The kitchen never ceased to give pleasure; they’d saved up for ages and it had only been finished eighteen months ago. Everything in it had been carefully chosen, from the antique brushed brass taps and handles to the polished concrete floor.
After popping a bag of Yorkshire Gold into the mug and filling it up with boiling water, she turned to the oak-topped island in the middle of the room.
It was virtually crumb-free, but she gave it a quick wipe anyway, and it was only now she noticed a note poking out from beneath the rough, blue ceramic fruit bowl sitting on top, which she loved. It had been made for her by a potter friend.
The handwriting was Ralph’s. Glancing out of the glass doors into the garden, she realised his office was in darkness. He was out then. Surprising. He normally worked till about 7p.m.
Afterwards, they’d have supper together, then she’d do her marking while he, well… He usually sloped back to his office and read or listened to music. Or he’d watch TV in the sitting room with the door shut, so as not to disturb her.
She went back to the note and read it quickly.
Hi hon, hope today was OK. Gone to golf lesson. I’ll have a bite in the pub with Peter after. Might be late! Don’t wait up xx
Peter was his best local mate. A bit of a boozer, so they’d no doubt hang about till closing time. Had Ralph told her he was taking golf lessons? She didn’t think so. But why would he? Pilates with the girls was more her thing.
A nasty niggle in her stomach made her pause. When did they stop telling each other stuff? After the children came along? It couldn’t have been that long ago; she and Ralph were a team back then.
True, he’d never been a big talker and she’d sometimes wished he’d open up about his feelings more. But it hadn’t seemed to matter much when they first met because they were so much in love and lust that in her eyes, he could do no wrong.
Later, once they had kids, they were just so busy getting by, she barely thought about it, and they were certainly good at divvying up the tasks so family life ran smoothly.
Maybe the cracks began to show once the kids became more independent, Edie mused. He’d set up his own, one-man publishing business and started working from home about eight years ago, when Maisie was fifteen. That was when they’d installed the garden office, aka his man cave.
It soon became his favourite place in the world and he often went in there just to chill. This used not to bother her; after all, she was usually busy with work and the children anyway.
But now Maisie had moved out and Ollie was at university, the house felt empty. Edie hadn’t realised quite how big a presence they’d both been, Ollie, in particular.
She used to like nothing more than having a full table, and his mates would drop by a lot. She’d whip up huge bowls of pasta for them all, or a giant chilli con carne, and listen in on their chat.
It was Ralph who’d driven Ollie to university for his first term and Edie had wept bitterly when she’d said goodbye; she couldn’t help it.
‘I’ll be back soon, Mum,’ Ollie had said, giving her a big hug and kissing her on the cheek before pulling away.
‘I know.’
Edie had wiped her eyes and managed a smile. She didn’t want to make him feel sad or guilty; it wouldn’t be fair.
‘Just think – no more smelly sports kit or filthy rugby boots to trip over,’ he’d added, with a laugh. ‘You and Dad can do whatever you want. Why don’t you book a weekend away? You’ve always said you want to explore the Lake District. Why don’t you go there?’
‘Good idea,’ she’d replied, acting keen. But in truth, she couldn’t muster any real enthusiasm. It would probably rain every day and the prospect of being holed up with Ralph in some typically shabby UK hotel or guest house was, frankly, unappealing. What on earth would they talk about?
Ralph must have missed their son, too. They used to go fishing at the weekend and watch footy on TV. He and Edie had never talked about their new situation. Perhaps they both found the subject too painful.
Dilly was scratching on the bifold door so Edie let her out into the garden. It was just after 6p.m., too early for supper. Picking up her mug of tea, handbag and an open packet of shortbread biscuits, she strolled over to the squashy cream armchair in the corner and sat down, kicking off her shoes and curling up her legs underneath.
‘Right,’ she said to herself, placing her mug on the floor and reaching for the phone in her bag. ‘Time for some research.’
Soon, she was lost in features and travel blogs about Crete, its history, food and culture, as well as the best areas to visit. She remembered she and Ralph had been to the north side of the island on their honeymoon, so this time she focused on the south.
Nowhere seemed too far from either of the two international airports, but she couldn’t decide which towns or villages to home in on.
Idly, she typed, ‘luxurious peaceful villa to rent in southern Crete, near sea, own swimming pool’.
Expecting the search engine to throw up a raft of links to suitable rental companies, to her surprise, the very first name that came up was that of a single establishment – Villa Ariadne.
Curiously, the description contained the exact same keywords she’d used. It even claimed it was perfect for two couples, though it could sleep up to five people.
She clicked on the website link and was taken straight to the home page. The pale blue font looked old-fashioned and the photographs were grainy, leaving her to suspect the site hadn’t been updated for some time. However, the outside of the house looked very appealing, with a grand yet welcoming façade and an avenue of olive trees leading up to it. And the blurb, written by the housekeeper, was really rather charming.
