the time,’ said Hannah. ‘Lizzie clearly didn’t want him to foot the bill. I know they think we’re the poor relations but we must contribute.’
‘We will, don’t make a big deal out of it,’ said Nick. ‘I’ll pay next time.’