Theo and I exchange a look of solidarity. We lead everyone to the car-rental terminal—dragging our suitcases behind us—but when we arrive at the desk there’s a long line.
“Why do they always have to be so slow?” I ask Theo. “Everyone’s filled in the forms online. Why can’t they be ready to go?”
We pick apart the process, joking that we should be management consultants and could whip the industry into shape.
“Why do adults have such boring conversations?” interjects Callum.
Theo and I burst out laughing.
“I’ve got to admit, thatisa bit boring!” says Theo.
Am I imagining this or is there a hint of a smile playing at the corner of Callum’s mouth?
“How do you saycarin Italian?” cuts in Archie.
I look it up on my translation app.“La macchina.”
“Try to remember that,” says Theo, laying his hands on Archie’s shoulders. “In fact, let’s learn as many Italian words as we can.”
“Dad, why do you have to make everything aboutlearning?” moans Callum, all traces of his smile gone.
“We’re supposed to be off school!” agrees Mabel, pulling her sleeves over her wrists.
I can’t help thinking that she must be hot in her long-sleeved top and sweatpants but don’t say anything. I know she’s still growing into her adult body and is struggling to shed the puppy fat. That’s why she prefers to cover up—and pulls her long, wavy hair in front of her face. She’s also conscious of her big boobs and hunches over slightly in an attempt to make them less noticeable. Callum, on the other hand, has shot up to over six foot but still hasn’t started filling out. I assume from the number of protein barsand muscle-building shakes he gets through that he must hate being skinny. At least he’ll wear shorts and T-shirts, although he does stoop to make himself shorter. And he avoids smiling, to hide the train-track braces on his teeth. I suddenly remember how miserable it is being a teenager.
Theo ignores his older children as he and Archie look up the Italian words forengine,gear stickandsteering wheel.
When we’ve finally reached the front of the line and picked up the keys, Mabel announces she’s desperate for the loo. We follow the sign to the other side of the terminal but she refuses to use the Ladies, saying it’s too dirty. “Dad, there’s a turd in there!”
Theo chuckles. “It won’t bite you—flush it away!”
Mabel looks horrified. “What if I catch salmonella?”
“What’s sallomella?” asks Archie.
“Mabel, you won’t catch salmonella,” Theo reassures her.
He finds a disabled loo, goes inside to check it’s clean, and Mabel slinks in after him. When she eventually emerges, Theo says, “That better, chicken?”
Her face falls. “Dad, I’ve told you not to call me that!”
“Alright, alright.” Theo flashes her an impish grin. “Sorry, chicken.”
Mabel growls and turns her back on us. I can’t help but feel relieved.
As we lug our cases to the car park, Theo asks if I want him to drive.
“No,” I insist, “I’ll do it!”
We find the car but discover it’s a much tighter fit than either of us expected. We purposefully ordered the smallest five-seater so it wouldn’t be difficult to maneuver down the lane through the olive grove. But the boot isn’t big enough for our luggage, and Theo and the kids have to sit with bags balanced on their laps and wedged in between their feet.
Once I’ve adjusted my seat and mirrors, I type the address into the satnav, then remember that we need to stop at the supermarket; otherwise, we’ll have nothing to eat tonight. I delete my first search and type in the name of the supermarket nearest the house. We set off.
Within seconds, I narrowly miss colliding with a concrete bollard. I feel a judder of fear: I haven’t had much practice driving on the other side of the road and I’m not a great driver at the best of times. To make matters worse, the kids are falling out before we’ve even left the car park.
“Dad, I’m squashed!”
“Dad, Mabel’s breathing on me!”
