Chapter 4
‘No want a carry. Down, down.’
‘Okay, Joshie. But you have to hold on to my hand while we’re crossing the road. It’s very busy. Lots of cars. Lots of people.’
As soon as she had returned from her altercation with the owners – ‘Get this! They’re called Tobias and Olivia!
’ – she had begun to recount the whole exchange to Tim.
He had nodded and raised his eyebrows, making all the right noises in the right places but somehow he wasn’t as outraged as her.
Part of her wanted him to go back round and have a word with them, to defend her honour, give that awful man a piece of his mind.
But Tim does not do confrontation. He is a ‘stand back, watch and wait’ type who rarely loses his temper.
He never has to pick his battles, she thinks ruefully. He just avoids them altogether.
But every now and then it infuriates her beyond belief.
Some things are worth fighting for. Some things need to be said.
You have to stand up for yourself in this world or you’ll get walked all over.
And just once, she would like him to stick up for her.
Why must she always be the one to complain, make the call or have the difficult conversation?
Lottie continues to walk, forcing herself to match Josh’s unsteady, shambling gait.
Steering him through the traffic, away from dropped ice cream cones, dog mess and aggressive seagulls, she feels guilty now, disloyal.
Tim is a wonderful husband and father. Endlessly patient and kind.
In fact, his steadiness and consistency had been what originally drew her to him at university after so many relationship disasters.
She refused to listen to her housemates’ running jokes, having christened him ‘Tim: Nice but Dim’. ’
Besides, he’s actually one of the most intelligent people she knows.
The quiet academic persona had been quite a turn-on at the beginning and she still gets a kick out of his sexy brain, his seemingly fathomless knowledge.
The way he explains things to Josh with infinite care.
She’s never really been that book-clever and faltered her way through uni to emerge with a 2:2 degree that could hardly justify the requisite debt she’d incurred while there.
But she likes to think she’s more street-smart than Tim.
Practical and decisive. She’s the one to roll up her sleeves and get on with it – something that has enabled her to excel at her job as a charity fundraiser.
So, they are a good match. Opposites attract, as they say.
Well, that’s what she’s always believed anyway.
They find their way down to the harbourside, which is typically thronged.
The pubs and cafés are packed with holidaymakers, spilling out onto the pavements, every inch of space corralled and monopolised by each business owner.
Lottie reads one blackboard after another, announcing lunch specials like lobster and chips, freshly made authentic pizzas, fish goujon sandwiches, bacon and scallop brioche rolls.
The prices are breathtaking: the same as a restaurant in London but even more so because of the waterfront view.
They will have to pack a picnic lunch each day and eat at the apartment in the evenings.
There’s no way they can afford these prices on their modest salaries.
Not that Josh would eat much of it anyway, apart from the chips.
She turns to Tim and pulls a face.
‘Let’s try and find a bit of peace and quiet somewhere else,’ he suggests and they walk along the main road that leads out of town and along the coast. Lottie tilts her head up to admire the perfect blue sky, the macaron-pretty, pastel-painted houses.
Gulls wheel around overhead and she breathes more easily in the warm, salted air.
Josh is tiring now, so they put him into the carrier where he soon drops off into a soft, limp sleep.
As she and Tim finally join hands, Lottie allows her arm to be swung, her pace desultory.
‘Well, we’re here,’ says Tim. ‘We made it, finally. We are officially on holiday.’
She lets out a long, low breath.
‘Yep. Not quite the start I was hoping for.’
‘Try not to let it spoil things,’ says Tim.
‘I’m not the one spoiling things,’ she begins defensively. She is used to Tim always trying to put a positive spin on the situation.
‘I know, I know,’ he says soothingly. ‘But it’s not that bad. We’ll work around it. Find a compromise.’
She drops his hand.
‘We shouldn’t have to compromise, Tim. We’ve paid an exorbitant amount of money to be here and our experience is going to be substandard, thanks to those entitled wankers next door.
God, I can’t stand their type. They’re so superior.
Have you seen this place? It’s full of them round here.
Clones of Tobias and Olivia and their kids.
Waltzing around in their salmon-pink shorts and checked shirts, their tie-dyed sarongs and designer beach bags.
They’ve completely colonised the place.’
‘Easy, tiger,’ he says, laughing, employing his usual nickname for her.
Tim takes her hand again and gives it a squeeze.
‘Besides, I suppose if you think about it, we wouldn’t be able to stay here either if the owners of our gaff hadn’t done it up at some point and put it on the rental market too.
