them fiercely away.
No mawkishness.
She would mix herself a mug of hot chocolate instead, she decided, throw on a big sloppy jumper and
some sandals, and wander down to the beach. The bay would be largely empty on a day like today, no doubt, save for a few hardcore ‘We WILL have fun on the beach if it kills us’
holidaymakers. She would perch on a rock, sip her drink and gaze out to sea, letting the breeze blow away her troubles. The sight of the waves crashing and rolling in on the sand always helped her
relax.
Reaching the driveway, she was surprised to see a small red Fiat already parked there, before realizing it must belong to the housekeeper, Katie. Good old Katie! Hopefully she’d be almost
finished, leaving the house clean and hoovered, cushions plumped, beds newly made, like the little angel she was. No doubt Olivia would have to endure yet another earnest sympathy conversation
– everyone had loved Alec, and they all wanted to tell her just how sorry they were at great length – but with a bit of luck she could get it over with quickly, then close the door and
have the place to herself.
‘Hello? I’m here!’ she called, heaving her case in through the open front door. She was surprised to hear music playing from upstairs, then even more taken aback to see a large
vase of red roses in the hall and what looked like lunch set out on the kitchen table. She stared at the ready-sliced quiche and bowls of salad, the plate of cream cakes under a protective fly
cover, two empty wine glasses, and three place settings. For a crazy moment she thought she’d walked into the wrong house, the wrong holiday. Oh goodness. Was she losing the plot now?
No. Of course she wasn’t. There was her cooker, the cheerful striped window blind, the knotty pine table. Everything was in its place. And yet . . .
Then came a shout – ‘Dad’s here! I saw his car!’ – and the sound of racing footsteps. Flummoxed, she whirled around to see a boy burst into the room. He stopped
when he saw her and his face froze. ‘Oh.’
‘You’re . . . you’re looking for your dad?’ Olivia ventured. She’d never heard Katie talk about a husband or partner before. Or a son, for that matter.
The boy squirmed at the question but didn’t reply. He was gangly and dark-haired, all sharp elbows and knobbly knees, the same sort of age as Dexter, she guessed, eleven or twelve. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked gently when he didn’t reply. Was he even Katie’s son at all, Olivia wondered, trying to work out why he was in her house. Had he
wandered down from the village, found the door open and ambled in like a stray cat?
But then she remembered the three place settings on the table, the two wine glasses. She hadn’t come on the wrong day, had she? Maybe she
was
having a senior moment. But then
Katie wouldn’t be throwing a lunch for somebody else in her house! Anyway, she was certain Robert had said the 14th of July She could almost hear him reading the words aloud as he had typed
them:
If you could have everything ready as usual for my arrival on the . . . What shall I say, the 14th of July?
Something was wrong here. Something wasn’t quite adding up. It
was
the 14th of July today, wasn’t it? All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure.
Before Olivia could ask the boy anything else, Katie’s voice came floating down the stairs. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you, I had the music on and – ’ Then she entered
the kitchen and it was her turn to look stunned when she saw Olivia standing there. Well, who had she been expecting, for goodness’ sake?
‘Olivia,’ Katie said, her voice hoarse, her complexion suddenly pale. ‘I thought . . . Where’s Alec?’
Olivia stared at her, dumbfounded. Was this some kind of a cruel
joke
? ‘Alec’s dead,’ she said, after a long terrible moment, her hands curling around the top of a
chair, in sudden need of support.
Katie let out a gasp. Her hand flew up to her chest.
No mawkishness.
She would mix herself a mug of hot chocolate instead, she decided, throw on a big sloppy jumper and
some sandals, and wander down to the beach. The bay would be largely empty on a day like today, no doubt, save for a few hardcore ‘We WILL have fun on the beach if it kills us’
holidaymakers. She would perch on a rock, sip her drink and gaze out to sea, letting the breeze blow away her troubles. The sight of the waves crashing and rolling in on the sand always helped her
relax.
Reaching the driveway, she was surprised to see a small red Fiat already parked there, before realizing it must belong to the housekeeper, Katie. Good old Katie! Hopefully she’d be almost
finished, leaving the house clean and hoovered, cushions plumped, beds newly made, like the little angel she was. No doubt Olivia would have to endure yet another earnest sympathy conversation
– everyone had loved Alec, and they all wanted to tell her just how sorry they were at great length – but with a bit of luck she could get it over with quickly, then close the door and
have the place to herself.
‘Hello? I’m here!’ she called, heaving her case in through the open front door. She was surprised to hear music playing from upstairs, then even more taken aback to see a large
vase of red roses in the hall and what looked like lunch set out on the kitchen table. She stared at the ready-sliced quiche and bowls of salad, the plate of cream cakes under a protective fly
cover, two empty wine glasses, and three place settings. For a crazy moment she thought she’d walked into the wrong house, the wrong holiday. Oh goodness. Was she losing the plot now?
No. Of course she wasn’t. There was her cooker, the cheerful striped window blind, the knotty pine table. Everything was in its place. And yet . . .
Then came a shout – ‘Dad’s here! I saw his car!’ – and the sound of racing footsteps. Flummoxed, she whirled around to see a boy burst into the room. He stopped
when he saw her and his face froze. ‘Oh.’
‘You’re . . . you’re looking for your dad?’ Olivia ventured. She’d never heard Katie talk about a husband or partner before. Or a son, for that matter.
The boy squirmed at the question but didn’t reply. He was gangly and dark-haired, all sharp elbows and knobbly knees, the same sort of age as Dexter, she guessed, eleven or twelve. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked gently when he didn’t reply. Was he even Katie’s son at all, Olivia wondered, trying to work out why he was in her house. Had he
wandered down from the village, found the door open and ambled in like a stray cat?
But then she remembered the three place settings on the table, the two wine glasses. She hadn’t come on the wrong day, had she? Maybe she
was
having a senior moment. But then
Katie wouldn’t be throwing a lunch for somebody else in her house! Anyway, she was certain Robert had said the 14th of July She could almost hear him reading the words aloud as he had typed
them:
If you could have everything ready as usual for my arrival on the . . . What shall I say, the 14th of July?
Something was wrong here. Something wasn’t quite adding up. It
was
the 14th of July today, wasn’t it? All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure.
Before Olivia could ask the boy anything else, Katie’s voice came floating down the stairs. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you, I had the music on and – ’ Then she entered
the kitchen and it was her turn to look stunned when she saw Olivia standing there. Well, who had she been expecting, for goodness’ sake?
‘Olivia,’ Katie said, her voice hoarse, her complexion suddenly pale. ‘I thought . . . Where’s Alec?’
Olivia stared at her, dumbfounded. Was this some kind of a cruel
joke
? ‘Alec’s dead,’ she said, after a long terrible moment, her hands curling around the top of a
chair, in sudden need of support.
Katie let out a gasp. Her hand flew up to her chest.
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