Olivia sighs. Why must he always be so pompous and judgemental?
‘What’s your opinion of piercings?’ Tobias continues. ‘Men sticking holes in their faces, filling themselves with shrapnel. Bit naff, don’t you agree?’
‘Please don’t drag him into this. He’s only just arrived,’ pleads Olivia.
‘About time too,’ says Tobias with a cough. ‘Well, what say you?’ he asks Marcus, who sits down in the last available seat, pours himself a glass of sparkling water, and shakes out a napkin into his lap. ‘I don’t see you with any of this rubbish; studs, tattoos all over the place. You were obviously brought up right.’
Olivia watches closely. No one else would notice but she sees Marcus stall a fraction, a look of pure hatred flickering across his face before it is replaced with his usual smooth, untroubled appearance.
‘You never really speak about your family,’ says Olivia, realising this to be true all of a sudden.
‘Yes, where is it you said you were from?’ asks Tobias latching on to this. ‘I can’t remember where you went to school now, come to think.’
‘London,’ says Marcus simply and takes a large swig of water as if to fill his mouth and prevent himself from saying any more.
‘Oh, please,’ moans Bella. ‘Can we not do the whole “who did you board with, what house were you in?” thing? It’s so boring.’
‘Yeah, it’s a bit classist you know, Dad,’ adds Drew, reaching for a piece of crusty bread and the butter, which is already melting in the sultry heat of the evening.
‘Nonsense,’ says Tobias with a jovial roar. ‘Everyone has a pedigree of some sort. I’m just taking an interest. Come on, Marcus, what’s your story?’
There is an awkward silence that Olivia is about to fill when Marcus lifts his head with an air of resignation.
‘I was raised by my mother, Susan. Susie Freeman,’ he adds pointedly. ‘Went to the local state school. Survived on benefits. Free school dinners. Won a scholarship to study architecture at university. You know the rest of my professional credentials, I believe.’
‘There, you see?’ says Drew through a mouthful of bread. ‘Social mobility, right there. Proof that the so-called nanny state does work.’
Tobias is temporarily quietened while Marcus stares at the tablecloth, a muscle contracting in his clean-shaven jaw.
‘Right, now that we’ve established that, can we move on, please?’ asks Olivia, trying desperately to lighten the mood. ‘What’s your view on the special set menu for the evening?’ she adds, taking the piece of typed paper and concertinaing it into a makeshift fan, which she waves in front of her face. She feels hot, her cheeks reddening as she acknowledges Marcus has never confided anything about his upbringing, his home life before. She feels embarrassed, wants to comfort and console him. Damn Tobias and his clumsy, oafish prodding.
‘It was you who raised the subject in the first place, Mum,’ Bella reminds her and Olivia ducks her head at this, taking another sip of champagne.
‘Well, I trust my CV is acceptable to you all?’ says Marcus with a faint smile and raises his glass to the table, looking each of them in the eye in turn.
‘Where is the bloody staff?’ Tobias says then and flags down a passing waitress.
Olivia squirms uncomfortably in her seat. There is no breeze tonight. The weather is still and thick again, as though the landscape is holding its breath. It even seems to have silenced the birds and insects in the surrounding shrubs and trees; suffocated. Ice melts, the crystal glasses sweat, as does everyone else in the gardens while the scorched grass crackles underfoot. This evening feels dry like a tinderbox, expectant with potential. Ready to ignite.
37
Lottie listens to the clap-suck sound of her flip-flops as she and her family walk down into the town. The streets still radiate with heat, bouncing up from the concrete, the tarmac almost running to liquid in places. It feels as though everyone is waiting for the biggest night of the summer to begin. She allows her arms to swing by her sides, her clothes light and loose on her skin.
They have already eaten – a simple tea of pasta and salad at the holiday rental. While Tim cooked, she and Josh had watched the increasing activity visible from the picture window. Now the sun is finally beginning to slink down low over the bay, turning the water to fire. It is unusual for them to keep Josh up so late but tonight feels like a special exception.
Tim had commented that they would have a ringside view of the fireworks right there from their lounge but Lottie had demurred, suggesting there would be much more atmosphere down in the town, enjoying it shoulder to shoulder with the local community. Apparently everyone turns out and besides, their apartment is still so hot, despite the fact they have flung all the windows wide open since the builders finished.
She had been surprised at that; the men downing tools, stopping work so early. Lottie didn’t have Tobias Woolf down as a fair and lenient boss. More the type to extract his pound of flesh out of any employee. But she is glad of it for everyone’s sake and it has worked in their favour. They were able to sit outside to eat, enjoying their small garden area without the usual disturbances. The architect had turned up at one point, but he didn’t stoplong before he emerged from the house, locking up with a big bunch of keys and calling goodnight, though she wasn’t sure if it was directed towards them or not.
It was even quite pretty (if they turned their backs on the site and looked the other way). The dust had settled. They could hear themselves properly, murmuring to each other in the soft evening dusk. It had almost felt like a truce after their horrible argument the other day.
Now, she walks hand in hand with Tim and Josh, taking her time rather than hurrying on. Perhaps this holiday was just what she needed after all. A chance to slow down, breathe, and appreciate how lucky she is. A lesson in forbearance that her younger self had never been able to learn. She turns to Tim, smiling.
‘Thank you,’ she says simply.
‘What for?’ he asks in surprise.
‘For being so kind, so patient, so understanding this week. For everything.’ Tim drops his head, as though bashful at this rare compliment. ‘I mean it, Tim. I know it hasn’t been easy but I appreciate how hard you’ve tried to make the best of this holiday. And, well, I’m sorry if I haven’t always been …’ She trails off, searching for the right word to express how she feels.
