29
Olivia and Drew stroll into town together.
She resists the urge to take up his hand or throw her arm around him as she used to do, not such a long time ago really.
Although the last few years seem to have sped past and suddenly he is seventeen and taller than her.
He has caught her up and exceeded her. Now it is he who offers to carry her bag or reach something down from a tall shelf.
Still, this is nice, she thinks and savours the moment.
In a couple of weeks’ time he will be entering upper sixth, preparing for his final A level exams next year and before she knows it, he will be away, off to university like his sister.
Depending on whether he decides to travel with some of his friends next summer (an idea that he has already mooted, much to her dismay) this might be their last holiday together for a while.
The last one before he officially leaves home anyway.
Of course, she knows that he will be back during the term breaks but something will irrevocably change, an invisible string that perhaps only a mother can sense, will be severed.
All the more reason to make the most of these last few days down here.
She is walking him to his final paddleboarding lesson.
She always marvels at how he picks things up so quickly.
Spending all his time on the water has paid off and Drew has become a real proficient.
He even joked to her that he might postpone uni and work a season by the coast, teaching others and working on his tan in the process. She presumes he was joking anyway.
As they weave through the narrow streets, she is aware of a strong botanical, almost herbal smell that feels faintly familiar, though she can’t say why.
She points it out to Drew and he sniggers to himself, suggesting that it must be some fragrance wafting out of the local crystal shop nearby.
Hemp or patchouli, she supposes and is instantly transported back to her art student days.
‘Oh, I hadn’t noticed that place before,’ she says. ‘I’ll have to pop in and have a look. Maybe treat myself. I could do with a lift.’
Drew creases up again in laughter at this and she tries to laugh along with him, though she’s sure the joke is going over her head as usual and she feels it again, this sense of loss, as though her child is within touching distance but just beyond her reach now.
‘Have you got sun cream on?’ she asks, and when Drew replies in the affirmative too quickly, she knows he’s fibbing.
‘It’s fine, Mum. I’ve got my sunglasses.’
She reaches into her bag and immediately starts to apply some cream to his nose and forehead.
‘Mum, stop!’
He bats her hands away, looking around, up and down the street.
‘Don’t be silly, it’s not like we know anyone around here.’
‘Just be chill, Mum.’
She blows out a huff of air. He is sounding more and more like his sister by the day and not in a good way.
‘You’ve forgotten your water bottle as well.’
‘It’s fine,’ he says again, more loudly this time. ‘I had breakfast at the hotel and I’m not thirsty.’
‘You soon will be in this heat. It’s so easy to become dehydrated in weather like this. And trust me, you don’t want to get heatstroke, darling. Great way to ruin a perfectly good holiday.’
‘Brad and I are usually fine,’ says Drew.
‘Look, there’s the corner shop. Let me nip in there and get you a bottle to take with you.’
She hears her son sigh heavily but drags him into the shop anyhow. Inside, he stands awkwardly, arms folded, anonymous behind his sunglasses and studies the carousel of postcards.
‘Does anyone buy these things?’ he asks as Olivia bustles about the aisles picking up water, a banana, an emergency tube of sunblock.
The woman behind the counter laughs, her dark curly hair shaking in mirth.
‘We used to send them to each other all the time when I was a little girl. That was way before emails and WhatsApps and text messages.’
Drew leans in more closely, inspecting the postcards like they are a rare artefact.
‘Cool,’ he says. ‘Retro! And did you really put a stamp on and put them in a postbox?’
‘Yes,’ says the woman coming to stand beside him. ‘Of course, you often used to find that you arrived home before the postcard did.’
‘Snail mail,’ says Drew with a grin, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head and giving the woman the full beam of his smile.
Olivia stands by the till, her hands full of goods, next to a machine advertising Mr Whippy 99s. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, wondering why no one has thought to open a proper gelato place round here — it would go down a storm. The shopkeeper returns to her usual position behind the counter.
‘You have a lovely son,’ she says and begins to ring the items through the till. Olivia smiles in acknowledgement.
‘My baby,’ she says in return. ‘All grown up now.’
Drew gives a low groan at this and turns to leave the shop, to stand outside and wait for her there. The woman nods mutely but doesn’t say any more as she takes payment and hands Olivia a receipt. But then suddenly she reaches over the counter and picks up a packet of sweets.
