Silva didn’t want to wear jeans but she didn’t have much choice, not with her legs looking as if she’d been attacked by a spray gun full of red paint. No way could she let anyone see them. So – here was a fabulous warm evening with the sun still blazing on the pool terrace and she had to swelter in denim. It was that or her flowery maxi-dress, but that would look a bit too try-hard. That Lola would probably say something snide, like asking whose wedding she was on her way to be a bridesmaid at.
She’d put masses of after-sun on all the red skin but it was getting sore all the same, kind of crackly and itchy at the same time. She’d even let Harriet rub some freezing cold cream on her back, but only after she’d made her promise not to tell Miranda how bad it was. She hoped her skin wouldn’t all peel off. If that happened you were back to the beginning but even more extra-delicate. She should have just got a fake tan like Willow had before she’d gone to Florida. Willow and her mum had gone to You’re Gorgeous! and had full-on spray tan, mani-pedi and a max-wax. ‘It’s like the most agony ever,’ Willow had said about the waxing after she’d told Silva in horrible detail just where on her body she’d been defoliated. ‘And you have to keep doing it for the rest of like your actual life.’ Something to look forward to then, Silva thought now as she plundered the drawer in which she kept her T-shirts in search of the perfect long pink one. She pulled it on and went into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror and make sure that what she was looking at – now that she’d put on a bit of soft grey eyeshadow and enough mascara to make her eyelids droop – was not some child. She leaned far forward so her head was down by her knees and brushed her hair downwards so it flapped against her legs, then flicked it back again to max up the fluffiness. The result pleased her and she was aware, for a weird few moments that made her hold her breath, that this was one of those moments of big change. This time last year she’d been hardly any different from herself at eight, playing rounders on a French beach with her other aunt, Amy, and some random kids, giving no thought to anything but the here and now, not even considering that she might not always be a child: the future just didn’t exist. But today she looked different. No longer a little girl – and it wasn’t just that she was getting tall and was curvier. And it wasn’t just for this evening either, not really. This was more a practice run for the rest of the holiday and then the rest of her life. One thing was clear. No way, next time she ran into him, was the Jules boy going to be thinking of her as the little Hello Kitty girl.
Miranda was surprised how twitchy she felt in the moments before Jess and the others were due to arrive. And Andrew and his family were coming. Jess had called and told Clare while Miranda was in the shower. She’d had a few moments of thinking she must have been mad to invite them all, but knew deep down that it would be fine. Gentle, shy Andrew could hardly have grown up to be a total monster and there was masses of food, as Harriet was one of life’s generous over-caterers and had bought enough to feed half the village.
‘You’re faffing, Miranda. Surely you’re not feeling nervous, are you, darling?’ Clare asked as Miranda kept tweaking at things on the long wooden garden table beside the pool, moving glasses, straightening forks, counting plates, washing a big pebble to hold down the heap of paper napkins.
‘Not nervous, not really. OK, maybe a tiny bit. It’s fine being with Jess again – that’s easy, and we were good mates years ago – but Andrew … he was quite odd in some ways. I wonder what he’s like now? He might have gone in for extreme politics or joined a religious sect for all I know. Could be really, y’know, interesting, but there is the outside chance it won’t be interesting in a good way.’
‘Well, I always liked him, and he’s probably just as lovely as he always was,’ Clare said, ‘And I’m sure he’ll be perfectly normal. At the worst he might be a bit dull, but in the grand scheme of things we can put up with more or less anything in life for a few hours, so you’ve no need to fret about it.’
‘I’m not fretting. It’s fine.’ Miranda felt a bit sulky. Was her mother telling her off? How old did you have to be before that stopped happening? Clare seemed quite twitchy herself, actually, and was already halfway down a glass of red wine. Miranda poured herself some Pinot Grigio, deciding a sharpener might be a relaxing thing and would stop her thinking about that surprisingly wicked smile Steve had given her as he left. Before that moment he’d been almost hostile. Maybe it was the sight of the gorgeous Harriet that had cheered him up. She topped up the wine with fizzy water as a sense of responsibility kicked in. It would be hugely bad manners to drink too fast and end up slurring over her guests. The thing he’d said had puzzled her too. Working it out, it seemed to mean he was actually the owner of the house. How bizarre was that? Or did he mean something else completely? She’d have to find out. Asking him was the obvious route to information, but the chances were he wouldn’t want to see her again, let alone have a proper conversation with her.
