Chapter 25
Lottie slumps down on the white sofa, reads the driftwood affirmations on the walls declaring: ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ and ‘Life’s a Beach’.
She tries to remember she is here on holiday and supposed to be relaxing, enjoying herself.
But she can’t release the tension in her limbs, the anger she feels bubbling up in her at any given moment.
Has she always found it this hard to switch off?
She never thought of herself as ‘uptight’ or ‘difficult’, though she imagines these are some of the many labels that have been attached to her recently.
It’s funny though, she reflects. It didn’t seem to be a problem when she was younger.
Yes, she was still given labels – ‘rebellious teenager’, ‘strident feminist’, ‘crusading campaigner’ – but all these roles felt like they had a glamorous edge to them in her youth.
Now, in her mid-thirties, it feels like she is deemed less attractive or admirable in her causes, inhabiting more the role of ‘outspoken employee’, ‘killjoy’ or, even worse, ‘a complete Karen’ – a monicker which she has always felt most unfair since she has at least two friends called Karen who are really nice.
She can hear Tim’s soft, soporific voice as he tries to settle Josh down for a nap.
Where does he get his reserves of patience from?
Or is it just apathy, she ponders? Is life easier if you just give up, stop fighting and accept the status quo?
That this is the way of the world and the likes of Tobias and Olivia Woolf will always exist and, ultimately, win.
Lottie sinks further into the sofa, considers taking a shower, maybe even having a lie-down with Tim. To remind him that she is still the girl he fell in love with, that there is sweetness and not just sourness in this woman too. She looks up to see him coming back into the room.
‘And, he’s off,’ he says, sotto voce.
‘Well done.’
With a grateful smile, she is about to reach out a hand to him, to suggest what she has in mind, when they both hear it: a car horn sounding persistently, accompanied by shouts and whistles.
Their faces fall as they continue to listen to the commotion outside as it builds in intensity. She stands up.
‘Leave it, Lotts. It won’t do any good.’
And there it is, she thinks. Proof of what she suspected. Tim no longer cares as much as she does. He just wants the quiet life, with someone easier, more fun.
‘I’m just going to see what’s going on. There might be a problem we can help with.’
And with a protracted groan, Tim joins her as she opens the back door and walks out into the garden.
She turns to throw an ‘I told you so’ look over her shoulder as they both regard the massive lorry that is parked outside, blocking the road. They can see Tobias standing on the narrow pavement in his checked shirt and chinos, his face turning redder by the minute.
Lottie and Tim take a few tentative steps up the path and begin to overhear a conversation he is having with an older couple.
Less a conversation and more of a stand-off.
The words, ‘poxy B too hot, too sticky, too tired.
‘Bugger it, maybe we should just leave early,’ says Lottie with a warble in her voice. ‘Pack up and admit defeat. At least our little place in London is home.’
‘No!’ says Tim, with a force that takes her aback, his voice echoing though the cavern of his chest. She lifts her head away as he turns to face her.
‘This is our holiday, Lottie. We’ve waited all year for this. And Josh is really enjoying himself.’
They both look in the direction of the bedroom where the querulous cries of their son are rising in pitch and strength.
‘Besides, we can’t let them win,’ says Tim.
‘Win?’ replies Lottie. ‘So you agree this is a war?’
He smiles, reading the humour in her face.
‘I didn’t say that,’ he says with a shake of his head but she has already reached in for a hug, taking it as confirmation of some kind. The battle lines are drawn.