When did her son make so many new friends? How does he do it so easily? Mind you, she’s always thought that Drew was blessed with the best parts of both her and Tobias; her husband’s confidence and ease with people, her looks and kindness. But still, this is fast work and something in her prickles as she watches him standing around grinning with the older boys, whose biceps ripple in the sun, their piercings catching the light. They laugh then, exchange some kind of secret masonic handshake by way of goodbye, and Drew wanders off for his paddleboard lesson. He looks so much younger, more naive by comparison. His skinny limbs, weedy beside theirs, his skin paler. But then he climbs atop his board with ease and sets off with the instructor, looking like he was born to it.
By the time she gets back to the hotel, Olivia is hot and sweaty, the weather boiling already. She’s quite glad to be taking some relief inside the cool, air-conditioned environs of the hotel and beauty spa. She can’t imagine why anyone would want to be out in this midday heat. But then, not everyone has much choice, she supposes, thinking vaguely of the builders labouring at the house.
She takes off her wide-brimmed sun hat and glasses as she enters the foyer, looking around for Bella. Finding her daughter in a chair, with one leg lolling on the armrest, white earbuds poking out of her ears, she steels herself for some one-on-one mother and daughter time. It used to be such a treat, she remembers, spending time with Belle when she was younger. She was so much more malleable, suggestible. She used to dress her daughter in her own image; pretty dresses, cashmere cardigans, plaited hair. But now Belle insists on wearing ‘sports luxe’ and ‘ath-leisure’ as she terms it, which seems to involve anything with a logo and more fitting for the gym as far as Olivia can tell. This, coupled with the fake tan, lashes and nails, can only be described as a little on the chavvy side, as far as she is concerned – though at least Bella’s accent and education preclude her frombeing completely classed thus. She knows she’s being an awful snob, but it’s the truth.
‘Hello, darling,’ she greets her daughter brightly.
‘Hey,’ replies Bella languidly, as if it is all too much effort already.
‘Shall we go through? I’m looking forward to a bit of pampering, aren’t you?’
Bella gives a shrug and pulls herself out of the chair.
As they take their seats, side by side, ready to have their feet worked upon by two almost mute beauty therapists, Olivia turns to her daughter in order to begin a conversation but she can tell she’s not really listening.
‘Belle, please, take those things out of your ears for a moment.’
Her daughter sighs.
‘What, so I can listen to this plinky-plonky shit?’
Olivia smiles faintly. The pan pipes muzak is a bit cheesy.
‘No, so we can talk. When was the last time we really talked? I hardly see you nowadays, since you went off to uni. And when you do come back, you seem so …’
‘What?’
‘Distant, distracted, busy.’
‘It’s called having a social life. Purpose. A raison d’être. You should try it sometime, Mum.’
Olivia feels herself physically wince, like a tender bruise has been pressed. How does Belle always know how to wound her so precisely? But then, would it hurt so much if it wasn’t so true? Her children have always been her everything, her reason for being for so long. She thought they’d appreciate it one day; all those years she sacrificed when they were younger to be there for them, to take them to play dates, attend school sports day, entertain them during the long holidays.
But the other day, she had reminded Bella and Drew of a memory from their childhood, an activity they used to love, aplace they used to visit, and both of them looked blankly at her as though suffering from collective amnesia. Or rather, as though it were she who was undergoing some kind of cognitive loss, reinventing stuff from their past that just never happened or wasn’t memorable enough to recollect.
And she thought, what was it all for? What was the point of it all? Of course she had soon pulled herself together, consoled herself that it wasn’t specifics that were important, it was the fact her kids knew she was there; permanent, reassuring, reliable. The safety net, the bedrock of their lives.
They sit in silence for a moment as their feet soak in the warm scented water; Olivia’s lily-coloured limbs beside Bella’s bronzed ones.
‘As a matter of fact, I’m starting my own business.’ She says this almost without realising but Bella turns to her in surprise. She waits for her daughter to mock, to pour scorn.
‘Wow, really?’
‘Yes,’ she says warming to her theme. ‘I want to get back into my art. I used to enjoy working in the gallery before I had you and Drew.’
‘And what does Dad reckon?’
‘Oh, I haven’t told him yet. Just waiting for the right moment. He’s so focused on this renovation right now. I don’t want to distract him.’
‘I thought the new holiday house was a big deal to you too, Mum? Otherwise, why would we be hanging out down here with these losers, instead of going abroad like everyone else?’
Olivia shushes her daughter, casting an eye around the treatment room to check that none of the staff heard but they appear occupied elsewhere.
‘Of course it’s a big deal. It’ll be the start of a new life. For me, anyway.’ Bella cocks an eyebrow at her but says nothing.
‘I’m going to open my own gallery and studio,’ she says. ‘Down here. By the sea.’ There, she has said it now. It’s official. It’s really happening.
‘And is Dad paying for all that too?’
