With a grateful smile, she is about to reach out a hand to him, to suggest what she has in mind, when they both hear it: a car horn sounding persistently, accompanied by shouts and whistles. Their faces fall as they continue to listen to the commotion outside as it builds in intensity. She stands up.
‘Leave it, Lotts. It won’t do any good.’
And there it is, she thinks. Proof of what she suspected. Tim no longer cares as much as she does. He just wants the quiet life, with someone easier, more fun.
‘I’m just going to see what’s going on. There might be a problem we can help with.’
And with a protracted groan, Tim joins her as she opens the back door and walks out into the garden.
She turns to throw an ‘I told you so’ look over her shoulder as they both regard the massive lorry that is parked outside, blocking the road. They can see Tobias standing on the narrow pavement in his checked shirt and chinos, his face turning redder by the minute.
Lottie and Tim take a few tentative steps up the path and begin to overhear a conversation he is having with an older couple. Less a conversation and more of a stand-off. The words, ‘poxy B & B’, ‘not my fault’ and ‘suggest you sell up’ filter over the noise of the traffic jam and they witness the look of surprise and hurt on the old couple’s faces.
Tim swears softly over her shoulder. ‘He really is a twat of the first order, isn’t he?’
Lottie turns to him and smiles.
‘Thank you!’ she says, vindication flooding her. ‘I was thinking of another four-letter word to be honest …’
She is about to intervene when the old couple walk away despondently and Tobias turns to his sharp-suited architect.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ says Tim. ‘It’s too hot and noisy out here.’
Lottie wants to object but then turns reluctantly to follow her husband back inside. It feels like a failure though.
‘Why don’t you ever stand up to people like him?’ she says as they close the door. The words have come tumbling out of her before she could clamp down on them and now they are out, she must continue.
‘Sorry, what?’ asks Tim, looking stung.
‘I just mean … what’s stopping you walking out there, giving Tobias Woolf a piece of your mind? Telling him what everyone else round here is clearly thinking? Or better still, lamping him one?’
Tim looks at her in disbelief.
‘Seriously? You’re actually suggesting that I start throwing punches. Physically assaulting people. I’m a primary school teacher, Lottie. Not a good look.’
‘I know, I know. It’s just, when I was growing up, I always remember how my brother, even my dad … well, they didn’t take any shit from anyone. You didn’t mess with them. And people respected them for it, still do. Why can’t you be more …’
She stops herself just in time.
‘Why can’t I be more what, Lottie? More violent? Aggressive? Is that what you really want?’
‘No, of course not but—’
‘But I’m not enough, am I? Whatever it is you really want, I’m not it, am I?’
She strides towards him, knowing she’s said too much and all of it has come out wrongly.
‘You’re everything I’ve always wanted, Tim.’
He turns away from her but she puts her arms around his waist, presses her cheek into his back, listens to the heave and sigh of his breathing. They can still hear the distant sound of acar horn, engines revving, the builders shouting instructions to each other as they unload the delivery lorry. And in amongst it all, Josh can be heard waking up, disturbed by the commotion; too hot, too sticky, too tired.
‘Bugger it, maybe we should just leave early,’ says Lottie with a warble in her voice. ‘Pack up and admit defeat. At least our little place in London is home.’
‘No!’ says Tim, with a force that takes her aback, his voice echoing though the cavern of his chest. She lifts her head away as he turns to face her.
‘This is our holiday, Lottie. We’ve waited all year for this. And Josh is really enjoying himself.’
They both look in the direction of the bedroom where the querulous cries of their son are rising in pitch and strength.