‘Mum?’ Silva was calling down the terrace steps. ‘There are people coming up the lane. Looks like loads of them.’
‘Thanks, Silva. And can you give your brother a shout? He’s probably in front of the telly or on my computer or something. I think he’s only really happy when he’s completely still.’
‘Will do.’ Silva ran in through the kitchen doors, shouting for Bo.
‘Did you notice? Silva’s looking different. Older, suddenly,’ Clare commented, staring up at the now-empty terrace. ‘She’s got make-up on and her hair is all shooshy. She’s growing up.’ She sounded almost surprised.
‘She’s all right. She’s just making a bit of an effort, that’s all. And I can remember that early teenage stage. You’re neither one thing nor the other. I expect she’s just trying to keep up with Lola.’
‘All the same, she’s not usually one for make-up, is she? And thirteen?’
Miranda gave the hot barbecue coals a cross prodding. ‘Mum, it’s her choice and I’m not going to pick fights with her over things that don’t really matter. I’m saving that for later, like making sure she never gets into a dodgy minicab and so on. It’s not as if she’s plastered in the stuff. All her friends wear it – she can’t help being the youngest in her year group and feeling the need to keep up. Anyway, hey look, they’ve arrived.’
And there, suddenly as if twenty years hadn’t passed, were Eliot, Jessica and Andrew, along with Lola plus the large woman Jess had presumed was Andrew’s wife and a tallish sliver of a boy who was the image of the younger Andrew but with longer and floppier hair than either Andrew’s mother or the quasi-military powers-that-be at his old boarding school had ever allowed him to have. Miranda waited as Andrew loped towards her and then reached out to hug him. He seemed a bit bewildered by this and was tentative about where to put his hands as she kissed him on each cheek, so he held them out to the side as if surrendering to a gunman in a bad Western movie.
‘Andrew, you look exactly the same as you did all those summers ago!’ she said, stepping back to get a proper look. He seemed taller than she remembered. He must have shot up by a few more fast inches between being seventeen and fully adult. He still looked as if his mother dressed him, too, as he was wearing a navy blazer with brass buttons, the sort his own father had worn, and she guessed it was more M&S than Paul Smith.
‘You look … um … just like you,’ he managed to say at last, smiling shyly and showing the perfect teeth that had taken eighteen months of painful brace-wearing to achieve. ‘And this is …’ He ushered the boy forward but the woman with them stepped in front and got in first, holding out a plump hand to Miranda.
‘I’m Geraldine. Please don’t call me Gerry,’ she said, smiling but clearly not joking. She had the over-posh voice of a headmistress who had once met and much admired a fierce duchess. ‘So kind of you to have us all here like this. And you on holiday as well. It looks as though it’s been lot of work for you.’ She sniffed at the air and frowned. ‘Of course, barbecues aren’t ideal. Shockingly carcinogenic; did you know that? They should be made illegal if you want my opinion.’ She was peering past Miranda to where the food was set up ready to cook and the salads were out on the long table, still under cling-film to keep the bugs off. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed. What was she doing, Miranda wondered. Calculating portion sizes from across the pool?
‘Not such hard work really; it’s just simple stuff,’ Miranda said, deciding she’d avoid the issue of barbecue safety. ‘When we came back to the village I never imagined for a minute I’d find old friends here. It’s all pretty exciting. Now – drinks? Can I get you some wine? And I’ll introduce you to my crew.’
‘I’ll sort some drinks for everyone,’ Harriet volunteered, steering the teenagers in the direction of the table and telling them in a bossy aunt voice not even to think about alcohol. Lola was scowling at this but moving close to Bo. Andrew was gazing at Harriet and her long brown legs in a wide-eyed way Miranda recognized from years before. She caught Jess’s eye and they both giggled, remembering.
