Chapter 15 Fenna – Day 4
Fenna lies back on the sun lounger. Perhaps if she stays still the tension in her skull will disappear.
Marianne has to nitpick everything she’s doing with the children.
She’s fed up with these unwanted opinions.
Can no one else hear how she talks to her?
Perhaps she’s overly sensitive at the moment but she can’t do anything right.
It’s not just Marianne who is getting on her nerves; Luke has been hungover every day so far. It’s like having another child to look after. She thinks of the row they had earlier this morning, which started from an innocent text message that pinged on her phone as she was changing Raffi’s nappy.
‘Who is it?’ Luke had asked.
Fenna glanced at her phone. ‘It’s Nish; she wants to send me something about a job.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s an online campaign for a small company based in St Ives, to promote their vegan hair conditioner. Starting a couple of days after we get back,’ she read aloud. ‘She wants me to video call them tomorrow. I’ll tell her I’m on holiday.’ Her fingers started to tap out a polite reply.
‘Hold on. It sounds good. You should take it.’
Fenna looked at Raffi lying on his changing mat, all scrumptious and scrunched up. She’s not ready to go back to work. ‘I don’t know. The shoot will be an all-day thing . . .’
‘Do it. I’ll babysit.’
‘Babysit?’ It came out of nowhere, the dart of white rage tore through her. ‘They’re your children!’
He pulled his shoulders back. ‘I’m trying to help here. You say you’re tired, you moan that I don’t do enough . . . well, here I am offering to help, and you still throw it back in my face. I don’t know what more you want from me.’
She fastened Raffi’s striped cotton romper and picked him up, leaving the full nappy for Luke to clear up, and stormed out. They’ve not spoken since.
Fenna has been trying to doze beside the pool and shake the row from her mind.
They never used to be this snappy with one another.
She doesn’t know why Luke is so keen for her to get back to work much sooner than they’d discussed.
She carefully budgeted to take a year off.
As long as they aren’t too extravagant, they’ve got enough in the bank, so what’s the rush?
Gerry pulls out a camera and breaks her thoughts. He emerged from the bushes ten minutes ago proudly showing off an interesting shot of an unusually coloured butterfly. ‘Say cheese.’
‘Remember not to post the photos online,’ Fenna says.
‘We know, we know. Don’t worry.’ Marianne replies sharply. She presses her fingers into the Scout’s salute.
Fenna bites down the irritation. There’s a reason she doesn’t show her children’s faces on social media. Everything is artfully curated to only show the backs of their heads. She knows Marianne thinks it’s ridiculous. Her mother-in-law doesn’t understand the way the world works now.
Marianne sweeps to her feet and announces that she’s heading back to the house as it’s ‘too hot!’. The chunky jewels on her embellished flip-flops cast rainbows on the wet tiles. Gerry trails behind her. A succession of clicks sound from his camera.
Alba has got out of the water and is running across the wet tiles towards Fenna.
‘Stai attento!’ Fenna calls.
Alba dutifully slows her pace and flops onto the sun lounger next to her, picking up her doll.
Rosie darts her gaze to Fenna. ‘What did you say?’
‘Hmm?’
‘What did you say to Alba?’
‘Ah, sometimes I slip into Italian without thinking. Marianne has complained in the past that she finds it rude, but I can’t help it. I told her to be careful, why?’
‘No reason.’
She rubs her daughter with a soft hooded towel. ‘Are you ready to have a break, poppet?’
‘No,’ Alba giggles, scurrying away, her damp towel falling to the floor and landing in a puddle.
‘Ten more minutes then you need some time in the shade,’ Fenna calls. Theo scoops Alba up and gives Fenna the thumbs up. She picks the towel off the ground and catches Rosie staring at her. She looks confused. ‘Everything ok?’ she asks.
‘Yeah . . . fine,’ Rosie says, blinking, plastering on a smile.
Fenna sinks back onto the sunbed and sighs. The sky is a brilliant blue. There’s not a cloud to be seen. ‘I meant to ask you, what happened at the bar the other night?’
Rosie sits up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The whole pulling a poster down thing. Was it really as innocent as it sounds?’
None of the family have mentioned the handsome police officer randomly knocking at the front door to warn Luke. Another thing brushed under the Fraser carpet.
