Escape to the French Riviera

Chapter Two

Despite being a fifty-year-old mother, I have never managed to assert any authority over Jasmine and Poppy, no matter how hard I try. If they ask me for money, they get it. If they insist I pick them up from somewhere late at night, I go. The problem with wanting to keep my daughters safe and happy is that sometimes I feel like I have created monsters.

Before they both came back from uni for the Easter break, I couldn’t wait to have them home. Now, as they throw their clothes all over the living room and dirty the kitchen with their pans from boiling penne pasta for breakfast, my nerves are a little frayed. Clearly, my perimenopausal hormones are clashing with their youthful oestrogen levels and I am struggling to stay calm. It makes me realise how much I need a holiday.

Having them home creating chaos means I was kidding myself if I thought I’d have any chance of starting the first chapter of my book. Although, to be fair, maybe that isn’t all on them. Right now, I will take any excuse not to start writing. My creativity is still being held back no matter how hard I try to concentrate. However, there is no way I am getting anything done with the noise levels these two are making and so I decide to use them being here to my advantage. I ask the girls about dating to see if they can provide me with any inspiration for my novel.

‘Well, a friend of mine did meet this gorgeous guy on a dating app,’ says Poppy.

‘Okay, and did they have a happy ever after?’ I ask.

‘Oh no, he kept bailing on her, writing her messages over and over saying he was just off to his sister’s birthday party. It was obvs an excuse. I mean, how many birthdays can one person have in three weeks?’

‘What if he had a few sisters and they were all born in the same week?’ I ask.

‘Oh, Mam. You’re so gullible.’

‘I’m not gullible.’

‘Yes, you are. Remember when you believed that April Fools about towels being banned on the beach, and you started a petition to stop the council from allowing the ban?’

‘All right. Well, I thought it was ludicrous, which is why I wanted to start a petition. Anyway, that was a long time ago, and I didn’t remember it was the first of April. You know what I’m like with dates,’ I sigh.

This is pointless. What if all men are cheats? Is there anyone decent out there any more? Should I really be trying to write a romance?

‘Jasmine, can you come up with something better for me?’

Jasmine hasn’t been listening to a word as she is too busy on her TikTok account. She looks at me as if I have just landed from the moon.

‘Huh?’

‘I’m trying to write a book and need some inspiration. Any ideas about boy stuff?’

‘Boy stuff?’

‘Yeah. Boy stuff.’

‘I’m not in junior school, Mam. No. Sorry, no ideas.’

‘Okay, well, I’ll just have to go on my girlie trip and get some inspiration then.’

‘You’re not going to that health spa we always wanted to go to, are you, Mam? Please don’t go without taking us. It’d be lovely to have mam and daughter spa time, don’t you think?’ says Poppy.

‘That would be lovely, my darling girl, but, no, I promise I’d never go there without you. We’re thinking Monaco, possibly.’

The mention of this is enough for Jasmine to put her phone down.

‘Monaco?’ She looks at me in disbelief. ‘Monaco?’ she repeats.

‘Yes, that’s right. Soraya’s fiftieth. I’ve been invited along, and it’s all paid for.’

‘Can I come?’ says Poppy.

‘What do you want to hang around fifty-year-olds on holiday for? Oh, my gawd, I can’t even imagine. Ew,’ says Jasmine.

‘That’s very rude, Jasmine. Besides, we wouldn’t want you cramping our style, thank you,’ I say.

‘When are you going, Mam?’ asks Poppy.

‘Around May bank holiday.’

‘Oh no. You can’t go then. I was planning on coming back for the bank holiday,’ says Jasmine.

I can’t help but think that if I was here then she would probably decide to spend the long weekend with her friends at the last minute, and I’d be left alone.

If Jasmine doesn’t want me to go, then this might just make me want to head off even more. Just like her dad, she is always wanting things her way. She is definitely a daddy’s girl.

‘It’s just something we’re talking about.’

‘Oh right, you know we’ll miss you if you go away. And Dad will.’

‘Dad? Why should he miss me? He’s busy with his own stuff.’

I don’t say that stuff is mostly Jess, the latest woman he met a few months ago. Although I am beginning to wonder how that relationship is going. Lately, he’s been popping over with any excuse. Just the other week, he came over on the pretence he wanted to borrow a screwdriver.

I am beginning to get the feeling that Michael regrets his former choices as he is trying to make conversation with me over anything. If he can’t get hold of Poppy when he knows she is in a lecture, he even messages me to see if I have heard from her. He has been acting very strange lately.

‘I think he misses you, Mam,’ says Poppy, confirming my suspicions.

‘Well, he should’ve thought of that a long time ago.’ I throw down the tea towel that I am holding as I realise I have unconsciously scrunched it into a ball.

I am still hurt that he did this after all the years we had together. I would never trust him again, no matter how much he misses me. Leopards never change their spots, and I get the feeling that it wouldn’t be long before he reinvents himself and gets himself another new convertible and abbreviated name. He’ll probably want to be known as ‘M’ if this goes on much longer.

‘Oh and, Mam… Did I see a photo of you in a new top on Facebook? That pink one?’ says Jasmine.

‘Yes, bargain it was.’

‘Can I borrow it tonight? We want to go to that new bar that opened in the Mumbles.’

I have only worn it once, but I suppose it wasn’t expensive, and Jasmine knows I never say no to anything.

‘Okay, but please don’t spill red wine down it or it’ll never come out.’

‘I won’t. Oh, and could you drop us and then pick us up around midnight?’

