Chapter 15
WILLOW
God, I hate her. I hate her with every fibre of my being. If only she knew just how deep my loathing was, she’d never sleep at night. Ever again.
Simone’s such a bloody princess, and the way Dad panders to her drives me crazy. I should be his focus, not her. But, oh no, I rarely get a look-in, and when his attention does briefly drift towards me, it’s to pick fault with my clothes, or my exam results, or – these days – my politics.
It wasn’t always like this. When I was little, he used to call me his best girl. He would tell anyone who’d listen how I was learning to play Beethoven’s Für Elise, or how I’d been chosen as Mary in the school’s Nativity, or how I could already speak a few words of Mandarin.
I know how bourgeois and middle class this sounds. Blame my parents. At five I had no say in the matter, nor any social conscience. I was more interested in My Little Pony.
It’s hard to know which came first: Simone’s arrival in our lives or my parents’ divorce.
Even Mum, who had a lead role in this fucked-up family drama, isn’t one hundred per cent sure.
According to Dad, he enlisted the services of Simone’s law firm after he’d asked Mum for a separation because they were ‘drifting apart’.
But if you ask me (which no one ever does), I’d bet money Simone crawled out of the woodwork first and she’s the real reason they drifted apart.
Even though the Wicked Stepmother has known me since I was nine, she doesn’t really know me.
I’m an irritant, like an annoying toddler or a mosquito.
She puts up with me because she has to. Sometimes, in front of her friends, she pretends to take an interest in what I’m up to, but she doesn’t care, not really.
I’m not sure she cares about Dad either, if I’m honest. If she did, she wouldn’t have left it to Dom to rescue him from the building site, would she? She’d have marched down there and dragged him back herself. And Dad needs to chill or I swear he’s going to give himself a coronary.
It’s all bullshit anyway. According to Mum, Dad rode roughshod over the Greek planning laws when he built this place.
I was only ten at the time, so when Mum said he greased the palm of the local planning guy I pictured the greasy pole they had every year at our school’s summer fair.
I know what it means now. He basically bribed someone to let him build Villa Paradiso.
Not only that, but in building this place he ruined the view of the next house up the hill – Maria’s parents’ farmhouse.
They complained to the Greek planning guy at the time, but his palm was so well greased by Dad that he totally ignored their complaint.
Maria’s mum used to be our housekeeper, but when she retired a few years ago, Maria took her place.
Simone thinks she’s a great boss, but I’ve seen Maria’s expression when she asks her to ‘pop’ down to the harbour (at least a half-hour walk each way) because she fancies lobster for dinner, or that friends from London are arriving for a flying visit and can Maria make up the guest rooms, like, yesterday? And that expression is pure contempt.
Maria does not enjoy being Dad and Simone’s skivvy, and I don’t blame her.
As for Victoria and Barney, don’t get me started.
Victoria is chief executive of a homeless charity.
(A charity for the homeless, not one that literally doesn’t have a home.) Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?
How jolly public-spirited of her. But what would you say if you knew she was paid a six-figure salary while the people she’s supposed to be helping are still sleeping on the street? It’s not right.
Barney’s no better. According to Mum, he pledged a huge wad of cash towards an appeal to build a new sports hall at his kids’ school and they went ahead with the plans on the strength of his promised donation, but when the time came to put his hands in his pockets, they were – you guessed it – empty.
And now the school’s saddled with a half-finished sports hall and no money.
Hard to feel too much sympathy for a fee-paying school, but still.
It just proves you can’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.
A bunch of smug, over-privileged hypocrites, the lot of them.
All except Dom. He’s the only one who ever asks me how school’s going and which universities I’m applying to.
And he listens properly, like he’s genuinely interested, you know?
Not like Dad’s indifference and the Wicked Stepmother’s faux concern.
I have a confession. I used to have a bit of a crush on Dom.
Like, when I was about fifteen. Can you blame me?
For an old guy, he’s pretty hot. He’s definitely got the Jake Gyllenhaal vibe going on.
Sexy as. And boys my age are such losers.
All they’re interested in is gaming or sending you dick pics.
I’m totally over it now. Even so, I wish Dad or Simone had warned me Dom was bringing a girlfriend. The first I knew about it was when she turned up with him last night. Not gonna lie, it stung a bit, seeing them together, all lovey-dovey. Yeah.
Anyway, Amber’s not what I expected at all.
Nothing like the identikit women Dom’s brought to Pelagia before.
Trustafarians and nepo babies who’ve never done a day’s work in their lives, yet swan around draped in sexy little Stella McCartney and Victoria Beckham numbers.
Insulated from the real world by their wealth and Daddy’s connections.
Nope. Amber wears crumpled trousers, works in a call centre and sounds like she could have a bit part in EastEnders. Harsh, but true.
It’s totally cringe the way she’s trying so hard to fit in. She’s desperate for everyone’s approval, but the fact is she’s so out of her depth she’s in danger of drowning.
So, lucky me. I get to spend the week with a load of olds who are either morally bankrupt, elitist pricks or just plain lame. Dad let me skive off school to come. I’m not sure why I said yes, to be honest. S’pose I thought it’d be cool to get a suntan.
Besides, being here feels like I have a front-row seat on some messed-up survival show where only the toughest will make it out alive.
Don’t mind me. I’m just here with my popcorn waiting to see who gets picked off first.