“I'll be back in a minute, for Christ's sake,” I spit at my sister as I race to catch up with Jenna, all the while very pleased to have another chance to see her from behind. “Jenna, wait.”
She stops at the peak of the trail that joins up with the pathway that takes you to either side of the hill. The sun shines down on her. When she squints at me, with a saluting hand shading her eyes, the sunlight glows around her like a halo.
“What's up with your mum that she needs all that meditation and yoga?” she asks when I reach her.
“It's a long, long story,” I say. “And I really don't want to talk about my mother. I want to ask you what time we'll meet tonight.”
She looks away. “You said sunset,” she replies quietly.
“I did.” I nod. “But what if I wanted to be all kinds of wild and firm that up with a pre-arranged time?”
Jenna looks at the ground. “I'll see you at sunset,” she says, and then she turns and walks away.
I watch and wait until she's made it over the crest of the hill, presuming she's taking the path to her villa, which must be on the opposite side of the resort to ours, right on the top corner. It’s a relief, if I’m honest. The thought of her crossing paths with my mother is not a pleasant one.
I head back to the gym area and see my sister still struggling with the bike seat. “Come here, you muppet,” I say, nudging her out of the way.
“Jesus! You stink!” She pinches her nose. I tut and drop the seat so it lines up with her hip.
“There you go.”
“Well, thanks, I suppose.” Maeve climbs on and puts her feet in the brackets on the pedals, but she doesn't start moving them. “What do I do now?”
“Jesus Christ, Maeve, you cycle. You don’t even have to steer, surely you can cope with that.”
“Haha,” she deadpans and slowly starts to move the pedals. “Go talk to Mum. Clear the air, for feck's sake. We're on holiday and I am bored of all this aggro when I’m supposed to shoot sunshine-filled happy holiday clips that make my followersjust the right amounts of envious and happy for me. Speaking of which, you're still going to help me today, right?”
“Yes, I'm a man of my word. Unfortunately.” I pick up my cycling cleats, my top and water bottle. “After lunch, right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Jesus, exercise is for dryshites.”
“Enjoy,” I say and give her a wave as I start walking off, taking a swig of water.
“You better not mention Mrs Robinson to Mum,” Maeve calls out.
“Mrs Robinson?” I stop and turn back.
“The Graduate, you uncultured swine. A 1967 film about a younger man and an older woman. But I suppose it’s not a 2000s Jude Law rom-com so why would you know about it?”
“Nah. I’m more of a Matthew McConaughey fan myself. Besides, Jenna's not that much older.”
Maeve gives me one of her famous eyebrow raises. “How oldisshe?”
I hope my shrug looks more nonchalant than I feel. “I don't know. She hasn't told me.”
Maeve grunts with amusement. “Hmm. And when was the last time you heard Mum tell someone her age in public?”
“Jenna is not the same age as Mum.”
“But Jennaisolder than you, Marty. You can see that, right?”
“Yes, I am aware.”
“And Mum is not going to like that,” Maeve adds, her eyes on me now. “I can kind of understand why.”
“What do you mean?”
“You're supposed to be taking things slow, calming down, getting your shit together.” Her words are blunt but there is a cautious kindness in her eyes.