I had hoped I could watch TV with a glass of wine tonight, but making sure the girls are home safe is my priority, and they know it.

‘Of course I will, my little munchkin.’

‘Thanks, Mam.’

A few hours later, after I have dropped Jasmine and Poppy off at the trendy new bar that someone told them about, I park up and walk along the pier before heading home. As I feel the breeze on my face and look at the views across the Gower that I remember as a child, I think about how much I have always loved coming here. I suppose it has always been my happy place since the days my parents would take me to the arcade before stopping for an ice cream. It’s hard to believe my parents are no longer here, and now my little girls are on nights out drinking shots. Time goes so fast. It seems like only the other day I was here with my parents, building sandcastles; then I got married, then along came Poppy and Jasmine and now it is me walking alone here. It’s not what I ever imagined. It feels like my life has gone round full circle, only this time without my mam and dad. What a shame things can’t stay the same.

I kick at a pebble and wish I could get an ice cream to cheer myself up. Sadly, the ice cream kiosk has already closed. The kiosk is a landmark. I have so many memories whenever I see it. It is where Michael proposed to me all those years ago. We were sharing a vanilla cone when he looked at me and said, ‘Shall we get married, then?’ and that was my romantic proposal. I didn’t mind though. It was the natural thing to do. Our friends were getting married, some had even started having kids. It was what happened in our neighbourhood. Most settled down at this age. It felt as though it was now or never. I was twenty-five and thought we were ready to live the rest of our lives together. Of course, I was wrong. With hindsight, he wasn’t ready to spend the rest of his life with anyone. Perhaps he will always think the grass is greener somewhere else. Who knows what goes through that head of his.

With no partner and no ice cream, I head back home with The Big Apple kiosk behind me.

At home, knowing that I’ll have to return to pick the girls up soon, I flick through the TV channels but can’t concentrate on anything. I give up in the end and message Soraya to see what she’s up to.

Just checking out the apartments. So, we can definitely stay in

Franco’s place in Cannes or Gianni’s in Monaco. Which do you think?

Two photos of the sights of Cannes and Monaco follow. I look at the bright lights that sparkle out from the marina views of both properties. I can imagine the impressive yachts bobbing up and down with millionaires on board swigging their champagne. Both places look equally glamorous and tempting. It would be impossible to work out which one is the nicest. Although the nearest apartment to a supermarket would be handy to make sure I don’t have to spend too much. I certainly won’t be able to dine in fancy restaurants like the people on the yachts probably do.

They both look pretty amazing to me.

We’re checking flights and transport arrangements and will let you

know. We’ll just go with whichever’s easier.

Sounds great.

I zoom in for a closer inspection of the photos to see if I can get a close-up of the little blobs that are in fact people on the yachts. I can’t help but wonder what they look like, what they are wearing and what sort of jobs they do. Do they even work if they are sat on a yacht all day?

The one thing that’s certain is they are both stunning resorts. How could anyone ever choose between them? I zoom in as far as possible on my phone and realise I should probably think about buying bifocals with any money I have left before worrying about cash for the holiday, but why bother when you can so easily zoom into things? Mind you, I found myself picking up a magazine recently and trying to zoom in on an article with my hands to have a better look. Unfortunately, Jasmine caught me and gave me a look of sheer disgust. I can still see her face. I am at that stage of my life where I am embarrassing to my own child.

They are never embarrassed by their godmother. Soraya is always cool in their eyes – and mine too, I suppose. She even has the most amazing connections, if the offer of this free accommodation is anything to go by. I daren’t show the girls these photos of the resorts, or they will want to tag along despite me being such an uncool person to hang around with.

For now, though, I am putting my dreams of the French Riviera aside, returning to dependable mam mode in time to collect them from their night out.

Pulling up outside the bar, I see they are already waiting. I feel terrible that I must be a few minutes late after dreaming about the holiday for so long. Anything could have happened to my poor mites out on the street at this time of night.

‘So sorry I’m late, girls.’

‘It’s alright. There was a fight, so we came out early,’ says Poppy.

‘Oh no. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah. We’re fine,’ slurs Jasmine.

The two girls slump in the back of the car, leaning on each other, already almost snoozing. How much have they had to drink?

Despite their inebriation, I smile as I look at the two sisters, snuggling up close like two peas in a pod. But then, as usual, my hormones begin to rage.

‘What happened to my top, Jasmine?’

This quickly wakes Jasmine from her doze.

‘It’s alright, it’s not what it looks like.’

‘What is it then?’

‘Grenadine. This woman had a cocktail. I was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was an accident. Sorry, Mam. It’ll come out. At least it’s not red wine, hey?’

I try hard to control myself from screaming and take a deep breath. I remind myself that the girls are safe after another night out on the town with who knows what dangers lurking. The main thing is they are okay. Their drinks weren’t spiked, nobody dragged them somewhere only a mother’s imagination could conjure up and they are in the car coming home with me. But, still, as I look at my brand-new top, I can see that this is one stain that isn’t going anywhere.

I grip the steering wheel and force myself to meditate. Well, when I say meditate, what I mean is that I remind myself that I love my girls, and they are only here for five more days. I have wine on demand, and there is always that family pack of Minstrels I bought for myself. I can get through this visit without a menopausal breakdown.

As we stop at the traffic lights near the marina, I look in the mirror at the two of them, who are now both fast asleep. It reminds me of how they used to sleep in the car when they were small after we had taken them on a long day out to Longleat or some adventure park. Here they are once again, looking like my two angels, and despite their little annoyances, I wouldn’t swap them for the world.