As I picked my way across the room, I was struck by how far away this was from Ella’s perfectly set-up Instagram pics of folded towels piled in shades, dainty sets of lingerie hung on beautiful hangers on the doors of the old Italian wardrobes like paintings. Not to mention the carefully chosen book in the carefully chosen shade on the bedside table, which was now lying on the floor, disposable and ‘sooo yesterday’。 And standing there surrounded by Ella’s discarded stuff, I realised it didn’t tie in with the image she was presenting to us, and the rest of the world. I couldn’t help but think that if she treated people the way she treated things, we should be worried. But who was the real Ella – and did I really want to meet her? I felt a shiver run up my spine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I didn’t find Joy’s earrings in Ella’s room, but then again it was such a mess, I didn’t know where to look. I felt a little uneasy: I shouldn’t have been there looking at their stuff, it was private. If Jamie found me, he’d think I was the one who was weird – or worse, so jealous I’d become obsessed with Ella. As I knew there was a chance the kids might soon come looking for me, I went for my shower. I had to take advantage of this precious ‘me’ time and luxuriated under hot water for at least seven minutes, which felt totally hedonistic.
After I’d freshened up, it was about 4 p.m. – the time when Joy and I would usually meet up in the kitchen to start dinner preparations. I slipped my feet into the flip-flops by the bed. For a moment wondered if I should wear some make-up, then reminded myself I was on holiday and to stop putting myself under too much pressure. Besides, in that heat, it just ended up sliding off my face, my mascara forming grey rings under my eyes – accentuating the eye bags.
I went downstairs into the kitchen, where I knew I’d find Joy. I could hear her clanking pots – she’d probably already started on the veg. I reached for my apron on the hook in the kitchen doorway. Joy had bought it for me on one of our previous holidays, and I now brought it with me every time – it was a standing joke. But it wasn’t on the hook where I’d left it the day before, so I walked into the kitchen. ‘Joy, have you seen my…’ And there she was – Ella – wearing my lovely lemon-decorated apron.
She and Joy were poring over my Italian cookery book, Ella asking all kinds of questions and laughing at Joy’s comments, which of course she was loving.
I feigned surprise. ‘Oh, I was going to ask if you’d seen my apron, but you have it on, Ella.’ I smiled my sweetest smile.
‘Oops, sorry, Clare.’ She put her hands round her back to undo it.
‘No, it’s fine. Keep it on. It suits you.’ I turned to Joy. ‘So we said meatballs tonight, didn’t we?’ I went to open the cupboard where the pans lived.
‘Actually, Clare, we discussed the new Instagram account – “Green Mother and Daughter”？’
‘Oh… you’ve named it…？’ I was surprised. I didn’t think they’d follow up the Instagram idea, but it seemed Joy was as invested as Ella.
‘Yeah, we are now officially the Green Mother and Daughter – yay!’ She clapped her hands together in a deliberately childish way, while Joy just smiled.
‘So we’re not going near meatballs – we’re cooking totally vegan tonight, and posting it on our account,’ Ella said, defiance in her voice, like she wanted a fight. I wasn’t giving up that easily, she clearly loved goading me, and for some reason was going out of her way to reject everything I suggested.
‘Great, we all adore vegetables and… stuff,’ I said, smiling, ‘but, thing is, everyone’s expecting the meatballs. They love them, they’ll all be so disappointed. What do you think, Joy?’ I was blatantly asking for her support, pleading for it.
‘Ooh, that’s a shame, because we’ve already started on the mushroom en croute,’ Ella said, reaching for the pepper grinder.
Joy was just going along with it – clearly this was her way of proving to Ella that she wasn’t bossy, that she didn’t take over, as I’d accused her of. I was shocked though. I really thought Joy would have rejected the vegan idea out of hand and sent Ella and her bloody lentils packing. I remember when Dan and I were first married, we’d invited her and Bob over for dinner. It was my excuse to use the wedding crockery they’d bought for us and show Joy what a wonderful wife I was. I’d made a vegetable boulangere – it took me ages but I really wanted to impress her. I sat there nervously, at my own table, waiting for her approval, but all she said was, ‘Is there any meat to go with the vegetables, dear?’ From then on, I’d made a mental note to never serve anything to her without meat or fish, so determined was I to be the perfect daughter-in-law. But it seemed that I’d obviously failed and Joy was giving Ella her chance, so what could I do but go along with it?