There was a separate room and bathroom for each of the new guests. Cleo was taken to her room first and as soon as she entered, she plonked her bag on the king-size bed and gazed around.
She’d struck lucky. Her room was large, airy and west-facing, with big French windows and a balcony overlooking the main garden. The swimming pool at the end was mostly obscured by trees but beyond it, in the distance, she caught a glimpse of the glinting sea.
The room was simply but tastefully decorated with whitewashed walls and cream bedlinen. At the foot of the bed, neatly folded up, was a richly patterned blanket in shades of deep red, orange and indigo.
Several bold, abstract paintings hung on the walls, and the wooden floors were scattered with rustic woven rugs.
‘Ooh! It’s lovely!’ Cleo said, turning to Henrietta, her eyes shining. The others were still waiting outside.
‘All the rooms are great but I think this is the best,’ Henrietta replied in a low voice. Cupping a hand round her mouth, she gave a wink and whispered, ‘But don’t tell anyone.’
‘I won’t, I promise.’ Cleo had no intention of breathing a word. If Lesley got wind of it, she’d no doubt kick up a huge stink and insist on having the room herself.
Henrietta suggested meeting up again in fifteen to twenty minutes. ‘We can have pre-dinner drinks on the terrace and you’ll get a chance to meet the other guests. It’s not difficult to find. Just walk through the dining room into the kitchen. The French doors lead directly onto it.’
Once she’d left to show Tash, Lesley and Fran to where they’d be sleeping, Cleo started to unpack her luggage. She hadn’t brought many clothes – mainly shorts, vests and T-shirts, plus some yoga pants and a couple of dresses for the evening. She could always wash things if necessary; they’d dry here in a nanosecond.
She placed her phone on the bed beside her bag. It was hours since she’d looked at her messages, and once her clothes were away, she sat down for a moment to check.
Scanning down the list, the first name she noticed was Erica’s. Straight away Cleo’s pulse quickened and her mouth went dry. Was she prepared for this? She could always ignore it and look another time.
Most of her daughter’s texts made her feel horrible, like a bad person and a terrible mother. But Cleo had messaged a few days ago to say she was going away. Maybe this time Erica was just wishing her mum a safe flight.
Some hope.
Erica wrote:
I find your behaviour totally bizarre
Cleo’s heart seemed to compress, as if someone was holding it in their fist and squeezing tight.
You claim you’re hard up and you fought Dad tooth and nail for every penny you could get. Now you’re off on a luxury break, which is no doubt costing a fortune. I don’t understand you, I really don’t. It’s a joke.
Don’t bother to send me any photos. I don’t want to hear about your trip. I hope you have a wonderful time without your son or daughter. Bye.
All the excitement of being in a new place vanished and Cleo’s energy drained away, like water from a leaking pipe. Erica certainly knew how to hit her mother where it really hurt.
Previously, Cleo might have picked up the phone and attempted to explain herself. She’d tried so hard to clarify her actions during and after the separation and divorce. She’d also spent many hours listening to Erica’s own hurt and grievances, hoping it would help to get them off her chest.
But Erica was hot-headed and uncompromising. They always ended up having a row, which made Cleo miserable for days and probably Erica, too. Now, Cleo just felt defeated, as if there was no point in even trying any more because nothing worked.
Erica seemed to misinterpret all Cleo’s actions, seeing them in the worst possible light, and as she refused to meet with her mother in person, the situation was unlikely ever to improve.
Rereading Erica’s final sentence made Cleo shudder.
I hope you have a wonderful time without your son or daughter.
Cleo knew she’d made mistakes, but she did really love her children. Not seeing Erica nearly broke her heart.
She put the phone face down on her bed, balled her fists and squeezed her eyes shut. If she wasn’t careful, the text could ruin the holiday.
Taking a few deep breaths, she told herself she wouldn’t reply tonight; she’d try to put the matter to one side. But she knew it would be hovering just behind her all evening, like a shadow clinging to her heels. There was no escape.
Female voices outside told her some of the retreat guests were already going downstairs for drinks.
Noticing the time on her watch, Cleo jumped up and took a quick look in the mirror above a chest of drawers against the wall. She was a fright, with tangled hair, a sweaty face, pink nose and chapped lips. She couldn’t go for dinner like this.
Hurrying into the bathroom, she threw off her T-shirt, shorts and underwear and jumped in the shower. The water was freezing cold at first but soon turned lukewarm and refreshing.
