‘It’s past eleven. You won’t get McDonald’s delivering bacon at this time,’ I reply, almost deadpan. ‘Get up.’
Jay doesn’t say a word. Louis still doesn’t move. I think he actually farts in reply.
I take a step backwards, across the corridor, and knock on the door opposite. ‘Bella? Love, you up?’ I tentatively open the door. The mound in the bed doesn’t move but I spy a phone charging by the wall as it lights up with Snapchat notifications, little emojis cropping up, talking in code. I creep over and narrow my eyes, trying to make sense of it all.
‘Mum, stop being so nosy,’ a muffled voice from under the covers says.
‘I wouldn’t even know what half of that stuff means anyway. You’re up then?’
‘You were shouting at the boys, so yeah…’
‘I wasn’t shouting. It’s midday. You guys should all be up.’
Bella’s big head of curly hair envelops the pillow. ‘It’s too hot out there.’
‘Shocker. It’s hot in the south of France.’
‘I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Mother.’
‘I frankly don’t appreciate having paid thousands for a holiday only for the three of you to just sleep through most of it.’
‘We’re teenagers, we’re growing. Give us a break,’ Bella pleads.
Her phone continues to ping and glow in the corner. My eyes can’t help but be distracted by it. ‘God, can you stop spying on me?’
I shake my head. I paid for that phone, I pay for the bill. I clench my fists and let my breath escape slowly, leaving the room but ensuring I don’t close the door so the air conditioning can escape. I stand in the middle of the hallway.You are on holiday, Zara. Chill.I walk to the end of the corridor where I hear some strange sound emitting from the room.Is that cheering? Is that Ally fucking McCoist?Inside the room, Mike sits in the dark, the light from his phone reflecting off his face. ‘MIKE!’
He looks up at me, pale and panicked. The same sort of look I imagine most men would own if caught watching porn. His phone bounces off the white sheets and he puts his hands into the air. ‘It was last night, I was just watching highlights.’
I pull back the shutters and let the light and heat stream in, causing him to flinch. ‘You woke up and told me you had a dodgy tummy from thecrêpeslast night. Have you seriously been up here watching football?’
‘No… I was just… I’m tired.’
‘You’re tired? If you’re tired, you sleep, you don’t watch a penalty shootout! We’re all bloody tired, it would seem.’ I know my voice is now raised as I look into the corridor and see that Jay and Bella have emerged from their rooms; watching, listening, swaying slightly like zombies.
‘That is the point of a holiday, Mother. To rest,’ Bella adds with her own brand of acerbic wit.Mother.I am her mother but sometimes I hate how she uses that word.
‘Well, you can sleep and get over your supposed fatigue on a sun lounger. In the sun. Not curled up in your rooms like holidaytrolls. It’s supposed to be a time for us all to be together. To rest together. Instead, I’m sat out there on my own talking to that inflatable crocodile you told me to buy for the Instagram pool content you wanted to make.’
Mike drags himself out of bed, side-eyeing the children because I’ve gone past the point of deep breathing now.See how she’s about to blow?
And this is always the worst part because my teenagers with their complete lack of empathy will now watch me as I rant and lose my rag and they will not be kind. They will not understand how they have caused this and they will make me out to be the enemy.
Mike slowly rolls a T-shirt over his head. ‘Kids, your mum is right,’ he says. ‘We should get up.’
‘Can we get McDonald’s?’ Jay asks.
‘NO!’ I yell. ‘You’re in bloody France and I walked into town and got croissants. I SPOKE FRENCH! You are going to eat croissants.’
‘What if we don’t want croissants?’ Jay asks.
‘Jay? When we’re at home, I’ve seen you eat a whole six-pack of really quite shitty croissants in one sitting but now you’re in the home of croissants and you don’t quite fancy one?’
‘God, chill. Why are you getting your melons twisted over a croissant?’ he grumbles.
This makes Bella laugh. It does not help the situation.
‘Guys, don’t prod the hive,’ Mike whispers.
