CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Several hours later, I saw Ella go into the villa and followed her. She went into the lounge area, still in her bikini, and closed the door. I wasn’t being closed out of a room in my own holiday home, so, after a brief knock, I went in. She was lying on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, doing what made her happiest and probably uploading more photos of my kids.
‘I can’t believe you’d make an account featuring my children without asking me,’ I said of the photos.
‘What are you going on about now?’ she monotoned, without even looking up from her phone. I was gripped by rage, and having been careful with her until now, the time for playing games was over. She’d involved my children, and they were more important to me than anyone or anything else.
‘Your stupid bloody Instagram. Photos of my kids like they’re yours, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
She finally looked up from her phone, but stayed in the prone position. ‘You mean the Ella family account? I thought you’d like their photos,’ she said, all innocence. But I saw the gleam in her eye. She was enjoying this. And now I could see how clever she was, always stage-managing the situation, manipulating me so I appeared to be the unreasonable one. It was so frustrating I found it impossible to hide my irritation.
‘It isn’t my kids’ photos I’m objecting to. It’s the fact you’ve posted them without my permission and they’re on your Instagram.’
‘God, Clare. Get a grip,’ she sighed.
‘Please take them off NOW,’ I said. Loudly.
She finally looked at me through hand-shielded eyes. ‘Wow, hun, you need to calm down.’
‘No, hun. You do!’ I spat.
‘Anyone would think I’d kidnapped them,’ she said calmly, a perfectly posed look of hurt on her face. ‘They’re my niece and nephews, they’re my family too, Clare. I never once said they were my own kids. Why are you always looking for ways to get at me? I can’t do anything right as far as you’re concerned. I even take your kids for ice cream– and you turn that into a drama.’
‘That’s not true…’ I started, trying to compose myself, not show my anger so she could look like the victim. ‘I wanted to like you when you first arrived, and you were straight out rude to me. From that first moment, it’s like you’ve had it in for me. But there’s no rational reason for that, you didn’t even know me – I just think maybe we’re very different and find it hard to connect.’
‘I could say the same of you, we didn’t know each other but you took against me. You told Jamie you didn’t like me. So you can’t deny it and pretend it’s me who’s the hater.’
‘But that was later, at the beginning I wanted to like you…’ I started.
‘You don’t have to like me, Clare,’ she said over me, repeating the phrase I’d used to Jamie. The message was loud and clear: everything I’d said to Jamie, he’d shared with her. As he said, she was his wife, they had no secrets. It seemed like everyone was talking about everyone else, repeating each other’s words and sharing confidences that were never meant to be shared.
‘I don’t like or dislike you, Ella, because I don’t know you,’ I said, ‘none of us do. We only met a few days ago,’ I added. ‘I just find it… interesting,’ I continued, ‘the way you’ve come into this family and honestly I’m wondering what your deal is. Because within hours of your arrival, you’re ripping apart the family business, criticising the website, deciding where everyone should sit, what everyone should eat, implying I’m menopausal, flirting with Dan – and now, now…’ I stopped because the look of feigned innocence on her face was making me angry again. I had to compose myself, and tried to continue calmly. ‘Now you’re posting photos of my kids on Instagram and involving yourself in stuff that doesn’t concern you. Stuff between me and Jamie.’ At this, I finally made eye contact and she stared back.
‘What the actual hell, Clare? It doesn’t concern me?’ She put on her shocked face. ‘You think you can just live your life, criticising others from your high horse – blaming everyone else for what’s happening to you. I know you disapprove of me, you think I’m not good enough – well, take a look at yourself, the “perfect wife and mother”。 Screaming at your kids and shagging your husband’s brother behind his back. Nice.’