“Get off your bikes!” I instruct the boys, quickly. “We’re not cycling down there.”
Callum’s face has drained of color. For once, he doesn’t argue.
By the time the three of us reach the site of the accident, a small crowd has gathered. But no one’s been hurt and Theo looks like he’s managed to placate the driver—who happens to be Scottish—and is handing over his insurance details.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats.
“It’s alright,” the man replies. “It’s only a hire car. I’m sure the wee girl has learned a lesson.”
Mabel is standing by her bike, sniveling. But she doesn’t look remorseful in the slightest. She whips out her phone and starts typing. I hope she isn’t messaging her mum.
I’ve no idea how Theo’s going to handle her, because we’ve barely had time to push our bikes back to the shop when his phone rings.
“Hi, Kate,” he says, flashing me a rictus smile. “Gang, your mum’s on the phone!”
I suggest we grab a table outside the café next door and order us all a soft drink while, one by one, the kids step away to speak to their mum.
Theo and I sit in silence.
When Archie comes back, he looks troubled and confused. Callum is sullen and unreachable. Mabel’s blazing with defiance.
She thrusts the phone at Theo. “Mum wants a word.”
It’s difficult for me to follow the conversation with only Theo’s responses, but—as far as I can make out—Kate’s using the accident as an excuse to challenge his competence as a parent. “Kate, I understand that but they’re perfectly safe. … Yes, I know she’s upset and I know this is hard for her. … You know, I am capable of keeping an eye on my own children. … You’re very welcome to speak to your lawyer. … Bloody hell, I was not distracted by Adam. … Kate, he’s a perfectly good driver!”
He turns away so I can’t hear any more. But I’ve heard enough.
I can’t delude myself any longer. My sisters were right and Kate’s trying to sabotage our summer. She’s out to destroy me—or at least my relationship with Theo. And not just that, but it looks like she’s manipulating Mabel—and maybe Callum, too—to achieve her ends.
Once again, I feel upturned by an awful feeling of despair. What can I do? I can’t fight back. I’d never win against their mum.
And I wouldn’t want to: I wouldn’t want to turn any children against their mother. I still miss mine and would give anything to have her back.
I’ll have to discuss it with Theo later.
When we get back to the house, Theo puts Archie to bed, while I go up to the castle to watch the sunset.
The climb is getting more difficult as the earth continues to erode. I’ve already asked the builders to construct a proper path—which they’ve said they’ll do, using logs to create steps and iron staves to hold up a rope handrail—but I’m going to have to persuade them to move this up their list of priorities. God knows how Luisa and the other diggers have been managing to get here every morning.
When I enter the clearing, I discover that the diggers have divided the land into some kind of grid system that’s mapped out with red string. There are sticks with measurements on them and little numbered markers poking up at the corners. It only looks like a thin layer of soil has been removed from a handful of the squares. But I don’t want to touch anything, not even the squares in which the digging hasn’t started. So I skirt around the edges, dodging boxes of equipment and stacks of what look like sieves with wooden frames.
I find the spot on the stone wall where Theo and I sat the first time we came to the house. As then, the sun’s about to dip behind the mountain and is spilling out sensuous rays of pumpkin, apricot and peach.
I smile.
I find myself thinking about my mum. Although I loved watching the sunset with her, she’d always imagine what other people were doing around the world, other people with differentdreams and passions, other people in more glamorous, exotic places, but living under the same sun. She never seemed to talk about our life or what we were doing in Manchester. After a while I worried that she wasn’t happy and wanted to be somewhere else. That she didn’t want to be with me. That I wasn’t good enough for her. And I tried to be good enough, convincing myself that if I could just make myself better, Mum would be happy.
In the weeks leading up to her death I worried even more. She started to behave suspiciously, having hushed phone conversations and quickly hiding things whenever I walked into the room. Once, she told me she was going to the local tanning shop to use the sunbed but I saw her sitting on a bus going into town. I sensed she was covering something up but didn’t want to tell Dad in case he got angry at her and she became even more unhappy—or in case she got angry at me. Then came that awful morning when I found out she was dead. Dad told me she’d been hit by a car on a night out with Auntie Julie—but I could tell that he was hiding something, too. I decided Mum must have killed herself. And I couldn’t escape the feeling that it was my fault.
I’ve never brought up the subject with Dad—or Auntie Julie. I couldn’t bear to hear them confirm my worst fears. What would it say about me if I wasn’t even good enough for my own mum to want to stay alive?
I hear the buzzing of a mosquito and bolt up onto my feet. I need to go down to the house and put on some spray.
I turn my back on the setting sun.
As we get ourselves ready for bed, I ask Theo how he dealt with Mabel.
“We had a long talk.” He cups the back of his neck with his hand. “She said she’s sorry.”
