Finally, we pulled onto the steep gravel driveway of the villa that would be our holiday home for the next two weeks. Tucked between the sea and the mountains, the large three-storey villa looked like it had once been rather grand, but the crumbling white paintwork showed the ravages of sea air.
Dan had barely put the handbrake on when I leapt out of the car door and walked towards the trees for a better look around. The air was still bubbling with the day’s heat, especially after the cool air con of the car, but there was a faint breeze coming from the coast below, and it tasted of salt, tinged with pine. The garden was framed by cypress trees, and beyond was a bright turquoise mosaic tiled pool and, further still, a spectacular ocean view that in the dusk had opened up into a million shades of blue, melting into golds.
I wanted those first moments alone, just me taking it all in, breathing in the clean, quiet air in anticipation of what was to come. While Dan helped the kids to disembark, I took this moment for myself and held it, like a butterfly in the palm of my hand, until it flew away, disappearing into the last fragments of the day’s sun.
After about ninety seconds of peace – a long time for me – the children began their vigorous campaign. ‘Mummy, Mummy…’; ‘Mummy, can I have…？’; ‘You said we could…’; You promised…’ And so it began.
Alerted by the children’s eager voices, Joy suddenly appeared, freshly lipsticked and powdered, Bob ambling behind, smiling in anticipation.
‘Hello! Welcome! Oh, I’m glad you’re all here safe and sound,’ Joy said, as she hugged us all. She smelled of damp roses.
Bob was his typical warm self. His usual refrain of ‘lovely, lovely’ could be heard as he hugged us all, visibly delighted to have his family around him again.
‘Come on, Clare, let’s leave the men to carry those heavy cases. Let me show you the garden,’ Joy urged, grabbing me by the elbow and guiding me through an archway of green while Bob helped Dan with the luggage.
The kids danced around and the men’s talk of roads and journey comparisons faded as Joy and I headed towards the large garden, now sinking into twilight. Always aware, I carried Freddie, while calling for Violet to keep an eye on Alfie near the pool, while Joy pointed at the bougainvillea smothering the Italian tiled doorway. ‘The colour!’ she gasped loudly. I marvelled at it and, as the kids screeched excitedly around the pool, she talked about what we’d eat and the wonderful recipes she’d discovered since our last holiday the previous year. We both enjoyed discussing and dissecting recipes and loved cooking. It was something that bonded us, something I’d once shared with my own mum, and in her own way, Joy had been there for me. ‘I’ll never be your mum, but I’ll be the closest I can,’ she’d said to me at our wedding. Her kindness had made me cry, but she was there with a tissue to save my make-up. Just like a mother. In the years since, she’d kept to her promise, and times when I’d been desperate for support, she’d stepped in and been the mother I needed.
‘I’m preparing risotto for tonight,’ she said as we admired the garden together. She said risotto in an Italian voice. She’d never said it like that before, had probably heard a waiter in the previous evening’s restaurant. Joy was a chameleon. Having grown up in a working-class family with no money, aspiration was in her DNA and she sometimes sat rather awkwardly between two worlds. Her life seemed divided into past and present. Bob was her penniless teenage sweetheart who’d eventually been able to provide her with the life she felt she deserved and given her access to a different world. And though they weren’t hugely wealthy, she’d certainly moved up in the world – a detached house with the same postcode as Manchester United footballers in Cheshire is considered royalty when you’re from a backstreet terrace.
Over the years, Joy had transformed herself, hiding her roots under good tailoring and listening to the other ladies who lunched, emulating their voices, mannerisms and old-fashioned ideals. Men were meant for two things in Joy’s world: making money and lifting heavy stuff. Everything else was left to ‘us girls’。 Meanwhile, Bob had been too busy making money to put on a tie or lose his northern vowels, but somehow they rubbed along.
‘Muuum, can we swim now?’ Violet was calling me from the other side of the large pool.
‘Oh darling, I’m not sure…’
‘Pleeeeeeease,’ she started, which set the other two off.
I was too tired from travelling to argue, and wanted an easy transition into the villa that night, so within seconds I’d given in.