Chapter 15
At the start of our second week, I carry one of the bins up through the olive grove—we have five altogether and I had to ask Luisa to translate what each is for.
Today’s the day for RUR, which I couldn’t work out until she told me it’s for general rubbish, anything that can’t be recycled.
Once I’ve done that, I decide to tackle the massive pile of laundry.
Theo has always insisted he’ll do this but it’s my house so that goes against all my instincts as a host. That aside, I’m surprised by just how much laundry there is.
Archie seems to have a special talent for spilling every drink, meal and snack down himself.
Callum thinks every item of clothing needs washing every single time he wears it, even if it’s a pair of jeans or denim shorts he’s only had on for a few hours.
Mabel, on the other hand, dumps all her clothes on the bedroom floor, so—even if they don’t need washing—they do after that.
Without wanting to provoke an argument, I scoop it all up off her floor—being careful to leave the underwear—and stuff it into the washing machine.
Once the first load is done I hang the clothes up on the washing line I found behind the chapel.
Then I go and find Theo and the kids, who are cutting back the ivy that’s growing up the fig trees.
I offer to drive them down to the café in the village for a fix of Wi-Fi, on my way to the sports shop.
I’m going to buy that exercise bike, pleased to be following some of Ian’s advice and focusing on self-care.
As I wind the car down the hill, around bend after bend, I can feel the tension in my shoulders. The road’s so narrow, every time I use it, I dread a car coming in the other direction. Then—for the first time—one does.
Shit.
To make matters worse, it’s on a stretch of road that runs along the brow of an olive grove, with no barrier to protect us from a sheer drop. I try to reverse but am disconcerted by the bend and—after a few attempts—the kids start screaming that we’re going to fall over the edge.
“Alright, alright!” I yank on the handbrake.
“Dad, I don’t think Adam should be driving,” bursts out Callum.
“I don’t think Mum would be happy,” jumps in Mabel. “We could die!”
I draw in a deep breath. “Theo, would you mind taking over?”
I step out of the car but don’t get back in the passenger seat. I decide to wait while Theo maneuvers into the nearest passing place. But the driver of the other car is waving. She beckons me over.
Oh no; is she going to criticize my driving?
I trot along, smiling desperately. When she winds down her window, I see she’s a blond woman in her seventies, wearing fire-engine red lipstick and lots of expensive-looking jewelry.
“Buongiorno!” I say, contorting my face into a smile.
“You can speak to me in English,” the woman trills. “I’m German. My name’s Angelika. I live further up the hill.”
She holds out a hand that’s much more wrinkled than her face. Does that mean she’s had a facelift?
“Good to meet you,” I say, giving her hand a shake. “I’m—”
“—Adam,” she interrupts me. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You look just like your Uncle Wilf.”
I blink, several times. “What? Sorry?”
Angelika tilts her head. “When I met Wilf he was already older than you—in his late fifties—but he still had a boyish face. I always said he looked much younger than he was.”
I give my head a little shake. “What, so you and Wilf were friends?”
“Darling, he used to call me his sister.”
The shock wipes me blank.
Angelika nods at my car. “But I didn’t think you had children.”
“They’re not mine,” I manage to say. “They’re my boyfriend’s. From a previous relationship.” I decide not to add “with a woman” as it’ll only complicate the matter.
I turn around and see the kids are getting fractious. Mabel is elbowing Archie and Theo’s turning around to remonstrate with them.
“In that case, I offer you my solidarity,” Angelika drawls in her light German accent. “I know how hard it is to bring up someone else’s children.”
Before I can respond, Mabel winds down the window and shouts, “Adam, hurry up! I’m suffocating!”
“And dealing with their hostility,” Angelika adds, with a wry smile. “Go on, you’d better get back in.”
“But … sorry. …” I stutter. “I want to talk to you.”
“Oh, darling, you will!” Her eyes twinkle at me.
Amazed, I jog back to the car and slip into the passenger seat.
“Finally!” groans Callum.
“Can we go now?” moans Mabel.
“What was that about?” asks Theo.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I gush. “That woman was a friend of Wilf’s!”
Before he can reply, Angelika pulls up alongside us in her sleek, black Audi convertible. She signals for me to wind my window down.
“Now you’re settled,” she says, one hand hanging out of the window, her red nails glinting in the sun, “would you like to come and visit?”
Theo leans forward. “Hello!”
Angelika gives him a broad smile. “You too. All five of you.”
“Dad, do we have to?” Mabel mutters, in a tone of voice I can only assume she thinks is too low to hear.
But Angelika hears. “Suit yourselves. But my house is very different to yours: I don’t have any farmland, I have a big garden and a pool. I swim in it first thing every morning; then it’s empty all day. You’d be welcome to use it.”
I turn around and see Mabel’s face. Suddenly, she looks like a sweet, innocent, excited girl. Next to her, Callum’s nodding furiously, his expression both pleading and apologetic. Once again, a flash of Theo passes across his face.
I turn back to Angelika. “That’s very kind of you. Yes, please. We’d love to.”
“Klasse!” Angelika gives me a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll message you on social media.”
It’s only as she’s driving away that I wonder how she’ll do that. Does she even know my surname?
When we arrive back at the house—my exercise bike in the boot—the builders have left.
That isn’t surprising as it’s after five o’clock, but outside the garage—next to a skip that’s overflowing with the contents of the top-floor bathroom—there are piles of stones, tiles, bags of sand, plaster and cement, plus three new bathroom suites.
