Chapter 36
Olivia has drenched herself in a combination of sprays and unguents, smothering her limbs with moisturisers and cooling rose water.
She also finds patchouli oil is quite a good deterrent for most things; mosquitoes, midges, even her husband.
She has piled her hair up into a loose, insouciant bun, skewered in place by a pair of wooden chop sticks.
Her shoulders are bare, revealing her old peacock tattoo; the one that Tobias hates and which she has often covered up over the years.
Her freshly manicured toenails are peeking out from gladiator sandals.
From now on, she is determined to be, and please, only herself.
Across the table from her, she regards her family.
Bella has made an extra special effort tonight, she sees.
Her daughter’s skin is glowing with a deeper shade of tan, her fiery mane quelled into a smoothly ironed sheet.
Olivia wishes she would learn to love herself, allow the gentle curls she was born with to spring forth, the freckles on her cheeks to bloom like the petals of a lily.
Drew, in comparison, is looking positively dishevelled but relaxed in his own skin, happy and confident.
His blond hair is naturally streaked from the last few days, his arms and legs sun-kissed and strong.
He pushes his hair off his face in his usual way and Olivia notices a wink of silver; he has had his ear pierced in two places.
She lets out a soft gasp but then beams with pride.
That’s her boy, after all. So what if this is the recent influence of the Taco Lads.
He wears it well and a small bubble of pleasure rises in her at the thought of how much it will infuriate Tobias.
Right on cue, her husband, who has been perusing the menu like a rapt student, slams his glass down.
‘What in the blue blazes is that in your ear, Drew?’
Their son pauses his conversation, his face momentarily freezing, before he brazens it out.
‘Ooh, get you, little bro,’ says Bella, her interest lifting above the parapet of her usual ennui. She raises her right hand and Drew meets it with his own in a congratulatory high five.
‘Take it out now,’ commands Tobias.
‘Which one? There are two, Dad,’ clarifies Bella with a snigger.
‘Oh, for God’s sake. I ask you.’
‘I rather like it,’ chimes in Olivia. ‘It suits him actually.’ She is enjoying herself finally and takes a sip of her cold, creamy champagne. Tonight feels like a triumph and she won’t allow Tobias or anyone else to spoil it.
‘You would,’ says her husband, rounding on her with a look of disdain.
‘Leave him alone,’ she says, an edge to the normally soothing cadence of her voice.
‘He’ll have to remove them when he gets back to school,’ warns Tobias.
‘Actually, both girls and boys are allowed to wear small ear piercings now, Dad,’ says Drew.
‘What?’ his father splutters in response.
‘Equal opportunities, innit? Gender equality.’
As Tobias snorts in disgust, Olivia is relieved to see Marcus’s lithe figure weaving through the field of tables towards them.
He is wearing a tailored linen suit, which fits him like a glove, and she feels her stomach give a little flip of desire.
Hopefully he will be a welcome distraction to the incendiary argument that is smouldering between her husband and son.
Tobias looks up.
‘Ah, Marcus. Good of you to join us. Finally.’
Olivia sighs. Why must he always be so pompous and judgemental?
‘What’s your opinion of piercings?’ Tobias continues. ‘Men sticking holes in their faces, filling themselves with shrapnel. Bit naff, don’t you agree?’
‘Please don’t drag him into this. He’s only just arrived,’ pleads Olivia.
‘About time too,’ says Tobias with a cough.
‘Well, what say you?’ he asks Marcus, who sits down in the last available seat, pours himself a glass of sparkling water, and shakes out a napkin into his lap.
‘I don’t see you with any of this rubbish; studs, tattoos all over the place. You were obviously brought up right.’
Olivia watches closely. No one else would notice but she sees Marcus stall a fraction, a look of pure hatred flickering across his face before it is replaced with his usual smooth, untroubled appearance.
‘You never really speak about your family,’ says Olivia, realising this to be true all of a sudden.
‘Yes, where is it you said you were from?’ asks Tobias latching on to this. ‘I can’t remember where you went to school now, come to think.’
‘London,’ says Marcus simply and takes a large swig of water as if to fill his mouth and prevent himself from saying any more.
‘Oh, please,’ moans Bella. ‘Can we not do the whole “who did you board with, what house were you in?” thing? It’s so boring.’
‘Yeah, it’s a bit classist you know, Dad,’ adds Drew, reaching for a piece of crusty bread and the butter, which is already melting in the sultry heat of the evening.
‘Nonsense,’ says Tobias with a jovial roar. ‘Everyone has a pedigree of some sort. I’m just taking an interest. Come on, Marcus, what’s your story?’
There is an awkward silence that Olivia is about to fill when Marcus lifts his head with an air of resignation.
‘I was raised by my mother, Susan. Susie Freeman,’ he adds pointedly. ‘Went to the local state school. Survived on benefits. Free school dinners. Won a scholarship to study architecture at university. You know the rest of my professional credentials, I believe.’
‘There, you see?’ says Drew through a mouthful of bread. ‘Social mobility, right there. Proof that the so-called nanny state does work.’
Tobias is temporarily quietened while Marcus stares at the tablecloth, a muscle contracting in his clean-shaven jaw.
‘Right, now that we’ve established that, can we move on, please?
’ asks Olivia, trying desperately to lighten the mood.
‘What’s your view on the special set menu for the evening?
’ she adds, taking the piece of typed paper and concertinaing it into a makeshift fan, which she waves in front of her face.
She feels hot, her cheeks reddening as she acknowledges Marcus has never confided anything about his upbringing, his home life before.
She feels embarrassed, wants to comfort and console him.
Damn Tobias and his clumsy, oafish prodding.
‘It was you who raised the subject in the first place, Mum,’ Bella reminds her and Olivia ducks her head at this, taking another sip of champagne.
‘Well, I trust my CV is acceptable to you all?’ says Marcus with a faint smile and raises his glass to the table, looking each of them in the eye in turn.
‘Where is the bloody staff?’ Tobias says then and flags down a passing waitress.
Olivia squirms uncomfortably in her seat.
There is no breeze tonight. The weather is still and thick again, as though the landscape is holding its breath.
It even seems to have silenced the birds and insects in the surrounding shrubs and trees; suffocated.
Ice melts, the crystal glasses sweat, as does everyone else in the gardens while the scorched grass crackles underfoot.
This evening feels dry like a tinderbox, expectant with potential. Ready to ignite.