‘Have this on the house for him,’ she says. ‘Teenage boys are always hungry, aren’t they?’
‘Oh that’s very kind. But really not necessary,’ says Olivia. She likes to be the one to spoil her son.
‘Please,’ insists the woman, more urgently this time. ‘Take it.’
And Olivia is forced to accept the gift although she finds it a little bizarre.
Perhaps she’s been living in London too long and isn’t accustomed to such random acts of kindness from strangers.
She will have to get used to it though, if she is to be a part of this community in the future.
And the thought is not a wholly unpleasant one.
Outside, she finds Drew waiting patiently and thrusts the carrier bag of groceries towards him. He dutifully packs them into his rucksack.
‘Okay, off you go then,’ she says and as she watches his familiar loping gait heading off in the direction of the beach, the words seem to repeat in her head, gaining meaning and resonance.
She gives herself a shake, dismissing the maudlin thoughts, and tries to focus on her plans for the shop.
Or rather, gallery and studio space. At this, Olivia feels a tide of panic wash over her like a rogue wave; unseen, unexpected.
It is the fear of the unknown, of finally cutting herself adrift and going it alone.
But it is also accompanied by a shiver of excitement, frothy and exuberant as sea foam.
She is giddy in a way she hasn’t felt since she was a young woman.
At this thought, she follows her nose, retracing her steps and tries to find the crystal and hemp shop she and Drew passed earlier.
It’s a new addition since their visit last year.
She is drawn to the string of tie-dyed scarves cascading from the doorway, admires the woven baskets stacked up on the front step, although she already has more than she knows what to do with.
Perhaps she will book herself in for a tarot card reading.
It’s something she hasn’t done in aeons – she would never be able to admit to it in front of Tobias and the kids – but the timing feels right.
She knows she has reached a crucial point in her life and she is looking for a stranger to tell her reassuring things, to confirm all of her decisions, to bless this new life with positive affirmations.
Three quarters of an hour later, Olivia emerges from the shop, her clothes impregnated with the perfumed smoke of joss sticks, a new crystal bracelet adorning her wrist. She’d managed to get an impromptu tarot reading at short notice and the cards had been interesting, to say the least. On the whole, positive, which she had taken as a very good sign.
She had been a little disappointed when The Fool had fallen from the pack but then as everyone knows, that card is all about new beginnings and fresh starts.
She’d also been given The Magician, which she interpreted as a manifestation of her coming success and maybe even a hint to her new relationship with Marcus, though she would have preferred to see The Lovers card to really seal the deal.
She was a little shocked to see Death, of course, as everyone is, but then the tarot reader, Sandra, had reminded her this card can mean many things; endings, change.
Out with the old and in with the new. Which is exactly what is happening in her life right now.
Yes, the cards never lie, she thinks with satisfaction as she wanders back along the narrow cobbled street, twisting her bracelet absentmindedly.
But then the sound of a raised voice up ahead distracts her.
Two people are having a barely contained argument outside the newsagent’s she had visited earlier.
In fact, as she screws up her eyes she recognises the shopkeeper who served her; the mop of frizzy dark curls, the ruddy cheeks.
And she is berating an older man who stands obstinately smoking a pipe and shaking his head at her.
The woman turns then to lock up the shop.
She is juggling her bag, a loaf of bread, a bunch of flowers – strange, thinks Olivia, to be closing the shop in the middle of the day during peak season.
It’s hardly the Mediterranean after all, where everyone enjoys an afternoon siesta.
Taking a few steps closer, she hears the woman’s raised voice again.
‘Just let it go, Ted, can’t you? What’s done is done.’
Gosh, thinks Olivia. Whatever it is, it all sounds a bit hairy and it’s a reminder of the fact that every community has its disputes, and clearly not all of the locals get along.
She wonders what their disagreement could be.
At this thought, she feels her confidence falter.
What is she getting herself into down here, where everybody knows each other, the good and the bad?
Where she will be viewed very much as the outsider, always a ‘Down-from-Londoner’, perhaps never to be accepted as one of their own.
But then she reflects on her tarot reading, the unanimously positive message revealed in her cards. This is her fate. It’s all written in the stars. Everything will work out. And she continues on, regardless.