Now the driveway has been widened, they must have taken several deliveries.
Most of these are covered with dust sheets, some of them are left open to the elements, and a few are blocking the path to the house.
The five of us dodge around them, Theo carrying my exercise bike through to the larder, where we’ve agreed it’ll be stored when I’m not using it.
Theo’s planning to go for a run and I’m looking forward to slipping up to our bedroom and reading more of Wilf’s letters.
But I only make it as far as the chapel, when a trail of dust catches my eye.
I follow it around the back, where the builders have left out a workbench, on which they must have been cutting tiles or stone.
There’s dust all over the windows of the cottage, the trees, bushes and plants, and—worst of all—the washing on the line. Shit, I’m going to have to do it again.
Mabel appears from behind me, dashes over to her favorite lilac top and gives it a shake. “Adam, I didn’t ask you to wash this! You’ve ruined it!”
“I haven’t ruined it, Mabel,” I attempt, feebly. “It just needs another wash.”
She fires bullets at me with her eyes. “But it’ll fade if it’s washed too much!”
“It won’t fade,” I try to reassure her, “not if I do it on thirty.”
She gives a little scream. “I hate you!”
She stomps off towards the house, shouting, “Dad! I need to use your phone!”
Resigned to another argument—probably involving Kate—I slowly take the washing down and drop it in the basket. Rather than getting annoyed at the builders, I decide it was my fault for not asking what they were doing. In the future, I’ll only peg out when I know they’re inside.
I trudge round to the house and find Theo sitting on one of the new chairs on the patio, talking into his phone. The boys must have gone inside but Mabel’s on the chair next to him, her face animated.
“Clothing’s very intimate,” Kate is crowing over the speaker. “And what about her underwear? Did he go through that, too?”
Theo massages his temples. “Kate, he didn’t touch her underwear.”
“Well, it’s extremely inappropriate. And as a mother, I’m outraged. It’s a violation of my daughter’s privacy.”
Theo’s forehead ruts. “Kate, how did you think Mabel’s clothes were going to get washed? Did you think she’d do it? Or did you think we could all bring enough for six weeks?”
“No, but I thought you’d at least speak to her before letting your boyfriend go rummaging through her room!” Once again, when Kate pronounces that word, I can imagine the look of distaste on her face.
Theo looks at me and rolls his eyes. I rest the washing basket on the table.
“Adam’s here, Mum!” Mabel chirps. “He’s listening to our conversation!”
Kate gives a low growl. “Well, I can’t be expected to speak to him. Theo, you’re going to have to explain that from now on, we need some boundaries. Mabel deserves to feel comfortable. And Adam needs to respect her privacy.”
Theo gives a long, disenchanted sigh. “Alright, Kate, leave it with me.”
Something breaks inside me. “Leave it with me?” As if I’m some naughty child who needs reprimanding. Why can’t he just tell her to fuck off?
Mabel shouts, “Thanks, Mum. I knew you’d be on my side!” She flashes me a triumphant smile.
Determined not to explode, I pick up the basket of laundry and take it inside.
I wish I’d left her clothes on the floor now.
Later that night, Theo and I sit on the bed going over the argument with Kate. My anger has been building all evening and adrenaline’s coursing through me. I won’t be fobbed off with any more empty assurances that Kate’s going to calm down.
“She’s a bitch, Theo,” I say, shocked at how harsh the word sounds coming out of my mouth. “There it is, I’ve said it.”
Theo pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Ads, I know she’s being antagonistic but I wouldn’t go that far.”
Why does he always have to be so measured and diplomatic? “Well, I would,” I assert. “And she’s managed to convince the kids she’s some kind of saint and I’m the devil!”
He tries to put an arm around me but I shake him off.
He retreats to his side of the bed. “They don’t think that. They’re just caught in the middle. Kate wants them to think by being hostile to you they’re being loyal to her.”
“Yeah, and you let her get away with it!” I want to scream.
But the last thing Theo needs is animosity coming from me as well as Kate, Callum and Mabel. So what I actually say is, “And what do you suggest we do about it? I can’t just sit here and take it, without anyone to defend me.”
Was that too critical?
Theo scrapes his fingernails through his hair. “Ads, it’s bloody frustrating …”
“You can say that again.”
“… but if we rise to the bait, Kate will only get what she wants. She knows she’s got the kids on her side and she’s trying to create a war between us and them. I suspect she wants you and I to fall out, too.”
I breathe in and out a few times. He’s right. I know he’s right.
I just need to control my anger.
“Yeah, well, she won’t succeed,” I say. But I can’t bring myself to smile.
“That’s the spirit,” says Theo, his relief visible. “Look, from now on, I’ll do the laundry. It should have been me doing it in the first place.”
Brill. Now he’s going to get sick of the whole setup. So much for our romantic, magical summer. “I don’t know,” I object. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Who do you think does it at home?”
But, even though Theo doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect, even though he gives me another of his gorgeous smiles, I can’t help worrying that this could be the beginning of the end.
It’s exactly as I thought when I heard the kids were coming with us: he’s going to realize the whole thing is too much stress and too much trouble. And he’s going to want out.
Then another voice inside me says, He was always going to dump you sooner or later. You might as well get it over with now.
I hear a loud crash coming from outside. “What was that?”
It’s followed by the pitter-patter of rain on the windowpanes.
“Was it thunder?” I ask.
“Bloody hell,” says Theo, “it’s a storm.”
“Fuck!”
We jump up and close the windows.
This is all we need.