The Sister-In-Law(2)

Now thirty-two, Jamie never been involved in the family business, a small property company on the outskirts of Manchester. He was too busy seeing the world and on visits home would enthral everyone with colourful and probably exaggerated stories from Nepal, Thailand, Africa, the coasts of Australia, the killing fields of Cambodia. It was all a far cry from Dan, who’d gone straight into the family business that recently he’d worked hard to keep afloat. Meanwhile, their parents indulged their youngest son, allowing him such freedom, tempered only with an affectionate eye roll whenever his latest ‘adventure’ was mentioned.

‘My free-spirited son won’t be pinned down,’ Joy would say, feigning frustration but glowing with pride. She missed him dearly when he was away but was delighted when he FaceTimed her from some exotic destination, always brandishing his Instagram photos for anyone who cared to look – and even those who didn’t.

‘I just don’t get the complete turnaround. Why on earth has our Jamie suddenly decided to give it all up to work at Taylor’s with me? It won’t last,’ Dan was saying as we headed for the villa.

‘Mmm, no beaches, no exotic food, no gorgeous women in bikinis – what on earth will he do?’ I sighed, thinking of the photos of Jamie, a montage of blue skies, beaches and beautiful people.

I understood Dan’s slight resentment; his little brother’s lifestyle seemed rather selfish, not least because his parents often had to help him financially. The Taylors were what Joy described as ‘comfortable’. They weren’t rich and, understandably, Dan resented the way his parents gave his brother handouts. But Jamie was still Joy’s ‘baby’, and she and Bob would do anything for their two sons. Joy missed Jamie terribly when he was travelling, and when he didn’t call or text for a while she’d pore over his social media, hungry for titbits. ‘I can always find my Jamie on his Instagram,’ she’d say, like he’d set up his photographic account for her personal use. She’d delight in some photo of Jamie on a beach in Cambodia and be amazed when he turned up on the doorstep. ‘But your photo says you’re here,’ she’d exclaim, holding up her phone, and he’d point out that it was posted days ago and she’d laugh and shake her head in wonder at ‘my Jamie’ and his online ‘magic’. I reckon she knew exactly what was going on, it was all part of the game she played with her ‘boys’: a way of making them feel special, superior even. I was never sure with Joy who was playing who – though I think it’s safe to say that despite appearing as the ingenue, Joy was usually in the driving seat.

‘I spoke to your mum yesterday before we left, she says the villa’s lovely. They got here about eight last night,’ I said, as we continued along the Italian coastline. ‘I just hope they take time to relax and kick back a bit,’ I said wistfully. This was an impossible dream for me. As well as being a full-time nurse and mum, I also maintained Taylor’s website, which sometimes felt like another job. Consequently, relaxing was sadly not on my daily agenda while at home, but for the next fortnight I wasn’t going to do a thing, and the website could wait.

‘Imagine Dad being with Mum all day when they retire, she’ll never let him rest.’ Dan smiled, shaking his head slightly at the thought.

‘He’ll be being dispatched to Sainsbury’s for sun-dried tomatoes or pickled figs or whatever it is she’s giving the ladies who lunch that day,’ I added.

He glanced over and we smiled knowingly at each other.

‘They don’t have much in common, do they? I sometimes wonder what they actually talk to each other about, your mum and dad.’

Dan shrugged. ‘What do any couple talk to each other about?’

My heart stung a little at this. Is that how he saw us too, as any couple? Did he see us like his parents, an old married couple with little in common? I didn’t have time to hurt for too long, as he negotiated a tight corner. Too fast.

‘Dan, please slow down,’ I said. ‘The kids are in the back. What’s wrong with you?’

I saw his jaw tighten, but he did slow down.

The drive from the airport at Naples to our villa was, according to the satnav, just over an hour. We’d gone from the bustling city to glimpses of calm, glittery ocean and now we were climbing up the steep hillside past vineyards. Canopies of feathery green leaves in every shade of green played hide-and-seek with the sun.

Between the trees, the sea appeared now and again below us, shimmering in the dusk – how beautiful it was. I remember feeling a rush of excitement for the fortnight ahead. I couldn’t wait to swim with Dan and the children, cook lovely food with Joy, and spend long afternoons all together in the sunshine. Our lives were so busy that this would be a rare chance to talk, spend time with the children, and Dan’s parents too. It was going to be wonderful, just what we all needed. My real priority this holiday was getting Freddie used to water and teaching Alfie to swim.

My dad had taught me to swim in the local baths. We’d go every Saturday afternoon and, one Saturday, on my ninth summer, I swam a whole length. I remember feeling like an Olympian, my feet off the ground, my arms splashing and heaving me forward, Dad cheering me on. The following winter he was killed when his lorry took the wrong turning on an icy road.

Mum never got over my Dad’s death and our lives changed overnight. At nine my childhood ended and I spent the following ten years mopping up her grief, until she died herself. It was cancer, but I knew really it was a broken heart, and at the age of nineteen I was an orphan, alone with no family. Until I met Dan, and the Taylors.