NO ONE ELSE succumbs to Polly’s bug, and two and a half blessedly uneventful weeks later term ends. We fly to Spain, leaving in drizzle and touching down at Barcelona Airport in full sunshine. Everything goes remarkably well; our baggage is amongst the first on the carousel, our hire car is ready and waiting with a tank full of petrol. The satnav has been set to English and works a treat, and in the back of the car peace reigns as the children, who have zero interest in beautiful scenery, doze.
Our rented villa is about thirty-five minutes’ drive from the airport, surrounded by vineyards that spread across miles of flat farmland and sweep up and over the distant hillsides. Wisps of cloud barely move in a sea of bright blue. We turn in through extravagantly wrought iron gates and draw up outside what looks like a small Mediterranean palace. Emily presses her face against the window and gasps.
Amber found a dirt-cheap flight from Luton, but it meant that they arrived the morning before us and as we get out of the car Sophie comes running round the side of the house. She’s wearing a pink bikini and flip-flops, chattering as she reaches us, describing the pool and the two televisions and the beds. She throws herself at Tom, wrapping her arms around his legs.
‘Easy, Tiger,’ he says, tugging her wet ponytail.
‘We got here first! We’re the winners!’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Emily says. She shows it does by adding, ‘We would have been first except Daddy had a meeting.’
‘I got to choose my bed first and it’s the best one.’
I catch Tom’s eye and wrinkle my nose. ‘Never mind all that. It’s our fault Emily is late, so we’ll make it up to her with something nice.’
‘What will she get?’ Sophie asks.
‘It’s a surprise,’ Tom says, turning them all round and giving them a gentle shove. ‘Off you go. We’ll catch you up.’
Sophie charges off, making sure we all know how familiar she is with the geography of the place. My heart bleeds for Emily. Polly, I don’t worry about. She couldn’t care less who arrived first. She’s just happy to be freed from the car. I extract Josh and cuddle him as he wakes from a sweaty sleep. His back is drenched. He looks around, wide-eyed, then abruptly buries his head in the crook of my shoulder.
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ Tom elbows me affectionately in the ribcage.
The villa is two storeys high and about forty foot wide, sparkling white with hot-pink bougainvillea sprawling exuberantly across the lower walls and white muslin curtains spilling out of open windows. Pine trees and palms stand like guards to either side. I hear a splash and a joyful shriek and my mood gets even better. We stroll across the drive and round the side of the house, following the noise, the hardy grass stiff beneath our shoes. The house wraps around a large terrace dominated by a modern L-shaped wicker sofa with olive-green cushions and a vast wooden table that would comfortably seat twenty, sheltered under a giant parasol. The pool lies beyond that, enclosed on three sides by another bougainvillea-clad wall. It ripples and glitters in the sunshine.
I wander over and look down, squinting against the brightness thrown up by the water. Robert is swimming with Sophie and Polly while Emily sits on the side, dipping her toes in. Polly has flung off her clothes and is doggy-paddling in her knickers, but Emily wouldn’t be seen dead in anything except the correct attire. Amber is lying on a sunlounger in an electric-blue bikini and a baseball cap which she tips up as we approach. She’s had time for a spray tan and leg wax, which is more than I can say for myself. Even though she isn’t wearing make-up, her eyes look less shadowed.
‘You’re here! Fantastic.’ She swings her ankles elegantly off the lounger, sits up and stretches her arms behind her, pulling her shoulders back. ‘I’ll show you the house.’
I bend to kiss her cheek. She smells of coconut oil. ‘No, don’t get up. We can find our own way round. Emily, come back to the car with us. I’ll dig your swimming suit out for you.’
‘OK,’ Amber says. ‘Leave Josh with me then. We’ve taken one of the bedrooms at the back. I wasn’t sure which you’d want, but they’re all really lovely, so I don’t suppose it makes any difference.’
Tom and I carry our cases into a spacious hall. The floor is dark wood and above us wooden beams support the ceiling. We slip our shoes off and climb the oak staircase to a landing that leads to a warren of rooms where we soon locate the one Robert and Amber have chosen. It is unmistakably the master bedroom with the vaulted ceiling that Tom had earmarked for us. The shutters have been thrown wide and the curtains billow in front of French windows. I wander over, part them and look out on to a terrace with a picture-postcard view of the gardens and surrounding land. Beside the pool, Amber’s feet are visible, poking out from under the parasol. Her diamanté-studded flip-flops twinkle in the sunlight. There are two comfortable wicker armchairs on the terrace and an English newspaper, caught by a breeze, has distributed itself across the terracotta-tiled floor.
Tom joins me wordlessly, and we turn to face the room and stare at the vast bed. The sheets have been flung aside and the pillows are still squashed from last night; two dressing gowns lie draped over the end. An open suitcase squats on the stand and in the corner there’s a small pile of dirty clothes. We wander silently to the ensuite where damp towels are bunched over radiators and toothbrushes lean against each other in one of the glasses. Two toiletry bags and a bottle of suntan lotion stand on a glass shelf.
‘She must have known we expected to have this one.’
‘Do you want me to say something?’ Tom asks.
‘No. I will.’
I sit on the end of the bed, plant my toes deep in the lush cream carpet. On the last night of our penny-pinching holiday in India, Tom and I blew what was left of our funds on a room very like this one. We were used to student bedrooms with damp patches and musty carpets, sneaked trysts on single beds at our family homes in the holidays and nights spent in bug-infested youth hostels, on beaches and under the stars. We couldn’t believe our eyes. I remember lying on the bed watching him walk naked across the room, a strip of leather wrapped around his wrist and a necklace of brown beads. It bridged the dip of his clavicle in a way that made my knees turn to water. I was so happy.
‘Did you notice there’s no other car?’
He screws up his face. ‘I did, as it happens. But, Vicky, we did say it wouldn’t cost them anything apart from the flights. And please don’t mention it. They’re about to buy a house and I know for a fact that Robert’s not doing well at the moment. Have some compassion and understanding. Don’t embarrass them.’