Page 11 of One Last Thing
She balks at the suggestion. ‘I had no idea you were here. I distinctly remember you telling me you’d never come back here again.’
I shake my head, folding my arms across my chest. ‘I can’t believe this. You know, this really is the last thing I need.’
Youare the last thing I need, I mean. She knows that’s what I mean.
She sighs wearily. ‘Yes, this is a most unfortunate coincidence.’
‘Why would you book that room?’ I ask, furious but unsurprised that she wouldn’t even consider how inappropriate it is for her to stay in Dad’s room.
‘It’s a long story. Perhaps we should meet inside to talk things through, rather than shout at each other across the balcony.’
‘I wasn’t shouting!’
‘I know, that’s not what I . . .’ She trails off, and I can see how hard she’s fighting not to roll her eyes. ‘You know what I meant.’
‘Fine. You can come to my room if you like. Not through the adjoining door, though. That’s . . . weird.’
‘Don’t be . . . I wasn’t thinking of using that door. I’d forgotten it was there. Anyway, I think more neutral ground would be better.’ She checks her watch and then realises she’s not wearing one. ‘We could have breakfast together, if it’s being served.’
I am hungry after my early morning yoga practice.
‘All right. I’ll see you down there,’ I say, before turning on my heel and marching back into my room, closing the balcony doors behind me.
For a moment, I don’t move, leaning back against the doors and shutting my eyes. As if coming here to scatter my dad’s ashes wasn’t stressful enough, my mum has to show up.
***
I’ve been waiting at the table for about twenty minutes before she appears, swanning into the room in a white and gold embroidered kaftan with glowing skin and a radiant smile, like bloody Jane Fonda arriving on a film set. My mum glides through every room like she owns it, like people should sit up and take notice – which they do. She glides throughlife, really. Everything is easy for her. I remember people at school saying to me how glamorous my famous-author mum was, how effortlessly stylish she was at school events. I could read what they were thinking as they said it to me, their foreheads furrowed as they tried to work out how we could be so different.
‘There you are,’ she declares, weaving her way around the room full of empty tables as though I’d been hard to spot. We’re late to breakfast.
‘I thought you got lost,’ I mutter, not looking up from my laptop.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, I assumed we’d be getting ready for the day before coming down to breakfast.’
I snap my head up. ‘Iamready for the day.’
Her eyes flicker down to my olive-green Lululemon gym gear. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘I didn’t feel the need to dress for a destination wedding,’ I add defensively, raising my eyebrows at her.
‘I would never wear white to a wedding, darling. This is a practical choice for the heat.’ She glances out at the patio tables. ‘You didn’t fancy sitting outside? It’s such a beautiful morning.’
‘I can’t read my screen as easy in the sun.’
She looks unimpressed.
‘The tables out there have been cleared,’ I add, ‘and I didn’t want to—’
‘They’ll set it for us if we ask,’ she says, looking back over her shoulder. ‘Where’s Nico? He’ll sort it out.’ She turns back to me. ‘Have you seen him, by the way? You know he runs the place now.’
‘Yes, I know that, thanks.’ Heat creeps up my neck. ‘Mum, I don’t think that we can demand to—’
‘Bonjour!’ she cries as a staff member walks in with the fresh pot of coffee I’d ordered, while I blush furiously at her brazen greeting.
‘Bonjour madame,’ he replies with a bow of his head. ‘What can I get for you?’
‘A Bloody Mary, please. Do you do those?’ she asks, pressing her hands together in prayer and then clapping enthusiastically when he informs her that they do. ‘Wonderful! And also, would it be all right if we sat outside? I appreciate we’re a little late . . .’
