28
Lottie sits up in bed as Tim brings her a cup of tea.
The sun is already beaming through the blinds, a hint of the bright blue sky beyond just visible.
She grabs her phone from the bedside cabinet to check the time – a relative lie-in as life with a toddler goes.
She automatically checks her messages too and refreshes her emails, as though the device is an extension of her body.
‘Another day in paradise,’ says Tim as he passes her a mug.
‘Yep. Actually yes, as it happens. I’ve had another email from the owner. He says he passed on our complaint to the Woolfs next door and reiterated to them again the request to keep the disruption to a minimum. Yada, yada, yada.’
‘Well it doesn’t sound like that lot have taken a blind bit of notice. If anything it feels like the noise has got worse in the last couple of days. Although, I’m almost getting used to it now, which is a bit depressing.’
‘Yeah,’ says Lottie. ‘But listen. He says that he can’t refund us any money but will let us stay for another couple of nights free of charge as a goodwill gesture.’
Tim grunts. ‘Goodwill gesture, my arse. For that read: please don’t give me a bad review or take to social media to badmouth me.’
‘All right, potty mouth,’ says Lottie with a laugh, looking towards their son, who is beginning to rouse. ‘You’re right though. But at least this means we don’t have to check out tomorrow and can stay for the fireworks.’
‘That’s good,’ says Tim. ‘I mean, I still think we should push for compensation. But Josh will enjoy the display and it means we don’t have to rush off.’
‘Our return train tickets are flexible,’ adds Lottie. ‘You’re not back to school for a few more days and I don’t need to be in the office for a bit either. It could work.’
They both turn to look at each other, plumped up on their pillows, tea in hand, and smile. For the first time all week it feels like their luck is changing, something has shifted in their favour and it bonds them together all over again.
Josh raises his head from the mattress of his travel bed and gives a half-hearted cry.
Putting his tea to one side, Tim gets up, goes to retrieve their son who is all soft and flushed from sleep.
Lottie loves the way he looks when he has just woken; more baby than little boy.
He is even more adorable when clinging on like a limpet to Tim’s strong, bare chest. Hungering for them now, she downs her tea and puts her hands out.
They both climb onto the bed and snuggle up in a nest of sheets.
Lottie lets out a contented sigh. Maybe this holiday won’t have been a complete disaster after all.
They have made some nice memories, will hopefully make some more before they go.
Can leave on a high even. She is lucky to have this, she reminds herself.
And she considers again how easily it could have all been different.
The thought makes her shiver even as the bedroom continues to heat, the warm sunshine penetrating the window panes.
‘Toast’ declares Josh and it makes them both laugh. It was his first word and his appetite has never waned since.
‘Coming right up,’ says Tim with a mock salute and heads off towards the kitchen.
Lottie holds her son close for as long as he will let her before he squirms away, too hot, too constrained.
He cocks his head to one side then, like a dog or a bird, listening out for some sound and as Lottie pauses, she can hear it too.
Banging. Followed by a high-pitched whine that sounds like a balloon being very slowly let down. Excruciating.
‘Bob Builder,’ says Josh, his eyes widening as he claps his hands together.
‘Yes,’ replies Lottie. ‘He’s still busy building the house. But not for much longer, I hope,’ she adds, her face darkening. ‘Not for much longer.’
Throwing back the duvet, she marches through to the kitchen where Tim is placing slices of white bread into the toaster.
‘Listen to that,’ she says, flinging an arm towards the adjoining wall.
Tim leans on the work surface heavily and stares at the toaster, as though willing the bread to brown more quickly.
‘They haven’t taken into consideration any of our requests or the landlord’s email.
I’m beginning to wonder if he’s even been in touch with the Woolfs at all.
Either way, it’s clear: they couldn’t care less.
It makes you feel so powerless. Helpless. ’
‘At least we got a couple of extra days for nothing.’
‘Oh great, more of the holiday from hell.’
‘It’s not been that bad, you were just saying so yourself a moment ago.’
‘I know, but then that racket starts up again and it feels like they’re doing it on purpose, laughing at us, because they can. Could they not just wait a few more days until September?’
Tim shrugs, taking the toast that has popped up, and starts spreading it liberally with butter.
‘Well?’
‘Well what, Lottie? What is it you expect me to do?’
Breathing heavily through her nose, she spits her words out like tacks.
‘I want you to phone our Airbnb host and actually speak to them this time. Demand compensation. Insist that they update the listing details with the fact there’s a building site next door so that any other poor unsuspecting sods like us who rent the place in future know what they’re getting into. It’s only right and fair!’
There is a pause as Tim cuts up the toast into squares and puts it on a plate. Within this silence they both hear something else; the sound of an object falling, the breaking of glass and then a reedy note of surprise, all coming from the lounge.
‘Josh?’ calls Tim.
‘Shit,’ says Lottie and they both run through to find their son standing in the middle of the room, silently sobbing, a dark red patch growing at his feet.
‘Oh God, has he cut himself? Where did he get that glass from?’ cries Tim.
Lottie sinks to her knees, places her hand on the floor and smells the crimson liquid.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not blood. It must have been the remains of some red wine in the bottom of the glass.’
Josh is bawling now and Tim scoops him up as Lottie carefully checks his body over for any injuries.
‘No harm done,’ she says with relief.
‘Just the seagrass carpet,’ says Tim, looking at her pointedly. ‘We’ll add that to the Playdoh stuck in the rug and the chocolate stain on the white sofa.’
‘At least Josh is okay. That’s the main thing, Tim.’
‘No thanks to you.’
Lottie looks up, aghast. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That was yours. You obviously left it by the side of the sofa the other night. You know, when you were on your laptop getting drunk, being an internet crusader. Meanwhile, our son could have very nearly glassed himself just now.’
‘How can you say that, Tim? It was just an accident. It must have rolled under the sofa, out of sight. Either of us could have made that mistake.’
‘Well, maybe if you dropped this whole vendetta against next door and paid a bit more attention to your family – y’know the whole reason you’re supposed to be on holiday – then this wouldn’t have happened. Just saying.’
Lottie stares at him, her blood pulsing in her throat, fury crackling at her fingertips, but Tim merely turns and carries Josh to the kitchen. She hangs her head, shame soaking into her and her eyes come to rest on the dark red patch again. It really does look like blood has been spilt this day.