Chapter 6
The sun is sinking over the bay as Lottie and Tim walk back to their holiday rental.
The sky is pink like the inside of a shell and the water has stilled to a darker, navy liquid.
Everything feels more relaxed and Lottie feels her shoulders lowering as they saunter through the side streets.
The sound of gulls feels more distant, less threatening.
The pavements are less crowded too, the cars infrequent, while the general hubbub is now contained to the seafront restaurants from which delicious smells and murmuring chatter wafts.
They have already shared some fish and chips, hot and delicious, eaten out of the paper wrapping with their fingers.
Their pockets are full of shells and stones, sand is in their shoes and in their hair.
And when Lottie licks her lips, she can taste the salt of seawater and sweat on her skin and also on Tim’s when she kisses him.
Even Josh seems to be more chilled. She was worried he might be too hot, too tired after several hours at the beach.
Or worse, might have thrown an almighty tantrum once the fun had come to an end.
But he has been coaxed and distracted from one delightful experience to the next; dipping his toes in the waves for the first time, delving in rock pools, discovering his first crab, building a tower of stones, drawing in the sand with a stick.
And ice cream, the remnants of which are still coating his mouth and chin.
He sits now, slack and happy in Lottie’s arms, full up on fresh air, sunshine, carbs and sugar.
This. This is what she wanted, she thinks, when they had planned this holiday all those months ago.
This is what she had envisaged for her little family.
Time together. Simple pleasures. To get away from the noise and the fumes and the never-ending-ness of their life in London.
For her and Tim to look at each other properly for more than a few minutes at a time.
To be really present with their son rather than rushing from home to nursery to work and back again before falling into bed, exhausted.
In fact, she knows Tim will instigate sex tonight and for the first time in ages she will return his advances and they will have time for each other, their son hopefully deep in a dream-filled sleep.
As they pass the awning of one particularly smart restaurant, Lottie’s thoughts are broken by a familiar sound.
A voice. She cranes her neck, focusing her eyes and she can make out the dark reddish hair and pale freckled skin of the man from next door: Tobias.
He is sitting at the head of a table, holding forth, ordering things from passing waiters, his voice carrying over the other diners.
Immediately, Lottie feels her hackles rise again, like a dog that senses a threat to its pack.
She thinks of the five star hotel to which he and his family will retreat tonight while she and her family will be picking their way past a building site to access their accommodation.
The words ‘crazy bitch’ taunt her just as a raucous laugh goes up and around the table.
She feels her cheeks redden, shame at her earlier behaviour drenching her.
She’s never been able to control her temper.
It was often remarked upon by her parents and teachers but they thought she’d grow out of it.
It is something she has tried to conquer as an adult and now, especially, as a mother.
But every now and then, the red mist descends and she is like another person, almost unrecognisable to her friends, her husband, even herself.
Holding her child closer, feeling his sticky mouth nuzzling into her neck, Lottie turns to Tim, seeking his reassuring happy-go-lucky smile.
She resolves to go round to the renovation tomorrow and apologise.
To the foreman, the architect, even the owners if they are there.
We are all grown-ups, after all. It can’t be that hard to come to some kind of compromise.
And really, what is it she’s so worried about?
They are on holiday. They are together. Nothing bad can happen here.
But then another hearty guffaw, identifiable only as Tobias’s hooting timbre, carries across the evening air.
Lottie takes a step closer to the restaurant and watches as several young waiters dance attendance on the party.
She sees the wife, looking bored and a little put out, the handsome architect in conversation with the snotty-nosed daughter.
The son is on his phone, being roundly ignored by everyone.
And then her eyes settle on Tobias himself.
He appears to be berating one of the waiters about the wine; they have brought the wrong sort or it is not to his liking.
Lottie can just imagine how much that bottle of wine cost. Probably more than their whole budget for the day.
The young waiter – he can only be about sixteen at most and presumably a local lad – colours under the abuse. Lottie hears the words ‘clueless’ and ‘idiot’ rise above the chink and clatter of the other diners, followed by demands for ‘a decent sommelier who knows his arse from his bloody elbow’.
‘Lottie, come on, let’s go,’ she hears Tim say, his voice soft but concerned.
‘Why do people think they can treat others so badly?’
‘Not all people,’ says Tim and she feels him clutch at the hem of her cardigan, trying to steer her away. She bats his hand aside.
‘Look, it’s that guy from next door. He just thinks he can go around talking to everyone like shit, doesn’t he?’
Tim makes a non-committal murmur.
‘Let’s just get home, shall we? Get Josh down to sleep. Open a bottle ourselves maybe?’
Lottie drags her eyes away and turns finally.
They climb the steep hill back towards their apartment, Lottie propelled by a new fuel, leaving Tim behind to carry their son.
When she unlocks the door, she goes straight to the kitchen, opens the bottle of wine Tim suggested and pours herself a large glass of cheap, drinkable red before planting herself on the sofa with her laptop on her knees.
Tim watches her with a small sigh.
‘I’ll do bedtime, don’t worry.’
‘Thanks,’ she says, her eyes not lifting from the screen to see his disconsolate expression. ‘Just drafting an email of complaint to the landlord of this place.’ She takes a large slug of wine. ‘I’m not going to let that entitled arsehole next door get away with this.’