It’s just tourism, Lottie. Business. Way of the world. ’
She gives a huff.
‘Yeah, but we came on holiday to get away from it all. This feels no bloody different.’
‘Oh, come on now. Look at that water. That sky. And neither of them polluted, I might add. It’s still beautiful.
We just need to find our own little corner of it.
’ She nods, consoled, taking a quick glance at her son, his head slumped on Tim’s shoulder, his bottom lip plump and slack as he dozes.
‘I’ve been looking at the map,’ continues Tim.
‘And if we follow this road along a bit further and climb up along the coastal path, it will then drop down to some smaller inlets. Let’s find a quiet little cove and paddle our feet, collect some shells with Joshie. ’
Lottie smiles. He always knows how to mollify her.
No doubt the beachcombing will be combined with a lesson in coastal erosion or the variegated sea life on offer in the rock pools, but she doesn’t mind.
For the first time since they arrived, she allows herself to breathe a sigh of contentment rather than frustration and she reaches up to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.
The road continues to wind further along, the smart cottages and B & Bs petering out until they are only walking past stone walls and hedges, where brightly coloured wild flowers occasionally spring from cracks and crevices.
They catch intermittent sight of the sea as it rolls like foil under the sun’s rays and the gentle susurration of waves can be heard.
Lottie drags her eyes away and looks up as they pass a large grey stone property on the right, tucked into the hillside, shrouded in trees.
The gardens are manicured and a grand driveway can be seen leading up and through the undergrowth.
The discreet sign announces it as Sea View Country House Hotel, accompanied by five stars.
And as they walk past, a car approaches on the road behind them.
Lottie senses it slowing down and they instinctively hug the wall to make way for it.
She turns her head and before she can focus on the driver, somehow she knows who it will be.
A woman with large dark glasses, blonde tendrils of hair framing her face, is behind the wheel.
A younger, red-haired girl sits beside her, staring into her phone.
It is Olivia and her daughter. The car swings into the driveway and climbs upwards, disappearing out of sight.
‘I knew it,’ laughs Lottie mirthlessly. ‘I bloody knew it.’
‘What?’ asks Tim, oblivious.
She is always amazed how someone as brainy as her husband can be so unobservant at times. But then, perhaps they value different things as worthy of note and attention.
‘Those poshos. The ones from the house, I’m sure of it. This must be where they’re staying. God, I hate always being so right about everything.’
Tim gives her a confused look and then follows her gaze up to the hotel, makes a low whistling sound.
‘Nice place. That must be where the other half stay.’
‘No shit,’ says Lottie.
They stand in the middle of the road considering the tall, established trees, the ancient rhododendrons, the air of exclusivity that surrounds the place. It seems to whisper: ‘Keep Out’, ‘Private Property’, ‘Not for the Likes of You’.
But then a couple can be seen walking down the driveway, emerging from the grounds.
Something about them seems so incongruous, Lottie can’t help but linger and watch.
They are talking, exchanging brief, stunted words in a foreign tongue that she doesn’t immediately recognise.
The hard, blunt vowels of an Eastern European language, perhaps?
The man is dressed in trousers and a shirt but it is not the usual florid tourist garb.
His clothes are dark, crumpled, too warm for this weather.
And likewise, the woman, whose hair is scraped back into a severe ponytail that only accentuates her sharp cheekbones, the paleness of her skin, is dressed in leggings and a T-shirt.
They have a bottle of water which they share between them.
The man raises his voice at the end of each of his sentences as if he is asking questions in a quick, urgent way and the woman nods in assent or shakes her head in answer, muttering the words ‘taip’ or ‘ne’ in a monotone voice.
Stopping at the roadside, the couple look towards them and Lottie holds their gaze for a moment and smiles.
It is sobering, she realises, to see two people so unbefitting to their surroundings, so clearly out of place.
The woman looks tired, scrawny and there is a desperate set to the man’s unshaven face, the premature lines around his eyes.
Lottie thinks about the way she had joked to Tim earlier about how they didn’t belong here but these two really don’t and it brings her up short.
The couple nod at Lottie and Tim and then begin to traipse back towards the town centre.
They can’t be tourists, she assumes. And yet they’re clearly not locals, are they?
Lottie is used to a melting pot of multicultural voices and faces.
It is commonplace, what she has grown used to and in fact loves about living in London.
Yet for the first time in a long while she is forced to contemplate what it really must feel like to be a complete outsider.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ coaxes Tim as he gently pulls at her arm. She turns her face back towards the coastal path, the sea beckoning her with the siren call of its whispering waves.