Luckily the young ones seemed already to be circling in that unsure way animals do before deciding whether they can trust each other. They’d find something to say eventually, and as Harriet handed out Cokes they started to look a bit more comfortable. Freddie, son of Andrew, was eyeing Silva and looking as if there was something he desperately wanted to say. Miranda hoped he’d find the words soon, as he looked as if he might collapse from shyness. Eventually she overheard him blurt out, ‘You were in that shop.’
Silva said, ‘Yeah. I remember.’ Then both of them stared at the pool and went embarrassed and silent. All would be well, Miranda thought as she put bowls of bread on the table, all would be well in time.
Geraldine drifted across to have a closer look at the food while Andrew was meeting Harriet, Bo and Silva. She didn’t seem, Miranda thought, interested in any of the humans.
‘I hope there are no nuts in the salads,’ Geraldine barked. She picked up a fork, peeled back a piece of cling-film and prodded at Harriet’s couscous. ‘Freddie reacts to nuts.’
‘No I don’t,’ he grunted, going pink.
‘You do.’
‘Once. I choked on a peanut. Own fault. Not an allergy. And it was once,’ he said to Bo, who nodded sympathetically.
‘Shall I get you a plate?’ Harriet asked Geraldine, looking miffed at having her cuisine questioned.
‘Not yet. But you’ll understand I did have to check.’
‘You only have to ask,’ Clare told her.
Miranda poked at the barbecue coals again to see if they were hot enough. She hadn’t planned to start cooking immediately because she wanted them all to take time to catch up and get to know each other a bit. Mingling, circulating, all the words that she associated with the kind of very grown-up parties her parents’ generation had had, not the more casual suppers she and her own friends back home liked. Now she thought it seemed best to get it all under way. With plenty of food and drink on the go, perhaps they’d loosen up a bit, especially the teen boys who were doing that half-hunched thing with hands in pockets and shoulders rounded as if trying to protect their bodies.
‘You OK with this?’ Jess half-whispered. ‘What do you think of the terrifying Geraldine?’
‘Terrifying’s about right. I thought she was going to plunge a fat fist into Harrie’s salad. Why? And what’s she doing with poor Andrew? How did that ever happen? She embarrassed that sweet boy!’
‘She’s not doing a lot, that I found out this afternoon. They aren’t married or even together; they just somehow produced Freddie. My guess is it was an accident, possibly even a one-off. Or one-orf as Geraldine would say.’
‘I know. And I’m trying really, really hard not to.’
They laughed. Miranda gave Jess a quick hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I thought so much about you and us all before we came down here. Now it seems kind of meant.’
‘Have you seen Steve?’ Jess asked, giving her a beady look.
‘Um – briefly. He brought the prawns up from the shop. He looks, y’know, quite good. He looks very well, I mean.’
‘You’ve gone pink.’
‘I so have not. It’s the sun,’ Miranda said. ‘We were only kids at the time, don’t forget. Just a long-ago holiday fling. Come on, you can help me with the barbie. Let’s get these people fed. Bo, could you light the citrus candles, please? They’ll fend off the mosquitoes.’ She should probably have bought dozens of them. One tiny bite and Geraldine would probably be round accusing her of giving her malaria.
‘I like your hair. Suits you all fluffed up.’ A compliment was about the last thing Silva expected to hear from Lola and she looked at her for a moment, half expecting there to be a ‘but’ to follow.
‘Thanks,’ she said after a few moments, realizing that Lola seemed to mean it.
‘Which shop did you see Freddie in?’ Lola went on. ‘I heard him say earlier that he’d seen you.’
‘Across at St Piran. The surf place. He was in there with his dad.’ She immediately felt tense at the thought of Jules whipping the changing room curtain back. At the risk of being teased ever after, she told Lola about it, laughing about being caught in her Hello Kitty knickers.
‘That’ll be why Freddie keeps looking at you. He’s seeing through your clothes to your underwear, in hope. Oh, and the Jules boy, I know him. He fancies himself more than he fancies anyone else so I wouldn’t bother having any ideas about him.’
Silva laughed. ‘I don’t think about him at all,’ she said, crossing her fingers in case the god of teenage lies sent her a thunderbolt.
‘Good. You’re way too young anyway,’ Lola said, turning her attention to her food. Silva chewed on a piece of garlic bread and wondered if she’d been warned off. If so, she felt quite flattered that Lola, who must be about fifteen, would think Silva was potential competition at two whole years younger.
