Summer Daydreams (29 page)
‘You’re overtired, emotional,’ Olly says. ‘Understandably so. When you’ve had time to stand back and think about this, it won’t seem so bad. It’s all part of the learning curve.’
Our lunch arrives and, as we all tuck in, Olly says, ‘Why don’t we go away? Take a week, rent a cottage somewhere.’
‘That’s a bit out of the blue.’
He shrugs. ‘It might be, but think about it. When did we last have a holiday?’
I can’t remember back that far.
‘Give yourself a break, Nell,’ he pleads. ‘You’ve been so hard on yourself these last months. This is just what we need.’ It certainly does sound very appealing. My soul is saying that this would be a very good idea. My pocket, however, is more practical. ‘Can we afford it?’
‘Let’s find the money. Whatever it costs.’
‘What about your shifts at the pizza factory?’
Olly stares at one of the paintings on the wall in a manner that’s a bit too determined. ‘They’ll give me some time off.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. Yeah. It’ll be cool.’
‘Are we going on holiday, Mummy?’
I wipe the ring of mayo from round her mouth with a napkin. ‘Would you like that?’
She nods vigorously. ‘Can we go to the seaside?’
I smile across at Olly, my handsome, thoughtful husband. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Yay!’
Clearly, a holiday gets my daughter’s vote. I can feel the grin spread across my face too. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s go somewhere fabulous and get away from it all.’ At the moment, I can’t face seeing another bloody handbag. A break will do us all good. I need to hide away and lick my wounds and I can’t think of a better way to do it. ‘Give me a couple of days to tie up some loose ends, but there’s nothing much to stop us going straight away.’
‘I’ll go into the library this afternoon.’ Olly is all excited now. ‘I’ll see what I can book for us.’
‘Now,’ I say. ‘You’ve heard all my news. I want to hear about all that’s happened while I’ve been away.’
For some reason, Olly fails to meet my eyes when he replies, ‘Oh, nothing. Nothing much at all.’
So we hire a little car and
en masse
, Dude included, troop down to Cornwall. Olly has hired us a quaint cottage overlooking the beach at Poltallan Bay. The village is tiny, hardly touristy at all, and a world away from the hustle and bustle of nearby Newquay. It’s the perfect place to recharge your batteries. There’s an old-fashioned pub, a couple of shops and a smattering of holiday rental homes. Not much else. But that suits us down to the ground.
The cottage is small, homely. The ceilings low. Even I feel like I have to duck and I’m a little shortie. Olly has already whacked his head a dozen times. It has just two bedrooms, a steep wooden staircase and an open-plan living room. In the kitchen, there’s a sturdy, family-sized table in front of the window, which looks out over a small courtyard garden. It will be nice to make our home here for the week. I can actually feel the tension seeping out of my bones as I unpack.
Unusually for a British beach holiday, the weather is sublime. Even though it’s late in the summer, the temperature pushes up to the seventies every day and the sun is a big, yellow disk in the cloudless sky. All Petal wants to do is play on the beach, morning, noon and night. We buy her a bucket and spade – she insists on the pink set – and we all keep ourselves entertained by making sandcastles and digging trenches that lead to the sea. Dude gets more walks than he knows what to do with. He’s not sure about the sea; he’s absolutely desperate to go in it, but then runs away terrified when the waves rush towards him. Instead, Dude’s consoling himself by barking at the seagulls. Olly rents a body board and tries his hand at surfing. I’m thinking that he wouldn’t necessarily be classed as a natural, but he loves every minute. I rifle through the books left in the cottage and find myself a trashy romantic comedy to read while stretched out on a blanket. This is idyllic. Truly.
We all get on brilliantly. All the niggling between Olly and me has gone, vanished in the sea air. Petal doesn’t have one single tantrum. I remember that this is how we used to be as a family and I wonder how we’ve managed to get so far away from this. Olly is right. Business isn’t everything and I vow that I’ll strive to achieve more of a work/life balance when we get home.
‘Happy?’ Olly says as he comes to lie down beside me.
‘This is the life,’ I say. ‘You can keep your yachts in the South of France. This works for me.’
He traces his finger over my thigh. ‘I do love you.’
‘And I love you.’
‘Let’s never forget that.’
We twine our fingers together. ‘Never,’ I agree.
*
Already it’s Wednesday night. We put Petal to bed early, mainly because she was struggling to keep her eyes open while she was eating her tea. All this fresh air is great for knocking her out. I wish I could bottle it and take it back with us. She’s even stayed in her own bed every night so far and hasn’t woken until nine. Bliss! I’m hoping this continues when we get home, but that may be too much to ask for.
The fact that she hasn’t been wedged between Olly and me like an octopus on speed has meant that we’ve been able to rekindle our love life. Yay, us! We still have it and Olly has been particularly amorous. And I’m not complaining.
We’ve also had long, grown-up dinners, just the two of us, complete with candles and a bottle of cheap wine bought from the pub. Instead of snatching at meals that involve fish fingers, pizza and ready-made whatever, we’ve just finished a courgette and red pepper lasagne that I made from scratch, along with a bottle of sparkling pink something. I don’t have time to cook, but occasionally I like to surprise myself with a reminder that I can actually do it given the right opportunity. Across the table, Olly smiles at me in the candlelight.
‘What do you want to do this evening, Nell?’