‘Erm, yeah, that was nothing. He was messing around. Sorry, I thought you meant something else . . .’ Rosie coughs.
‘Why? What else happened?’
Her back is taut. ‘Nothing.’
‘You said something else happened . . .’ Fenna says slowly, frowning at Rosie’s sudden change in demeanour.
‘Nope. No. I mean, nothing interesting,’ Rosie adds, her eyes darting to the pool.
Theo is pretending to be a shark nibbling Alba’s toes.
Rosie flashes Fenna a tight smile and performs an overly dramatic stretch. ‘I need a break from the sun. I think I’ll go inside and get a drink.’
It’s like she can’t get away quick enough.
Fenna watches her scurry over to say something to Theo. Her gut twists. The longer she spends with Rosie the more something about her feels off. There’s a fine line between being keen and earnest, and being sneaky. Rosie says all the right things but it’s like she’s playing a part.
Luke, Theo and Rosie walk away from the swimming pool, leaving Fenna and the children alone. Alba is happily singing to herself under the parasol, playing with her teddies, making up little songs and feeding them chunks of watermelon. Pink juice dribbles down her fingers.
Fenna leans over for a baby wipe and spots something out of the corner of her eye. Rosie has left her bag by her sun lounger. A sturdy, waterproof, canvas beach bag covered in wide navy blue and white stripes.
What secrets is this primary school teacher hiding? Even her job seems too perfect. And what was that about interrogating Fenna over what she was saying to Alba in Italian? Her demeanour changed in an instant. It’s all a little weird.
Fenna places one hand on the straps and double-checks the coast is clear. She knows this is wrong. She should put it back. Luke would be horrified if he knew she was thinking of rummaging in another woman’s belongings.
But there’s something about Rosie that she can’t put her finger on.
She unzips the bag. The sound is louder than she expected. What if someone comes down the steps and sees her? What will she say? Her heart beats faster. She doesn’t know how long she will be left alone.
Inside is a tube of lip gloss with SPF, Rosie’s mobile phone – the background a selfie of her and Theo in front of a blossom tree – her purse, and a magazine.
Fenna pulls it out and flicks through the glossy pages.
Her fingers land on something hard. Hidden inside is a black, A5-sized wire-bound notebook. Is this Rosie’s diary?
There is a bang. Fenna jerks her head at the sound. It’s Paulo moving a wheelbarrow full of cut branches. The metal handles clanged on the stones. He apologises for making her jump.
Sweat drips behind her knees. She shouldn’t be doing this. She wipes her clammy fingers on the beach towel and opens the notebook.
Her stomach flutters with unease.
It’s not a diary. The paper is thin and tinged brown with age.
Fenna frowns. It’s a scrawling mess of scribbles, unreadable words and abbreviations.
There are doodles in black biro on the lined pages.
A scruffy drawing of a big house. A child-like pencil sketch of a church.
There’s some sort of crossed out map. Words scratched through the paper.
A couple of pages have been torn out leaving strips of ruffled paper trapped in the wire binding.
What the hell is this?
There’s so much she can’t decipher. Much of the writing is illegible and the ink has faded over time. However, on one of the pages is an address that she can read.
It’s a local address.
10/12 Via Della Chiesa, 53010, Laprezia, Italy.
She checks the children are still occupied and unaware of what Mummy is up to, and grabs her phone. Her fingers race to open Google Maps but she struggles to connect to any signal.
‘Come on,’ she mutters.
There is the sound of footsteps. She doesn’t have time to wait for the page to load.
She quickly takes a photo of the address and starts to put the book away. As she does, the pages flutter and something catches her eye. One word that is sharp and vivid compared to the rest of the bizarre scribbles.
Fraser?
Rosie and Theo’s voices grow louder. They’re almost here.
Her fingers are damp with sweat. She hurriedly arranges the items in the bag so it doesn’t look suspicious.
Which side of the sun lounger did Rosie leave it?
Alba’s singing isn’t helping her think. She drops the bag to the floor at the exact moment Rosie comes down the steps holding two glasses of sparkling water. Theo is right behind her.
Fenna plasters on a bright smile and unclenches her jaw.
‘I thought you might want a cold drink,’ Rosie says, padding over in her flip-flops. ‘Cheers.’