She lights her cigarette with a gold-plated Zippo and blows out a curl of smoke. “I was an air hostess, darling. That’s how we met. I was working in the first-class cabin on a flight to Hong Kong and served Edgar a glass of champagne. Although to listen to his ex-wife, you’d think I’d blown him in the aisle.”
I laugh so loudly the kids look over.
“Are you coming in, Adam?” shouts Archie.
“Not just yet!” I call back.
Angelika waits for them to start playing again. “How are you getting on with the kids?”
“Better, thanks. Or at least I think so. But it’s been hard work.” I lower my voice. “The other day I caught Mabel running my toothbrush around the toilet bowl.”
Now it’s Angelika’s turn to howl with laughter. “My younger stepson once pissed in a bottle and said he’d made me apple juice.”
I howl some more. “That’s rank! Did you at least catch him before you drank it?”
“Yes. And I remind him of it all the time. Believe it or not, we get on very well now.”
I grab hold of my chair and pull it closer. “So how did you turn things around?”
Angelika sucks in a drag and blows out more smoke. “Funnily enough, the distance helped. Although I appreciate that’s not much use to you. I guess I just didn’t push it. I let them set the pace. And I tried to see things from their perspective.”
As she flicks her ash into a gold-plated tray, I become aware ofan argument erupting in the pool. I stand up and walk over. “What’s going on?”
“Archie’s splashing me!” wails Mabel.
“I’m trying to swim but he keeps getting in the way!” moans Callum.
“Please come in with us,” begs Archie. “Please come and play!”
I frown. I am wearing my swimming shorts and have packed a towel, but I’m fascinated by the conversation with Angelika—and still haven’t asked her about Wilf. “I’d love to, Archie, but I’m talking. Why don’t you guys play a game?”
“Of what?”
Scrabbling around for ideas, I find myself revisiting the one holiday I went on with my dad, Debbie, Trevor and Keith. With two football-obsessed stepbrothers, I was always the odd one out, as they’d delight in reminding me—in between calling mequeerandpoofter. The only time I felt comfortable was when we played games in the pool. Dad would tell us to turn our backs, he’d throw his keys in the water and we’d compete to find them. As Trevor and Keith weren’t very good swimmers, I’d sometimes win—and for a short time I no longer felt inferior to them. I outline the game to the kids and, when they express enthusiasm, go to my bag to find the house key.
“Willyouthrow it in?” asks Archie.
I screw up my face. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to take it in turns.”
I hand the key to Callum first.
“Make sure somebody keeps score!”
When I sit back down, Angelika has stubbed out her cigarette and served two glasses of Prosecco from a bottle that’s been standing in a bucket of ice—but she’s mixed it with raspberry liqueur to “give it a twist.”
“Prost!”she says, holding up her glass.
“Cheers!” I reply, clinking mine against it.
We each take a sip.
“So tell me about you and Wilf,” I begin. “You said you were close.”
Angelika smiles. “Oh, yes. I organized his funeral. Although he didn’t want any fuss so it was very quiet, just a basic cremation.”
“So I heard. Apparently, even Stefano and Luisa didn’t go.”
Angelika tilts her head. “Isn’t that the couple who looked after his house?”
