“What’s up?” asks James, and even I feel curious. Demeter looks properly panicky, the way she did in the lift that time. It must be another of her epic screwups.
“Something at work. This…this makes no sense.” She peers at her phone, yet again. “I need to call Adrian.”
Firmly, I dampen my curiosity. I am not going to focus on Demeter anymore. I’m going to check up on the other glampers. I head outside, and Susie greets me with a smile.
“Hello!” I say. “How are you doing? Just to let you know, I’m not sure we will be able to fit in any more Vedari sessions this week.” I make a regretful face. “Maybe another time.”
“Oh.” Susie’s face falls. “It did sound so energizing.”
“But how was the willow-weaving?” I try to steer her off the subject.
“It was good! Yes. It was fun. I mean—” Susie breaks off. She’s tense, I suddenly detect. Something’s up.
“What?” I say in concern. “Is anything wrong?”
“No! It’s just…well.” She clears her throat. “I did feel that some other participants slightly monopolized the teacher—” She breaks off abruptly as another mum, Cleo, approaches us.
Cleo comes from Hampstead and is more earthy than Susie. She’s in a drifty dress and wearing an amethyst pendant on a leather thong, her feet incongruously stuffed in desert boots.
“Good morning, Cleo!” I say, trying to ignore the fact that Susie is glaring at Cleo quite openly.
“We’ve just been cooking eggs and dandelion leaves for breakfast on our fire pit,” Cleo says in her husky voice. “Sprinkled with sumac. Delicious.”
“We had Biddy’s breakfast in the farmhouse,” counters Susie. “Absolutely scrumptious.”
“And the willow-weaving yesterday!” exclaims Cleo, as though she’s not remotely interested in Susie’s breakfast. “I made three baskets. It was marvelous.”
“Marvelous for the people who swiped all the best willow,” mutters Susie under her breath.
“Oh, and Susie.” Cleo turns to her. “I do hope Hamish didn’t disturb you with his violin practice this morning. He’s gifted, unfortunately.”
“How difficult for you,” says Susie tightly. “I’m sure if you left him alone, he’d settle down to being normal.”
OK. There is definitely a vibe between Susie and Cleo. This might need monitoring. I’m wondering whether to warn the pottery teacher, when I see Demeter coming out of the kitchen. Her phone is clenched in her hand and she looks a bit stunned.
“Everything OK?” I say brightly, but Demeter doesn’t answer. Can she even see me?
“Demeter?” I try again.
“Right.” She comes to. “Sorry. I…No. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. I just need to…James!” She raises her voice as she sees her husband coming out too, and she heads toward him swiftly. I can’t hear much of the ensuing conversation, only snippets that make me sizzle with curiosity.
“…ridiculous!” James is saying. “I mean, if you’ve got the emails…”
“…can’t find them. That’s the thing…”
“…makes no sense…”
“Exactly! That’s what I keep saying! Look!” Demeter shows her phone to James, but his eyes are drifting away, as though he’s got other things to think about.
“It’ll blow over,” he says. “These things always do.”
“Right.” Demeter seems dissatisfied by this answer—in fact, she still seems pretty stressed—but she visibly pulls herself together and heads off with all the others toward the minibus, which will take them to the pottery class.
And I know it’s nothing to do with me anymore. But all morning, as I’m going through the accounts with Dad, I can’t help wondering: What’s up?
—
Pottery day is always a good one. First of all, everyone loves pottery, whatever age they are. And second, the pottery teacher, Eve, is very skillful at “helping” people just enough, so that their jug or vase or whatever will actually stand up straight. She’ll fire the pots tonight, and all the glampers will get them by Friday, and it’s a nice souvenir for them to take home.
So I’m expecting to see a happy group of people piling off the minibus when it returns at lunchtime. But, instead, there’s a rather weird procession. Demeter and Eve are together at the front, and Demeter seems to be talking very much at Eve. Behind, at a distance, everyone else is following, and I can see a bit of eye-rolling. As Demeter gets into earshot, I think I have an inkling why.
“…and then we were lucky enough to get a private view of the collection in Ortigia,” she’s saying smugly. “Have you ever met the curator, Signor Moretti? No? Charming man.”
I’d forgotten that ceramics was one of Demeter’s things. I bet she’s been ear-bashing poor Eve all morning.
“Welcome back!” I say hastily. “Eve, you must be exhausted; come and have a drink!”
I seat Eve next to Susie and Nick, well away from Demeter, and then it’s the usual rush of serving bread and salad and locally made pork pies, while all the guests discuss the morning. Even though I’ve told myself not to, I can’t help hanging around Demeter’s table a little more than the others and watching her family.
My opinion hasn’t altered: They’re dreadful. Coco is outwardly defiant and rude. Hal just ignores his mother. And James, who should be supporting her, is on another planet. If I thought Demeter was distracted, that’s nothing on her husband. All he can focus on is his phone. Does he even realize he’s on holiday?
During pudding, they start talking about some school play that Coco’s in, and Demeter gets all show-offy about Shakespeare. She starts going on about a production she saw at the RSC that was “tremendous” and “groundbreaking,” while Coco yawns ostentatiously and rolls her eyes.
Demeter really doesn’t help herself. Can’t she tell that everyone’s bored stiff? But at the same time, I can see that she is actually trying to help.
“Honestly, Mum!” Coco erupts at last. “Stop going on about it! You probably won’t even see me in the bloody play. So.”
“Of course I’ll see you in it!” Demeter retorts.
“No, you won’t. You never come to anything. You know what Granny calls you? Mrs. Invisible.” Coco sniggers and catches James’s eye. “Doesn’t she, Daddy? She says, ‘How’s Mrs. Invisible today?’?”
“Mrs. Invisible?” Demeter sounds calm, but I can see her hand trembling as she takes a sip of water. “What does that mean?”
“The invisible mum,” says Hal, glancing up from his phone. “Come on, Mum. You’re never there.”
“Of course I’m there.” Demeter sounds as rattled as I’ve ever heard her. “I come to all your events, all your parents’ evenings—”
“What about my basketball?” Hal gives her a wounded look. “Did you even know I was on a basketball team?”
“Basketball?” Demeter has her confused, eye-darty look again. “Basketball? I didn’t— When— James, did you know about this?”
“Dad comes to every match,” says Hal. “He chants and everything.”
“Stop it, Hal,” says James sharply. “He’s winding you up, Demeter. He doesn’t play basketball.”
“But why—” Demeter breaks off, bewildered. “Why would you—James?” she practically yells, as James starts tapping at his phone again. “Could you please join in this discussion?”
“Hal, cut the attitude,” says James. “Say sorry.”
“Sorry,” mutters Hal.
I wait for James to insist: “Say it properly,” like Dad would have done to me, but he doesn’t. He’s already tuned out again. I don’t care how brainy and important he is, he’s a tosser. Maybe he’s one of these men who can’t cope with successful women. I have no idea what induced Demeter to marry him.
Hal just carries on with his lunch, while Coco shreds a bread roll into pieces. Demeter is silent and subdued. And all I can feel, right now, is really sorry for her.
—