‘I was sorry to hear about Jack,’ Eliot said to Clare a bit later. He was sitting next to her at the grown-ups’ end of the long table.
‘Thank you,’ Clare said, then added, ‘Sorry, I always think that sounds such a ridiculous response. I don’t know why people always say “thank you” when someone says they’re sorry about a death. I mean, what are they being thankful for?’
Eliot smiled. ‘Sure, you know, it’s just a tradition, isn’t it? The ritual of acknowledging the passing. And besides, I am sorry he’s gone. He was a top bloke. I liked him. I would have liked to see him here again.’
‘Ah, but if he was still alive we wouldn’t be here. We’ve come back to …’ She hesitated and took a deep breath, determined not to get all tearful here at the table and embarrass herself and Eliot. ‘We came to scatter his ashes on the sea. He loved it here, and that was what he wanted. I think he couldn’t quite bear to come back once we’d sold the cottage, even though that had been his idea in the first place.’
To her surprise, beneath the table Eliot took her hand and squeezed it tight. ‘So that’s why you’re here in my old house,’ he said, looking dolefully at her. ‘And there was me thinking you’d come to seek me out after all this time.’
‘Well you’re in my house!’ she said, laughing at his face full of pretend disappointment and feeling grateful to him for lifting her mood. ‘And I had no idea you’d be here. Though …’ and she squeezed his hand in return, ‘I am glad you are. You’re looking in great nick.’
‘Better than you expected, you mean!’ he chuckled. ‘Don’t be shy of saying it, now. It’s the truth. And I look better than I deserve considering I was drinking myself to the grave. I cut the whiskey. There was one episode too far when I fell down the steps getting off a plane in Dublin.’
‘But you haven’t given up drinking completely,’ she said, watching as he picked up his wine glass.
‘No. Just the amber glory. I stopped it before it stopped me. I had my lifetime’s allocation all in a few short years, but it’s over. I like a glass or two of wine, the odd beer, and I don’t smoke any more. Unlike some.’ He nodded across the table to where Geraldine was pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her bag. She put them on the table and looked around.
‘Freddie – not the bread!’ she called along to the far end where he and the other young ones were sitting together. ‘You know how you bloat!’
To their credit, none of his companions so much as sniggered. Silva even gave Geraldine one of her moodiest glares.
‘Hey, give him a break!’ Jess said. ‘It’s only a bit of garlic bread. How much can it hurt? He can’t be allergic or he wouldn’t touch it, would he?’
‘I do know my son,’ Geraldine told her firmly. ‘And it’s just as well I’m here. I knew I wouldn’t be able to trust Andrew to have him to stay here on his own as he wanted. It’s a bit of an experiment and not one that’s likely to work if he doesn’t keep a closer eye on the boy.’
‘How old is he?’ Harriet asked.
‘How old?’ She looked across at Andrew, who looked alarmed. ‘About thirty-seven, I think. Why do you ask? I doubt he’s your type.’ She looked Harriet up and down with disapproval.
Harriet giggled. ‘I meant Freddie.’
‘Oh, he’s nearly sixteen. A dangerous age for a boy. If they’re going to drift to the bad, that’ll be the age they start. You have to keep a very close eye. By which I mean …’ she gave a stern look down to the far end of the table where Bo was using his fingers to feed a prawn into Lola’s mouth, which was prettily upturned like a kitten accepting a treat, ‘you have to keep a very close eye on who they mix with.’ She picked up her cigarettes and lighter and said to Miranda, ‘Do excuse me. I’ll just go and find the facilities.’
‘Through the top terrace doors, into the hallway and behind the stairs,’ Miranda called after her. Geraldine didn’t reply and Miranda guessed she’d prefer not to have been told, so she could have a good nosy around the house.
‘I hardly dare ask this, Andrew,’ Miranda turned to him, ‘but I just wondered about your parents. Are they … all right?’
‘Depends what you call all right,’ he said, looking pensive. ‘Mum got into computers down at the library and went off to live with someone she’d found online that she used to know at school. Dad’s well enough, still mad on golf, but he’s joined a sort of holiday club and keeps going off to Spain for months at a time with a load of old women who fuss over him.’
