‘Chill, mother. It’s an organised local display in the arse-end of nowhere. We’re hardly watching the ball drop in Times Square.’
‘Belle,’ reprimands Olivia. ‘I just want to make sure you stay safe, that’s all.’
‘No worries, Mum,’ says Drew with a little placatory pat. ‘Always.’
That night, Olivia is slowly wending her way along the road into town. She has allowed the kids to choose the restaurant tonight and is somewhat dismayed to see that they will be eating in a glorified burger bar. She wouldn’t mind, but the prices are on a par with some of her favourite restaurants. And if she must eat meat, she would much rather be cutting into a nice rare steak served on a proper plate with cutlery. Instead, she will be eating with her hands and probably getting food all over her face; two things she would like to avoid, especially as Marcus will most likely be joining them again.
Her heart sinks. Not because she doesn’t want to see him – plus she doesn’t like to imagine him eating by himself – but because it’s even harder not being alone together. She could hardly refuse though when Tobias came home and told her the plan.
He had arrived back at the hotel in a foul mood. Apparently there had been another scene at the property because the kitchen delivery had turned up early – an oversight she had to shamefacedly admit to being her fault. But she’s secretly pleased that things are coming on apace. This is her and Marcus’s dream kitchen that is being installed, after all.
‘Do they offer anything other than burgers?’ she asks into the heavy evening air. The temperature barely seems to have lowered despite the sinking sun and it feels like they are walking through treacle. She hopes this place has a sea view and a terrace with some air. She visualises a hot smoky grill with poor ventilation and winces.
‘Well, I for one am looking forward to it,’ says Tobias in a half-shout, several paces ahead. She really wishes he wouldn’tinsist on striding forward all the time, as though she and the kids are underlings. ‘I need to eat something bloody, well … bloody,’ he adds.
‘But what about your cholesterol?’ she calls.
‘Too late,’ he returns. ‘My BP must be sky high after today. What a circus! And you and Marcus weren’t much help, between you. Messing things up!’
‘Oh, it’s fine. We have plenty of space to store the kitchen and like you said, the electrician has done the main things. Once the plaster is in place, we can start installing, can’t we? It’s going to be so beautiful.’
‘Yes, well I could have done without Mr and Mrs Nosy Parker from the B & B getting involved. ’Fraid I gave them short shrift.’
‘You weren’t rude were you?’ says Olivia, concerned now.
‘Sent them off with a piece of my mind,’ confirms Tobias with a laugh. ‘Still, glad it’s all over now and we can crack on.’
‘Please don’t make enemies, Tobias. I’m the one who’s got to live here, remember?’
Her husband stops short.
‘Well, we’ll both be staying here,’ he says haltingly. ‘Here and there, anyway. When time allows,’ he qualifies.
‘Yes, yes of course.’ She forgets that she hasn’t told Tobias her future plans yet and bites her lip nervously.
It appears they are heading towards the end of the harbour. A couple of temporary-looking marquees have been erected, housing a large open grill and mini-kitchen with long wooden tables and benches set up on the concrete outside. Communal dining, thinks Olivia with a shudder.
‘This is it,’ calls Bella.
‘Nice one,’ adds Drew. ‘I saw this place on socials. It sounds excellent. Best burgers outside London, according toThe Guide.’
‘Who wrote that? Some Londoner?’ scoffs Tobias but he rubs his hands together.
‘Honestly, it’s barely more than a barbecue and some garden furniture,’ complains Olivia. ‘They really know how to make the most of the tourist trade down here, don’t they?’
But no one is listening. Olivia feels her body sag as the others press on without her. As she hangs back, she casts one last covetous glance towards the other restaurants on the seafront and she notices a couple sitting together on a bench in the dusky half-light. She can only see them from behind but she recognises their dark silhouette. It is the woman who gave her the weave the other day – Mila, she was called. Olivia had commented on what a pretty name it was while the woman worked on her hair. She reaches for the twisted coloured threads and remembers the long dexterous fingers, the shifty, guarded look. Yes, it’s definitely her, she decides, as the woman turns to the side in profile and leans her head on the shoulder of the man sitting beside her. It must be her partner, Olivia presumes. In fact, it is the man, Petras who started working on-site at the renovation, she’s sure of it. She can hear the low rumbling sound of their conversation, foreign and obscure, but she can tell it is affectionate, easy and tender. They appear to be sharing a cigarette, just the one between the two of them, and something about it is sweet and adolescent despite their age.
Suddenly, Mila cries out in delight, her hands lifting in surprise as Petras presents her with a small gift. She looks like a little girl, excited and enamoured, and she leans over and kisses him effusively on the cheek. Olivia can’t tell what this love token is but Mila clutches it in her hands like a rare jewel. Then she twists it open and applies a small wand to her face, painting her mouth with it. She puckers up to Petras, pouting, showing off her glossy lips and he applauds.
‘Livvy. Get a move on, would you?’ comes the summons from her husband across the soft breeze and Olivia must abandon her people-watching for now. Duty and burgers call.
FRIDAY
27
Marcus is out early this morning, running on the beach. He’s decided it’s about time he started looking after himself a bit more. Being out of the city for several days has made him appreciate the fresh air and local wildlife down here, inspired him to clean up his act a little. Luckily, he had packed some trainers and kit just in case and he is enjoying the feel of brine in his nose, the rhythmic pounding of his feet on firm wet sand while he listens to some good old-fashioned techno beats.
He passes some council workers who have started erecting the bonfire, ready for tomorrow night’s celebrations. What is it the locals are celebrating, he wonders. The end of summer? Which is a curious thing, if so. God, they must love and hate the season, all the tourists, in equal measure. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them, he guesses.
