Chapter 4
Violet
A split second. That was all it took for me to regain my composure and hitch the corners of my mouth up into a smile. I was well practised in the art of what I liked to call ‘Mum-terfuge’, the ease of which I was able to project a pretence of contentment so deeply ingrained that it had become as natural as breathing.
Turning, I pushed open the gate and dragged my case back across the patio towards my son. He was standing in the space that Henry had now vacated, and though he was tall – taller, even, than his dad – Luke was lean in the extreme. I could see the sharp edges of his collarbones jutting out through the fabric of his T-shirt, the handsome bone structure he’d inherited from my late father half-obscured by the first tufts of a downy beard. Nineteen years old now, not quite a man; a flower that had yet to bloom but was by no means less beautiful in spite of it. And of all the things Luke was, beautiful could be relied upon as a constant.
We didn’t hug one another in greeting – my son was not an affectionate person – but he did appear, outwardly at least, to be pleased that I was there. He had still been very young when his myriad behavioural issues began to manifest, allowing me plenty of time in which to learn his tells; study him with the ardent dedication of one who is determined to love. Now, I saw the flicker of something close to pleasure in his deep-set green eyes.
‘You look well,’ I said, following him inside. ‘Nice to see you with a bit of colour on your cheeks.’
Both statements were true, but I’d selected the anodyne compliments with care – a double act of self-preservation, such as a sprinkle of gravel above and below each spring bulb. The latter would be protected from rodents, me from Luke’s distemper.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs, his fingers tracing a circular shape across the rail. Each of the individual banisters had been slotted into place by Henry during our second summer here, and the dry scent of reclaimed acacia had permeated the house for days afterwards. Aside from the few pieces of furniture we’d bought at second-hand markets or from Pollen?a-based friends looking to offload, much of the rest of it was handmade, including the vast olive-wood dining table that dominated the lower part of the house. It was the creation of which Henry was most proud, and he was right to be so.
‘I’d usually be burnt by now,’ he muttered. ‘Probably would be, if Eliza didn’t keep nagging me about sun cream.’
Eliza.
Had the stress of the past few weeks somehow made me forget that Luke’s girlfriend was coming out to Mallorca with him – or had he simply not told me?
‘Of course, Eliza,’ I said, lacquering enthusiasm like gloss over my surprise. ‘How is she? Where is she? I’d love to meet her.’
Luke squinted at me from beneath his untidy dark fringe. ‘Um, wouldn’t you rather, you know, get settled in or something first?’
‘Oh dear,’ I replied, in my highest, brightest ‘Mum’ tone. ‘Is that a polite way of telling me I look dreadful?’
He sighed. ‘You look fine, Mum.’
‘Because I can go and tart myself up, if you want me to? There might even be some make-up in the bathroom, although it might be a bit dried up. You know how hot it gets in—’
‘Whatever you want.’
‘I want what you want.’
Too late, I remembered this particular phrase was one that irked him and suppressed a wince as he shook his head and dodged past me.
‘Luke,’ I cajoled. ‘Listen, I’m sorry. I— Wait!’
The saucepans thrummed on their hooks as the back door slammed, and almost immediately, a cramping pain ripped through my stomach. Fewer than five minutes I’d been in his company, and already he was angry with me. It was tempting to retreat; go upstairs and unpack; splash cold water on my face and wait for the anxiety to ebb – but to do so might make him even angrier. Instead, I forged ahead, through the kitchen with its terracotta tiled floor, exposed honey-stone walls, and painted blue worktops, and out into the rear garden, where I narrowly avoided colliding with a very petite, very pretty, and very pink-haired young woman coming the other way.
Mistaking my raised hands of shock for the offer of a hug, Eliza stepped between them and wrapped her arms around me. I became briefly aware of her chin against my shoulder, and the coconut aroma of her sun lotion.
‘You must be Luke’s mum,’ she said, leaning back to take me in properly.
‘Please, call me Violet – or better yet, Vee. We don’t stand on ceremony in this family.’
Eliza glanced over towards Luke, who was sitting with his back to us on the steps, and I thought I caught the ghost of a frown pass across her features. In a bid to show solidarity, I rolled my eyes and made a small tutting sound, but Eliza didn’t appear to notice. She had turned away and was delving through an oversized straw bag. Having extracted a hat, she tossed it in Luke’s direction, laughing when it landed askew on his head. I thought about all the times I’d coerced toddler Luke into sun-appropriate clothing, of the punches and kicks he’d aimed my way if I so much as uncapped a bottle of Ambre Solaire in his orbit. He would scream and squirm, and, despairing, I would call on Henry to help. One of us would then clamp down his limbs while the other attempted to smear on the cream, both of us coming away battle-weary, tearful, and often bloodied. Nineteen-year-old Luke did not so much as murmur; he merely grunted a ‘thanks’ and readjusted the cap so the peak covered his exposed neck.