‘Wow! Go Celia! Who’d have seen that one coming?’ Eliot, across from them, was chuckling delightedly. ‘So what’s he like, this bloke she’s shacked up with?’
‘He’s a woman actually,’ Andrew said. ‘Quite nice. She rides a Harley-Davidson and she’s got every single Elvis record ever.’
‘So you’re OK about that?’ Clare asked. ‘That’s good.’ She tried to picture prim Celia, who must be at least seventy-five now, on the back of a Harley, wearing biker leathers. Celia had collected china cats, always wore Jaeger and would faint if anyone swore in her hearing. Clare, failing quite a lot with the imagined transformation, extended her vision to one of Celia and her partner pulling up at the Ace Café on the North Circular for strong tea and a full-on fry-up breakfast, but it was barely possible. Celia had been a scones (pronounced to rhyme with stones) and crustless cucumber sandwich woman through and through.
‘Oh, yes. But they want to sell the cottage here, which is why I’m down. I need to see what the local market is like, get a feel for the prices at ground level.’ He blushed. ‘It’s what I do, you see. Estate agent.’
Geraldine returned from the loo and stamped across the terrace towards the table. ‘I see you’ve got a microwave in that kitchen,’ she announced. ‘I wouldn’t have one if you paid me. It’s like having a nuclear waste dump in your home.’ She settled herself at the table and lit a cigarette.
‘We’re only renting the place for three weeks,’ Clare reminded her. ‘We can hardly start taking the kitchen apart.’
‘I’d want a refund, for the danger,’ Geraldine said, adding, ‘You don’t mind if I smoke, do you? I don’t see anyone still eating.’
‘Er … well …’ Clare glared at her. ‘Maybe not at the table?’
‘Oh, we’re out of doors. It’ll disperse.’ Geraldine inhaled deeply.
Suddenly through the dusk there was flash from a camera and Harriet jumped up so fast she knocked her chair over. She screamed and flung a pink napkin over her face. ‘No photographs! Get OUT!’ she shrieked. Miranda got up quickly and moved towards the culprit, who was aiming his phone at the table, ready to take another shot.
‘What the hell are you doing? Who are you?’ Miranda demanded.
‘Harrie, babe? Come on, be nice now,’ the young man said, pushing past Miranda.
‘Oh my God, it’s Pablo Palmer!’ Freddie said. ‘Pablo Palmer, here!’
‘Who? Who is this young man?’ Geraldine demanded crossly.
‘A footballer. Scumbag. Harriet’s ex,’ Silva told her.
Geraldine’s eyes lit up with interest. ‘Oh really? Golly, how delightfully vulgar.’
Harriet took the napkin away from her face and glared at the newcomer while at the same time smoothing her hair down and making her mouth go prettily pouty.
‘So, you gonna introduce me then, babes?’ he said, smiling round at everyone.
Miranda looked at Harriet. ‘Do you want him to stay or to go?’
‘Go.’ She turned to Pablo. ‘You’re a lousy bastard. I never want to see you ever again.’
‘You heard her.’ Eliot stood up and approached them. Miranda thought this pretty brave, seeing as Pablo was well over six feet and as fit as only a player in the premier division of any sport can be. Andrew hovered by the table, half out of his seat but looking wary of getting involved. Sensible man, Miranda considered.
‘No way. She doesn’t want me to go really, do you? I’ve missed you, baby,’ he said, moving close to take Harriet in his arms. She resisted for a moment but then settled against his body, just as another camera flash cut through the dusk. She pulled away quickly.
‘What the fuck …? What’s going on, Pablo?’
‘Oh, this is my good friend Duncan. He drove me down here. Say hello, Duncan.’
Duncan’s camera looked a lot more professional. ‘Hope you don’t mind,’ he said to Miranda, ‘just couldn’t resist that lovely reconciliation. Sorry to intrude on your party.’
‘Yeah, but hey, it’s worth it,’ Pablo said. ‘I came all this way because I needed my little Harrie-babes back and I couldn’t wait.’
Harriet looked at him for a few minutes, then went and stood next to Clare. ‘No. Just for a second you nearly got me there. But I was right first time. You’re up to something and I don’t trust you. Just go away. Please.’