was only having a laugh,’ he said.
‘For God’s sake. You can’t say that sort of thing. She’s sensitive. She’s a teenage girl.’
So much for a quiet breakfast. Ronnie got up to go in search of her daughter. Meanwhile, Mark just shrugged and dipped a piece of toast into the yolk of one of Sophie’s discarded eggs.
‘She’ll get over it,’ he said, catching Ronnie by the hand as she passed him. ‘Leave her be.’
‘Mark, she’s really upset.’
‘Leave her to calm down for a bit. She’ll see the humour. It’s only the dementia talking. Eh, Bill?’
‘All right, Mark.’ Bill raised his cup of tea. He’d already forgotten what he’d said.
‘I’m going to find her,’ said Ronnie.
‘You’ve got to take her less seriously and she’ll take herself less seriously too. It’s you who makes her so moody by indulging her. It was only a joke. If the rest of us don’t take any notice, she’ll get it into perspective that much quicker.’
‘What?’ Ronnie snarled. ‘What do you know about parenting teenage girls?’
‘I’m just trying to make your life easier. I’m saying you don’t need to take responsibility for her feelings all the time.’
Ronnie glared at Mark while she formulated a stinging reply.
‘I like these sausages.’ Jack broke the silence.
‘They are nice, aren’t they?’ said his grandmother, leaping on the opportunity to talk about something other than Granddad Bill’s faux pas.
‘So, what are we going to do today?’ Jack asked. He was the consummate diplomat, always ready with small talk.
‘You could play in the swimming pool again,’ Jacqui suggested.
‘Maybe Auntie Chelsea will play with me when she comes.’
‘ If she comes,’ said Ronnie, momentarily distracted from concern for her daughter by disdain for her sister.
‘Chelsea will be here,’ said Jacqui.
Sophie returned to the table. Her eyes were still glistening with rage and upset. She sniffed theatrically.
‘Your great-granddad is very sorry,’ Ronnie prompted.
‘Am I?’ asked Granddad Bill.
‘Of course you are.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart.’
Sophie grunted her acceptance of his apology.
‘Anyway, we all know this is much closer to a representation of Sophie’s chest,’ Mark interrupted. He held two grapefruit halves up to his own man-boobs.
Sophie was gone again.
‘This time, you’re getting her back here,’ Ronnie told Mark. ‘For pity’s sake. Try to have some sensitivity.’ She turned to Jacqui. ‘You see what I have to deal with, Mum? I haven’t got two children, I’ve got three, and Mark is the worst of the lot. My life is a warzone with added cooking and ironing and cleaning. Chelsea is so right not to bother with men and kids.’
If only Chelsea wasn’t bothered about getting herself a man. As it was, the arrival of her row-mate on the plane to Arrecife had thrown her into something of a spin. Every time she tried to sneak a look at him, she caught him sneaking a look back at her. Was something happening between them? Something like chemistry?
The take-off was relatively smooth. Lily, happily installed in the window seat, gave a running commentary on what she could see below as the plane reached its cruising height.
‘Is that our house, Daddy? Is that our house? Is that our house, Daddy? Is that it? Is that our house?’
Lily’s dad turned to Chelsea and shrugged apologetically as his daughter chuntered on. Chelsea smiled to let him know she was absolutely charmed by his darling child just as she was ready to be charmed by him. Assuming he was alone. The seat-belt signs had been switched off but Lily’s mother hadn’t yet appeared to check on her, which was what Chelsea had thought might happen.
‘Sorry,’ said Lily’s father. ‘About the chatter. I know you’re trying to read.’
‘That’s OK.’
Chelsea half-closed the cover of her book to indicate that she might actually be happy to be interrupted.
‘Oh, Malcolm Gladwell,’ Lily’s dad
‘For God’s sake. You can’t say that sort of thing. She’s sensitive. She’s a teenage girl.’
So much for a quiet breakfast. Ronnie got up to go in search of her daughter. Meanwhile, Mark just shrugged and dipped a piece of toast into the yolk of one of Sophie’s discarded eggs.
‘She’ll get over it,’ he said, catching Ronnie by the hand as she passed him. ‘Leave her be.’
‘Mark, she’s really upset.’
‘Leave her to calm down for a bit. She’ll see the humour. It’s only the dementia talking. Eh, Bill?’
‘All right, Mark.’ Bill raised his cup of tea. He’d already forgotten what he’d said.
‘I’m going to find her,’ said Ronnie.
‘You’ve got to take her less seriously and she’ll take herself less seriously too. It’s you who makes her so moody by indulging her. It was only a joke. If the rest of us don’t take any notice, she’ll get it into perspective that much quicker.’
‘What?’ Ronnie snarled. ‘What do you know about parenting teenage girls?’
‘I’m just trying to make your life easier. I’m saying you don’t need to take responsibility for her feelings all the time.’
Ronnie glared at Mark while she formulated a stinging reply.
‘I like these sausages.’ Jack broke the silence.
‘They are nice, aren’t they?’ said his grandmother, leaping on the opportunity to talk about something other than Granddad Bill’s faux pas.
‘So, what are we going to do today?’ Jack asked. He was the consummate diplomat, always ready with small talk.
‘You could play in the swimming pool again,’ Jacqui suggested.
‘Maybe Auntie Chelsea will play with me when she comes.’
‘ If she comes,’ said Ronnie, momentarily distracted from concern for her daughter by disdain for her sister.
‘Chelsea will be here,’ said Jacqui.
Sophie returned to the table. Her eyes were still glistening with rage and upset. She sniffed theatrically.
‘Your great-granddad is very sorry,’ Ronnie prompted.
‘Am I?’ asked Granddad Bill.
‘Of course you are.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart.’
Sophie grunted her acceptance of his apology.
‘Anyway, we all know this is much closer to a representation of Sophie’s chest,’ Mark interrupted. He held two grapefruit halves up to his own man-boobs.
Sophie was gone again.
‘This time, you’re getting her back here,’ Ronnie told Mark. ‘For pity’s sake. Try to have some sensitivity.’ She turned to Jacqui. ‘You see what I have to deal with, Mum? I haven’t got two children, I’ve got three, and Mark is the worst of the lot. My life is a warzone with added cooking and ironing and cleaning. Chelsea is so right not to bother with men and kids.’
If only Chelsea wasn’t bothered about getting herself a man. As it was, the arrival of her row-mate on the plane to Arrecife had thrown her into something of a spin. Every time she tried to sneak a look at him, she caught him sneaking a look back at her. Was something happening between them? Something like chemistry?
The take-off was relatively smooth. Lily, happily installed in the window seat, gave a running commentary on what she could see below as the plane reached its cruising height.
‘Is that our house, Daddy? Is that our house? Is that our house, Daddy? Is that it? Is that our house?’
Lily’s dad turned to Chelsea and shrugged apologetically as his daughter chuntered on. Chelsea smiled to let him know she was absolutely charmed by his darling child just as she was ready to be charmed by him. Assuming he was alone. The seat-belt signs had been switched off but Lily’s mother hadn’t yet appeared to check on her, which was what Chelsea had thought might happen.
‘Sorry,’ said Lily’s father. ‘About the chatter. I know you’re trying to read.’
‘That’s OK.’
Chelsea half-closed the cover of her book to indicate that she might actually be happy to be interrupted.
‘Oh, Malcolm Gladwell,’ Lily’s dad
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