Eliza: one; Violet: nil.
‘You are good,’ I told her. ‘Looking after him like that.’
She considered this, her grey eyes narrowing a fraction. There was a silver stud in the shape of an arrow pierced through her right eyebrow, and it was on the tip of my tongue to make some kind of light-hearted comment about Cupid. Eliza, perhaps fortunately, spoke before I had the chance.
‘I wouldn’t call it looking after,’ she said. ‘I look out for him.’
My smile felt tight. ‘Is there a difference?’
‘Looking after is something you do for yourself, looking out is what you do for others.’
‘But some people can’t look after themselves,’ I pointed out gently. ‘The infirm and the frail or very elderly, and babies and young children, too.’
Eliza wrinkled her nose at a passing bee. ‘Right,’ she agreed. ‘But Luke is none of those things – and neither am I.’
I longed to tell her that it wasn’t that simple; not where her boyfriend was concerned. Luke did need to be looked after – he’d always needed to be looked after – and where his needs were concerned, she couldn’t conceivably be a match for me, his mother. I was the person who understood him, better and more comprehensively than anyone else, and there was no doubt in my mind that by the end of their summer together, Eliza would find this out for herself. I didn’t have to tell her; Luke would do it for me without even trying.
‘Well,’ I said, through my rictus grin, ‘I’m very glad the two of you have each other, and that you’re here with us.’
I took a few steps forwards and reached out a hand to pat Luke on the shoulder. To my intense relief, he didn’t flinch, and feeling buoyed, I offered to prepare drinks.
‘Gin and tonics? It’s about that time – or it is somewhere.’
Luke shuffled to his feet. ‘We can do it.’
I started to protest, but he ignored me, lifting an arm to create a space for Eliza to slide into.
‘I’ll pick some fresh lemons off the tree, then,’ I called, as they went into the kitchen, wondering as I did so whether Henry would decide to join us. I wanted to know what he thought of Eliza; if he’d drawn any conclusions about her and Luke’s relationship – but I was no longer sure if these types of discussions would be welcomed. Confiding in each other was something that had fallen away a long time ago. You had to have mutual trust in order to confide.
I heard the chink of glasses coming from indoors, Eliza asking if the ice-cube tray had been filled with bottle or tap water and Luke’s baritone reply.
‘Lemons,’ I reminded myself, with a small shake of my head. Verbalising my mental to-do list was a new habit, one I appeared by osmosis to have picked up from my mother. I’d been living with her for five months, having given up the three-bedroom semi in the small Cambridgeshire village that Henry and I had rented together. Affording it alone had eventually proved impossible, as had finding somewhere else to live when I had nothing saved with which to put down a deposit, nor any proof of long-term employment. The day I was compelled to move back in with my mother was undoubtedly the second most galling of my life, and the sooner I could escape, the happier both of us would be. In order to do that, however, I needed money.
A lot of money.
Taking the stone steps two at a time, I hurried down from the back porch to the upper part of the garden, where I discovered to my dismay that weeds had overtaken the carefully curated flowerbeds. Red-hot pokers were doing their best to push through a thatch of needle weeds, and the purple of the lantana petals were barely visible. Bending to pull up a clump of dry grass, I accidentally uprooted a fragile pink daisy, and scolded myself ferociously. All those hours, all that tender care, all for nothing.
I was mildly comforted when I discovered that the cacti beds on the next level down were thriving, and the aloe plant appeared to have tripled in size. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the majority of my herbs, which had been all but overrun by mint. Mojitos would perhaps have been a more suitable choice of aperitif than gin and tonics, and the plant’s fresh scent was heavenly. Weed-ridden it may be, but the garden still soothed me. It was my favourite part of the house for good reason.
Having reached the far wall, I braced myself against the bark of the lemon tree and, finding a foot-hole sturdy enough to take my weight, sprung up from the ground and made a grab for the fruit.
‘Cuidado!’ I heard someone yell. Watch out.
My outstretched hand grasped thin air, and I yelped in alarm as my sandal slipped off its perch, sending me crashing sideways on to the wall. There was another shout, and then two pairs of arms were on me, hoisting me on to my feet. I looked up to see Henry, his brow constricted by concern, mouth only inches from my own. Even when I was this close to him, it was difficult to meet his eye, and instinctively I turned away.
It was then that I saw who else had come to my aid.
And my blood froze.