Anyway, it’s hard to think back to when Emma began to change. To when my bubbly little girl turned into something different. All parents say that, don’t they, that the morphing of child to adolescent is a truly bizarre experience, something you’re never prepared for despite how many times you’ve warned yourself it will happen.
She began to turn in on herself, spending more and more time alone in her bedroom. Whereas before she had been happy spending time with me after school, sitting atop the Aga with her legs dangling down, watching me in the kitchen, now she vanished, a blur of school uniform and long hair disappearing up the stairs. I used to stand at the bottom step, trying desperately to think of the magic words that would bring her back, make us close again, but somehow they never came.
‘It’s just hormones,’ Callum had said at first, shrugging, and for a second or two I hated him. Hated him for dismissing her like that. He and Emma have always got on very well – truth be told, there are times when I look at them both and feel jealous, though that’s not something I’d ever really want to admit to anyone else. But despite their closeness, Callum has never really tackled the problem, at least not head on. He buried his head in the sand and it’s stayed there ever since. When he did try to talk to her about it, he became too brusque, almost aggressive. I suppose a stroppy daughter didn’t really fit into his persona – his TV exec personality, his almost local celebrity status. In spite of how much he loved her, she was becoming a blot on his copybook. But it wasn’t as though I was much better. I worried about her, but I was frustrated, too. I wanted her to snap out of it, to grow up a bit. Look, I’m just being honest. I never pretended to be perfect. Despite what people might think.
Callum comes outside, his hair wet from the shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist. Our villa is overlooked slightly by the one above us on the hill, but Callum has never been particularly bothered about privacy. When I first met him, he was quite the exhibitionist, forever taking risks and encouraging me to loosen my inhibitions a bit – wanting public displays of affection, snatched encounters outdoors on our dates. I’m not sure he ever really got what he wanted in that respect – not from me, anyway. It was never really my thing.
‘Still up for going to Rouen today with Maria?’ he asks me. ‘We can probably drag Ems along too, don’t you think?’
He’s grinning at me in that careless way he has, running a hand through the dark spikes of his hair. Whatever odd mood that had gripped him on the plane over here seems to have gone now, faded away in the heat and the wine and the luxuriousness of the swimming pool. Callum is a man who is used to getting what he wants and despite everything, he still has that ability to charm me, to grin like a Cheshire cat and make those old giddy feelings arise in my stomach.
‘Mmm,’ I say, about to capitulate, and then suddenly I look at him and think better of it. ‘You know what, actually, Callum, I was thinking I might stay here for the day, by the pool,’ I say. ‘Might get a bit of work done, if I can get the internet working.’ I pause. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
He groans, but it’s only a mock-groan, I can tell. He doesn’t really mind if I don’t come, and I can already see his mind skipping ahead to what this means – a possible father-daughter day for him and Emma. Just Daddy and Ems. No bad cop today.
‘We’re on holiday, Siobhan,’ he says. ‘Plus, you said you’d always wanted to visit Rouen.’ He pauses. ‘You don’t need to be working – I work! You need a break. That’s why we came here.’
Is it, I ask myself silently, but outwardly I smile, though I’m bristling inside at his casual dismissal of my need to work. ‘I know, I’m sorry. But if I can power through some bits today then it’ll free me up for the rest of the time here. I promise.’ I’m improvising now.
He relents, as I knew he would, and I settle myself down by the pool, my laptop on my knee, listening as Emma finally rouses herself and the pair of them set about getting ready to go to Rouen. At one point, Emma comes out to the patio, stopping when she sees me on the sun lounger.
‘Are you not coming?’
I gesture at my laptop with a rueful sigh.
‘Work. I’m sorry, darling. But you’ll have fun with Dad.’
‘Hmm.’ She seems to accept it relatively easily (I could almost be hurt by her lack of protestation) and I watch as she lifts the hem of her white summer dress, sprays her legs with mozzie spray.
‘Maria?’ Callum is calling for my sister, the sound of his voice bouncing over to where I lie at the pool. It’s very hot – I should get a hat. ‘Maria? Where are you?’
She emerges from a side door, sunglasses over her eyes and a shopping bag in her hand, blue plastic straining at her wrist.
‘Have you been out?’ I ask, confused, and she nods.
‘Popped to the patisserie, managed to catch it open for once.’
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘we thought you were still in bed.’
She grins at me. ‘I handle my hangovers a little better than I used to, sis. Been up and about for hours. Sorry about the stuff in the living room, had to unload the car. Croissant?’
‘Emma and Callum are hoping to go to Rouen,’ I say. She looks at me by the pool, the two of them ready to go, and seems to assess the situation at a single glance.
‘I think I’ll stay here with Siobhan, actually,’ she tells Callum, the car keys glinting in her hand. ‘Here, take these. You’re insured on mine, aren’t you? You’ll manage. Just go slow on the bends. We’ll save you a croissant for when you get back.’ She’s tossed the keys across the patio to him before he can argue; I watch as he catches them deftly. He’s always been sure of himself, has my husband, but as he and Emma turn to go, I catch sight of something unreadable on his face. It is there for a second, and then it disappears.
Five minutes later, they are gone. I wait until the sound of Maria’s car stuttering up the hill has faded into the distance, then close my laptop, which I never had any intention of using. I don’t really have much work to do; my role at a pharmaceutical company has gradually lessened over the years as Callum’s star has continued to rise. I took a step back from it when Emma was born, wanting to prioritise my family, prioritise my husband. I’ve spent sixteen years of my life doing just that, which is why, I suppose, the thought of it all crumbling now is a little too much for me to bear. After the sacrifices I’ve made, the things I have endured.
I lie back on my sun lounger. Beside me, my sister sets out the croissants on the white plastic table in front of us, then settles herself down. For a few seconds, we are silent, listening to the sound of the crickets, but I can feel her gaze on me, the way I always could when we were younger. She’d always be trying to catch me out, and sometimes I feel as though nothing has changed. ‘She’s protective of you,’ our mother often said, ‘she cares about you as if you were her own. Eldest sibling syndrome.’ I’ve never been sure if that’s the case, although there’s nothing concrete to suggest otherwise.
The pool glistens in front of us, and I reproach myself; we are here because of Maria, aren’t we, we are in this beautiful place, in the sunshine, because she has been kind enough to offer it up. Things have changed – we are adults now, and I have nothing to worry about. The crickets sound as though they are getting louder. All I want is some time to think – about what I’m going to do, how Callum and I are going to move forward. Whether we are going to move forward at all. But I can’t hear my thoughts for the hum of the insects, and Maria’s presence next to me is distracting.