Summer Heat
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Rose spreads her arms wide and gathers me in them. For the first time since leaving home, I forget that this is not the holiday I want to be on. Jenny and I had planned two weeks of island hopping in Greece—with Lesbos as the final stop—but that fell through when she told me, out of the blue, that I was no longer her preferred travel companion.
“I’m so sorry for you, darling,” my mum, a proper English lady, had said, after I reluctantly confessed that Jenny and I were no longer an item. “Why don’t you join your father and me on our annual Tuscany trip?”
I’d cried some more, messy heaving sobs kept at arm’s length from mum’s pricy Jil Sander suit, before giving into her maternal logic. I’d taken the time off work already and what good would it do to stay home and sulk in my tiny apartment? Rose certainly had room for one extra and we’d get to spend some time as a family.
The journey had been pleasant enough because I kept my disappointment at bay and allowed my parents to believe I truly wanted to spend my summer holiday with them. As if that’s all thirty-one-year-olds with demanding jobs and limited annual leave desire.
Rose spends the entire summer here and her complexion has already gone olive. I smell sunshine on her neck and nostalgia washes over me as memories of summers past swarm my brain. I was eighteen and ready to conquer the world when I came here last and Michael, Rose’s husband and my dad’s best friend, was still alive and well.
“Catherine, how lovely to see you.” Rose pushes me back and gives me a quick once-over. “Oh, the glory of youth.” I tackled most of the anger issues sprouting from my sudden break-up by spending every spare minute in the gym.
“How many times, Rose. Call me Cat.”
“Pay no mind to Miss Grumpy, dear Rose,” my dad butts in, “us OAP’s are very grateful for your hospitality.”
I roll my eyes at Rose and head for the rental’s boot to retrieve the suitcases. I let them have their moment. I know my dad always gets emotional when first laying eyes on his best friend’s widow again. It has been seven years since Michael’s fatal heart attack.
“Will this do?” Rose opens the door to a room decorated in blue and white with French windows overlooking the pool. It’s the same room I used to share with my brother when we visited as children, spruced up with contemporary furniture and fresh wallpaper.
“Perfect, as ever.” I shoot Rose a warm smile as I remember the sounds coming from the other side of the wall, mysterious grunts and groans that made Billy and me giggle during the night. Michael and dad may have been best friends but they couldn’t have been more different. Michael married late—to a woman twelve years his junior—and, by choice, never had children.
“Your mum told me what happened.” Rose leans against the door frame while I plunk my luggage on the bed. “I’ll do everything I can to make your stay as pleasant as possible.” She accompanies her statement with a bold stare into my eyes. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.” She shoots me a quick wink and closes the door behind her.
I need Jenny back, I murmur to myself, but she’s probably deep sea diving off the coast of Rhodes with that bitch Imogen. I can’t help but think of my great-aunt Imogen whenever I hear her name and it’s not a pretty thought.
“I don’t want you to lose any money over this,” Jenny, always the financial guru, had said. “I’ll pay back your share.” I knew what that meant. Imogen was in and I was out. And to think I had picked the destination.
I flip the windows open and late sunlight streams into the room. Shadow lines trace the floor and transport me back to simpler times when all Billy and I did for two weeks was skip from our bed to the pool, only breaking for sun-drenched lunches of buffalo mozzarella soaked in olive oil and suppers to the sound of a
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Rose spreads her arms wide and gathers me in them. For the first time since leaving home, I forget that this is not the holiday I want to be on. Jenny and I had planned two weeks of island hopping in Greece—with Lesbos as the final stop—but that fell through when she told me, out of the blue, that I was no longer her preferred travel companion.
“I’m so sorry for you, darling,” my mum, a proper English lady, had said, after I reluctantly confessed that Jenny and I were no longer an item. “Why don’t you join your father and me on our annual Tuscany trip?”
I’d cried some more, messy heaving sobs kept at arm’s length from mum’s pricy Jil Sander suit, before giving into her maternal logic. I’d taken the time off work already and what good would it do to stay home and sulk in my tiny apartment? Rose certainly had room for one extra and we’d get to spend some time as a family.
The journey had been pleasant enough because I kept my disappointment at bay and allowed my parents to believe I truly wanted to spend my summer holiday with them. As if that’s all thirty-one-year-olds with demanding jobs and limited annual leave desire.
Rose spends the entire summer here and her complexion has already gone olive. I smell sunshine on her neck and nostalgia washes over me as memories of summers past swarm my brain. I was eighteen and ready to conquer the world when I came here last and Michael, Rose’s husband and my dad’s best friend, was still alive and well.
“Catherine, how lovely to see you.” Rose pushes me back and gives me a quick once-over. “Oh, the glory of youth.” I tackled most of the anger issues sprouting from my sudden break-up by spending every spare minute in the gym.
“How many times, Rose. Call me Cat.”
“Pay no mind to Miss Grumpy, dear Rose,” my dad butts in, “us OAP’s are very grateful for your hospitality.”
I roll my eyes at Rose and head for the rental’s boot to retrieve the suitcases. I let them have their moment. I know my dad always gets emotional when first laying eyes on his best friend’s widow again. It has been seven years since Michael’s fatal heart attack.
“Will this do?” Rose opens the door to a room decorated in blue and white with French windows overlooking the pool. It’s the same room I used to share with my brother when we visited as children, spruced up with contemporary furniture and fresh wallpaper.
“Perfect, as ever.” I shoot Rose a warm smile as I remember the sounds coming from the other side of the wall, mysterious grunts and groans that made Billy and me giggle during the night. Michael and dad may have been best friends but they couldn’t have been more different. Michael married late—to a woman twelve years his junior—and, by choice, never had children.
“Your mum told me what happened.” Rose leans against the door frame while I plunk my luggage on the bed. “I’ll do everything I can to make your stay as pleasant as possible.” She accompanies her statement with a bold stare into my eyes. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.” She shoots me a quick wink and closes the door behind her.
I need Jenny back, I murmur to myself, but she’s probably deep sea diving off the coast of Rhodes with that bitch Imogen. I can’t help but think of my great-aunt Imogen whenever I hear her name and it’s not a pretty thought.
“I don’t want you to lose any money over this,” Jenny, always the financial guru, had said. “I’ll pay back your share.” I knew what that meant. Imogen was in and I was out. And to think I had picked the destination.
I flip the windows open and late sunlight streams into the room. Shadow lines trace the floor and transport me back to simpler times when all Billy and I did for two weeks was skip from our bed to the pool, only breaking for sun-drenched lunches of buffalo mozzarella soaked in olive oil and suppers to the sound of a
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