There’s no telly here, so we’ve been availing ourselves of the pack of cards and the board games that are here. I’m not sure that Olly wants to be thoroughly thrashed at Scrabble once again.
‘I could whoop your arse at Boggle,’ I suggest.
‘You think so?’ Olly says, raising his eyebrows.
‘Loser washes up.’
Olly takes the plates and moves them to the work surface.
‘I was thinking of a different game.’
‘Oh, really?’
And with that he comes to me and kisses me long and hard. His hands slide over my body. Within seconds, we’re tugging at each other’s clothes. He moves the candle from the table and, when I’m naked, lays me back on it. He takes the bottle of pink fizz, dribbles it over my body, and laps it off me. There’s a level of passion that rises inside me that’s been sadly missing for a long time. I urge Olly into me and we make love on the big table and then, because we can, we do it all over again.
Afterwards we curl up on the sofa together, pulling a handy throw over our hot, naked bodies.
‘I think
I’d
better do the washing up after that,’ I tease.
‘I think so too,’ Olly agrees. He beats his chest. ‘Man need rest.’
‘Oh, worn yourself out, have you?’
‘Hmm. Not entirely.’
‘Oh, really?’ I shift against him. It’s true: he’s not that tired. Hurrah!
He pulls me down towards him. ‘I do love you,’ he says and starts to kiss me again.
Again!
Clearly, all this sea air hasn’t knocked my husband out like it has Petal. It seems to have put the wind in his sails.
When did we last have a mad, crazy sex session like this? Good grief, I think I was about nineteen! Our bodies slide together again and we throw off the blanket, letting the cool night air from the open window caress our heated skin.
Then, as Olly moves above me, my mobile phone starts to ring.
‘Don’t answer it,’ he gasps. ‘Don’t answer it.’
‘What if it’s an emergency?’
‘It won’t be.’
But the moment is broken and, with a defeated sigh, Olly rolls off me. I lunge for the phone.
The voice on the other end says, ‘Hi, Nell. It’s Tod.’
I pull the throw back over me and Olly pads out to the kitchen with a tut.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Is this a bad time?’
‘No,’ I lie. ‘Not at all. It’s fine.’
‘I think you need to come back,’ Tod says. ‘Right away.’ Then he proceeds to tell me why.
We drive home in silence. The tension in the air is palpable. Olly has the steering wheel in a death grip. His knuckles are white. His face black.
‘It’s only a day early,’ I point out.
‘Two,’ Olly counters. ‘I don’t understand why this couldn’t have waited until Monday.’
‘I can’t afford to miss this opportunity.’
‘If it’s on the table today, then I’m sure it will still be there next week.’
I’m not so certain about that. Tod explained to me how these things work. Unless you jump, and high, then they move on to the next person.
The call that unfortunately interrupted our bouncy cuddles was from Tod telling me that Home Mall – one of those
huge
American shopping channels – wants to feature my handbags. It’s by far and away the biggest opportunity to come my way. By miles. Nell McNamara designs would get a full half-hour coverage on prime time television, repeated every two hours for an entire day. All of this broadcast right across the United States. If I can secure this, then my bags will go global, stratospheric. We will be made for life! The numbers they are talking about are truly enormous. And, of course, as is always the way with these things, they need an answer yesterday.
So you can see that I
had
to take the terrible decision to cut short the family holiday. Olly, needless to say, doesn’t see it like that at all. But I feel that I had no choice. I have to get back to work on this. The logistics of such large production numbers are frightening and I needed to get back to the office, pronto, to try to get my head round it.
We stayed until Friday instead of coming back on Sunday. So I think that was a fair compromise. I don’t believe that two more days would have made much difference to our holiday. We’d done all the relaxing that we needed to do. Anyway, the forecast was for rain and storms. I just didn’t expect the storm to be in the car on the way home.
I have so much to do. The sort of numbers they’re talking about will mean that I’ll have to go to China and source a manufacturer out there. This is way, way beyond what I can do with a few part-time workers.
Tod also said on the phone that Home Mall would need all the handbags in their warehouse ready to be shipped the same day – so there’s not the comfort of getting all the orders in and then making the bags to correspond. I’d have to commit to produce the stock up front. Scary. It will require some more money from the bank. And I just can’t think of all these things while I’m on a beach.
‘Tod says that chances like this don’t come along every day.’
Olly rolls his eyes whenever I quote my mentor. ‘I just think that this sounds too good to be true.’
Here we are again, back to Olly being negative about everything and anything.
‘Perhaps I’m finally getting some luck,’ I say crisply.
‘Perhaps things will finally start going my way.’ Olly doesn’t look convinced.
I try very hard to see his viewpoint, but he just seems to want to keep us all pinned to the earth. Is it so wrong to want to fly?
‘This is for us.’
‘That’s a refrain that’s wearing very thin,’ he says. ‘How can dragging Petal away from her one proper holiday in years be “for us”?’
Our child is fast asleep in the back seat of the car, unused as she is to such luxurious travel. There’s no doubt that she was really enjoying herself.
‘I feel mean,’ I say. ‘Very mean. But how do you think I’d feel if I’d sat on the beach for the next two days watching this slip through my fingers?’
‘You’ve decided now. We’re on our way home. It doesn’t matter what I say.’
With that, it’s clear that the conversation is closed. Olly turns up the radio and focuses on the road. It’s going to be a very long drive home.