‘I have to find Auntie Ella,’ Violet was saying. ‘She said I had to show her my photos straight away.’
‘I don’t think she did,’ I said, with a tense smile. Violet often used other people as a technique for getting her own way: ‘The teacher says we mustn’t do homework tonight’ and ‘Dad said that last bar of chocolate in the cupboard is mine, not Alfie’s’。
‘Muum, she texted me and asked if I’d send them, but I didn’t have enough data, so I have to send them from the villa.’
‘She texted you, on the beach?’ I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t like it that Ella was texting Violet without my knowledge. Private conversations between my nine-year-old and a grown woman we’d known less than a week? It didn’t feel right.
‘Yes, she texted me on the beach,’ Violet said defiantly, brow now furrowed, hand on hip, then both arms thrown in the air. ‘Muuum, pleeeeease! She’s got twenty-five thousand followers.’
‘And I’m sure they’ve got plenty of Auntie Ella’s tiny bikini photos to be going on with,’ I said under my breath. ‘They can wait for your beach photos,’ I added, finally lifting Freddie from his car seat and handing Violet the beach bag, which was big and heavy. ‘Give it to Dad,’ I said, but Dan and his mother were now walking into the villa. Joy was chatting away, their arms linked, the two of them like bloody royalty, while I, the maid, was left to pick up after them. I was furious and yelled at Alfie to get out of the car, which I instantly felt bad about. And just to add to ‘the holiday feeling’， Freddie’s grisliness was now full on tears and snot. ‘Great,’ I said, on the verge of tears myself.
‘It’s okay, Mum, I’ll help you,’ Violet said, picking up on my distress in her own childlike way. As the eldest, Violet was so aware of other people’s needs that her own needs and wants were often overlooked. I couldn’t help but feel guilty, as her mum it was my job to make sure she was considered, and with two younger children to worry about, that wasn’t always easy.
‘No, it’s fine, sweetie. I’ll take the bag, why don’t you go and see Auntie Ella?’ I said gently.
‘But you said—’
‘It’s fine,’ I repeated, and she ran through the house in search of Auntie Ella and the promised fifteen minutes of Instagram fame. God knows where she’d find her, I just hoped she didn’t run upstairs, and go into their bedroom without knocking.
As I made my way into the house, holding one crying child and one beach bag, I could see Joy was now in the sitting room with Dan and Bob, pouring gin. She shouted, ‘Hurry up and get yourselves ready, Clare. Remember the table’s booked for eight.’ Apparently my wishes had been ignored. So instead of a nice evening at the villa with Dan and the kids, I was about to be taken on another of Ella’s culinary journeys, with Joy riding shotgun.
I trudged upstairs with the boys, aware we were probably leaving trails of sand everywhere but not caring. I undressed them both, stood them under the shower and then, as they got out, a ping on my phone told me that Ella had just posted a photo. I’d set up my phone to give notifications for Ella’s profile, I wanted to see if what she posted tied in with reality. I was glad to see Violet’s rather blurred picture of Freddie throwing sand and pulling mad faces – Ella had stood by her promise to include Violet’s photos. It made me wonder if Ella wasn’t the hard, ballsy woman she appeared to be, having kept her promise to a nine-year-old. Perhaps Ella wasn’t all bad? I continued to get ready in tandem with the boys, hurrying them along, putting clean T-shirts and jeans on both of them and managing a quick shower myself. While the boys bounced my perfume bottle along the wooden floor, I threw on a loose white linen dress, a pendant and some lipstick.
After confiscating the perfume bottle, I checked myself in the mirror. I looked okay – not Ella, but okay. I grabbed a clutch bag, while preventing the boys from squirting toothpaste all over the bathroom – maternal multitasking at its finest. I then walked them both down the stairs, which with a two-and four-year-old has to be the longest journey known to man. As we got to the sitting room doorway, I saw Dan lounging on the couch next to Ella. Both had glasses in hand. Both very relaxed.
‘There’s Daddy, guys,’ I said. ‘Go get him!’
Dan heard me, looked up in dramatic alarm for the boys’ benefit and braced himself for the toddler onslaught.