hot I’m used to, but a dusty, paper-dry hot that sucks the moisture off your skin. But nerves have made me break out into a sweat despite this and I take a moment, when I open the freezer to get out some ice, to stick my head inside and try to cool down. This isn’t the way I had imagined spending the first day of my honeymoon. And I’m mortified about the sort of impression I must have made at first glance.
‘But how thrilling !’ Mary, I notice, has a very slight speech impediment, pronouncing her Rs as Ws in the middle of words. I have no idea how much this is going to put my teeth on edge in the future. I guess it’ll depend how our relationship progresses.
I manage to find three vaguely similar highballs in the cupboard, sling half a dozen lumps of ice into each, slice a lemon, pour over the gin and polish off the tonic bottle in filling the glasses to the brim. A good thing I only wanted water. Then I take the tray out from under the coffee maker and carry all three out through the French doors to the sitting room.
‘No, no, darling. You’re completely wrong. I couldn’t be more thrilled! I mean, obviously, we can’t help feeling a little excluded , but …’
Oh, well. I suppose it’s inevitable that this is going to be a theme for a while.
‘That wasn’t what we meant to do. I just … I couldn’t wait, you know? Maybe you don’t. I don’t know, I just … It’s hard to explain.’
Lady Mary looks up. She has put on a pair of dark glasses while I’ve been gone: the type that are darker at the top than at the bottom because they’re supposed to be more flattering.
‘Well. We’ll just have to have a party when you get home. Introduce her to the county. Ah! There she is!’
I put the tray down, hand the drinks around. The mother-in-law takes her glass and lays it down on the table, looks at it for a moment and then turns her full-beam smile on me.
‘So tell me something about yourself,’ she says. ‘What brought you to Gozo in the first place?’
I shrug. ‘Oh, you know. Just travelling. It was going to be part of a bigger trip. I’ve already been to Cyprus, where my dad comes from, and I was going to catch the ferry to Sicily and do Europe when Rufus got in the way. I didn’t,’ I say, and laugh ruefully, ‘exactly come here with a plan to snare myself a husband.’
I anticipate a laugh in response to the attempt at levity, receive instead a slight flicker of the eyebrows. ‘I never understand,’ she says, ‘with you young people. This “just travelling” thing. Finding yourselves. We didn’t really have time for finding ourselves in my day.’
I shrug again. ‘Well, I think, you know, it’s something a lot of Australians and Kiwis have to do. I mean, there we are, a Western culture stuck out on the tippy-tip of the other side of the world from everyone else like us, and most of us have at least one parent, often two, who’ve come from a background that’s so completely alien to the one they’ve raised us in …’
‘Yeee-sss,’ she says. ‘Is that so with you?’
‘Uh-huh. I mean, my dad’s a Greek Cypriot, and my mum’s folks came from Scotland, originally, though via South Africa, but I don’t really have the first idea about where I come from, as it were. I think a lot of us are like that. Plus, I think a lot of the children of emigrants have a stronger sense of choosing where they end up, even if where they end up is the one-pub beach town they grew up in.’
‘Yes,’ she says, and I’m surprised to detect what I think is a slightly sharp edge to the comment, ‘but aren’t you a little old for this sort of gallivanting?’
I can’t tell if Rufus has picked up on the bitchiness in this remark.
‘Not really,’ I tell her. ‘I’d got to one of those crossroads and it felt like a smart thing to do before I got committed to something else and never did it.’
‘Yes, but. This hippy thing is the sort of thing that most people do before their
‘But how thrilling !’ Mary, I notice, has a very slight speech impediment, pronouncing her Rs as Ws in the middle of words. I have no idea how much this is going to put my teeth on edge in the future. I guess it’ll depend how our relationship progresses.
I manage to find three vaguely similar highballs in the cupboard, sling half a dozen lumps of ice into each, slice a lemon, pour over the gin and polish off the tonic bottle in filling the glasses to the brim. A good thing I only wanted water. Then I take the tray out from under the coffee maker and carry all three out through the French doors to the sitting room.
‘No, no, darling. You’re completely wrong. I couldn’t be more thrilled! I mean, obviously, we can’t help feeling a little excluded , but …’
Oh, well. I suppose it’s inevitable that this is going to be a theme for a while.
‘That wasn’t what we meant to do. I just … I couldn’t wait, you know? Maybe you don’t. I don’t know, I just … It’s hard to explain.’
Lady Mary looks up. She has put on a pair of dark glasses while I’ve been gone: the type that are darker at the top than at the bottom because they’re supposed to be more flattering.
‘Well. We’ll just have to have a party when you get home. Introduce her to the county. Ah! There she is!’
I put the tray down, hand the drinks around. The mother-in-law takes her glass and lays it down on the table, looks at it for a moment and then turns her full-beam smile on me.
‘So tell me something about yourself,’ she says. ‘What brought you to Gozo in the first place?’
I shrug. ‘Oh, you know. Just travelling. It was going to be part of a bigger trip. I’ve already been to Cyprus, where my dad comes from, and I was going to catch the ferry to Sicily and do Europe when Rufus got in the way. I didn’t,’ I say, and laugh ruefully, ‘exactly come here with a plan to snare myself a husband.’
I anticipate a laugh in response to the attempt at levity, receive instead a slight flicker of the eyebrows. ‘I never understand,’ she says, ‘with you young people. This “just travelling” thing. Finding yourselves. We didn’t really have time for finding ourselves in my day.’
I shrug again. ‘Well, I think, you know, it’s something a lot of Australians and Kiwis have to do. I mean, there we are, a Western culture stuck out on the tippy-tip of the other side of the world from everyone else like us, and most of us have at least one parent, often two, who’ve come from a background that’s so completely alien to the one they’ve raised us in …’
‘Yeee-sss,’ she says. ‘Is that so with you?’
‘Uh-huh. I mean, my dad’s a Greek Cypriot, and my mum’s folks came from Scotland, originally, though via South Africa, but I don’t really have the first idea about where I come from, as it were. I think a lot of us are like that. Plus, I think a lot of the children of emigrants have a stronger sense of choosing where they end up, even if where they end up is the one-pub beach town they grew up in.’
‘Yes,’ she says, and I’m surprised to detect what I think is a slightly sharp edge to the comment, ‘but aren’t you a little old for this sort of gallivanting?’
I can’t tell if Rufus has picked up on the bitchiness in this remark.
‘Not really,’ I tell her. ‘I’d got to one of those crossroads and it felt like a smart thing to do before I got committed to something else and never did it.’
‘Yes, but. This hippy thing is the sort of thing that most people do before their
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