‘I love you.’ My lips press against Marcus’s as I readjust my bikini bottoms back into their rightful position.
‘And I love you, Mrs Williams.’ His voice is low and gruff and heavy with emotion.
As far as husbands go, I’ve definitely snared the best. And though I don’t doubt he’s happy now, in this moment, sometimes in the darkness of night I worry he’s not quite himself since he retired. It’s a huge change. I’m determined to help him enjoy it, and perhaps selfishly, make the most of having him around to help more with the girls.
Half floating, half swimming across the pool I search for my discarded top. Movement from the window of the house flickers in the corner of my eye. Ana’s in the kitchen beginning the preparations for dinner. Each day I offer to help, but she kindly ushers me away to the nearby table, often pouring me a glass of chilled sauvignon blanc, begging me to tell her tales from Dublin. Neither Ana or Rodrigo travel well, or we’d have flown them over for a break long before now.
Marcus hoists himself out of the water with a grunt and flops onto the nearest sunlounger. ‘What’s the plan for the rest of the afternoon?’
‘I was thinking we could bring the girls to that equestrian centre again and enrol them for some horse riding lessons while we’re here. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re making a rod for your own back. They already have swimming, soccer, martial arts and ballet, why on earth would you want to get them into another extracurricular activity?’
He might be right. Emily is eight and Erin is six going on sixteen. Their personalities couldn’t be any more different. Emily’s a pure tomboy; she lives in tracksuits and football shirts. Erin wants to be a princess when she grows up and won’t wear anything unless it’s pink and sparkly. I adore them, but sometimes I wish I could escape the madness of motherhood for a few weeks. It’s so good to be away for the summer – a break from the monotony of school runs, packed lunches and laundry.
‘It’ll be good for them.’ Tying my top securely at the back, I shoot him a pleading glance. I don’t need his permission, but I do like us the be on the same page.
His eyes roll skywards again and he exhales an exaggerated huff. ‘Ok, horse riding it is.’
Flashing him a grin, I head to the kitchen to offer my assistance to Ana and to fetch my husband a cold beer from the fridge.
‘Afternoon.’ Ana winks at me knowingly as I breeze into the traditional style kitchen. It’s all mahogany beams, low ceilings and terracotta tiles, the polar opposite to our modern, brilliant-white self-build in Dublin. The object of so many of my Instagram posts. It seems women cannot get enough of looking at other women’s homes and gardens.
‘Need any help?’ I glance at the shallots she’s chopping. Having staff, even if it’s only in our holiday home, is something that took me a long time to get used to. I didn’t come from money. Neither did Marcus.
‘No thanks. Get your husband a drink before he dehydrates out there.’ Her voice is jovial and maternal, her English almost perfect. She’s accustomed to our daily rituals at this stage, and four o’clock in Vilamoura is usually drink o’clock.
‘Would you like something?’ I pad barefoot towards the huge buzzing fridge, yank open the door and remove a beer for Marcus and yesterday’s open bottle of white for myself.
‘Perhaps with dinner,’ Ana says, her eyes still focussed on the preparations. Sometimes they eat with us, but more often than not they like to eat later, the two of them together at the outdoor table and chairs set in front of their own front door.
The door bangs and the girls come hurtling in with the nanny in a flurry of noise and colour, not entirely different from a travelling circus.
‘Mam, you’ll never guess where we were!’ Erin squeals, running towards me with a sense of excited urgency. Her hands wrap around my bare legs and she squeezes me with a love that can never be doubted.
‘Where were you? Tell me!’ Crouching to her eye level, I beckon a tired looking Emily over for a hug. Both girls have mousy blonde hair, similar to my own natural shade before it’s highlighted. Emily’s eyes are blue like mine and Erin’s are a rich hazel flecked with gold and full of mischief like Marcus’s.
‘We were in the aquarium!’ Erin shrieks.
‘It was awesome.’ Emily nods in agreement.
‘No way! Will you bring me next time?’ Pulling them both into me, I squeeze them into a tight hug. A few hours of adult time has recharged me. I’m ready to give my girls my absolute best again. If I feel this recharged after a couple of hours, perhaps I should think about doing something adult, something for myself, away from the kids more often now they’re getting a bit older? A job… or a hobby.
‘Shelly,’ Marcus shouts from the garden, standing from his position on the lounger. ‘Your phone’s ringing. If you don’t want to answer it, I’ll happily throw it into the pool once and for all.’
‘Back in a second,’ I tell the girls as Ana fetches them some lemonade.
Striding across the luscious lawn, I wonder who could be looking for me. Realistically, it can probably only be my best friend, Nadine. I rarely get any other callers. I don’t exactly come from a traditional nuclear family. My mother remarried a Turkish guy half her age and is living in Dalaman. We barely hear from her these days. My father is on the missing list, having spent most of my teenage years shacked up with another woman. I have a sister, but she runs a hotel in Australia and operates on another time zone.
Squinting at the screen, it’s hard to make out the number under the harsh streaming sunlight. Without properly looking, I hit accept.
‘Shelly Williams?’ A smooth deep voice resounds over the phone line.
‘Who’s asking?’ I’ve been caught out before by Marcus’s crazy fans and daring fraudsters.
‘My name is Aaron Wright. I’m one of the production managers from RTE television studios. I have a proposition I’d like to discuss with you.’ He clears his throat as he waits for my response.
‘A proposition?’ Doubt rings in my tone and Marcus’s bushy eyebrows skyrocket to his skinhead.
