Sleeping Arrangements Read online

  On the floor in front of the bed were two empty suitcases; as Chloe passed a wardrobe, she noticed it was full of clothes. She glanced again at the bed, turned away and met Hugh’s eyes. An unwanted tingle came to her cheek and she quickly looked away again.

  ‘You two are in here, I presume,’ she said, looking at Amanda.

  ‘Well,’ said Amanda defensively. ‘Obviously we unpacked our things in here …’

  ‘But we don’t have to stay,’ said Hugh, spreading his arms. ‘I mean, we have no more right to this room than you.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Amanda after a pause. ‘We can easily move. Very easily.’

  ‘No trouble at all,’ said Hugh.

  ‘No, please don’t move,’ said Chloe. ‘I mean, you got here first, and you’ve unpacked all your stuff …’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ said Hugh. ‘And we don’t care which room we’re in, do we, darling?’

  ‘Of course not, darling,’ replied Amanda, giving him a rather tight smile. ‘We don’t mind in the least.’

  ‘Neither do we,’ said Chloe. ‘Honestly—’

  ‘We’ll toss,’ said Hugh firmly. ‘That’s the fairest way, isn’t it?’

  ‘Seems fair to me,’ said Philip.

  ‘No, stop,’ said Chloe helplessly, glancing at Amanda’s rigid face. ‘We really don’t mind which room we have …’

  But Hugh was already throwing a coin into the air.

  ‘Heads,’ said Philip as it clattered onto the tiled floor. Hugh bent down and picked it up.

  ‘Heads it is,’ he said. ‘You win. Fair and square.’

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Right,’ said Amanda after a pause. ‘Fine. Well, I’ll just pack up our clothes again …’

  ‘There’s no hurry,’ said Chloe. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no trouble!’ said Amanda. ‘And I expect you’re longing to get unpacked. I certainly don’t want to hold you up!’

  She turned to the wardrobe and began to pull garments off hangers with little, jerky movements. Chloe glanced at Philip and pulled a face.

  ‘On the subject of sleeping arrangements,’ said Philip quickly, ‘erm … how many bedrooms are there again?’

  ‘Only four,’ said Amanda without looking round. ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘ So … if our two boys go in together and your two go in together …’ Philip looked at Chloe. ‘That should all work out fine, shouldn’t it?’

  ‘Actually, we have a nanny as well,’ said Hugh.

  ‘Oh,’ said Philip, taken aback. ‘Right.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ muttered Chloe, turning away. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘She doesn’t need a room of her own,’ said Amanda, dumping a pile of T-shirts in her case. ‘She can sleep with the girls. Or in that little room at the back. There’s a sofa bed in it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Philip. ‘Won’t she mind?’

  ‘She isn’t paid to mind,’ said Amanda curtly. ‘Anyway, these Aussies are all tough as old boots. I once had a girl—’

  ‘Amanda …’ said Hugh warningly.

  ‘What?’ Amanda turned round to see Jenna standing behind her. ‘Oh hello, Jenna,’ she said, without flickering. ‘We were just talking about you.’

  Philip and Chloe exchanged glances.

  ‘I came up to get the sun cream for the kids,’ said Jenna. She looked at Philip and Chloe. ‘Have we got visitors?’

  ‘There’s been a slight … change in arrangements,’ said Hugh, and coughed. ‘It turns out that these people—Philip and Chloe—are staying at the villa this week as well.’

  ‘Oh right,’ said Jenna brightly. ‘Great. The more the merrier.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Hugh. ‘The only problem is … bedrooms. They have two boys—and what with all of us, and only four bedrooms …’

  There was a taut pause. Philip rubbed his face awkwardly and looked again at Chloe, who raised her eyebrows. The only person who didn’t look embarrassed was Amanda.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said Jenna suddenly. ‘You’re expecting me to give up my room for these people. That’s what you were talking about, isn’t it?’ She looked around accusingly. ‘Chucking me out of my room. Putting me on the sofa.’ Her chin hardened. ‘Well, think again, mate. If there isn’t enough room, you can bloody well put me up at a hotel!’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘Now just look here,’ said Amanda at last, in a voice like gunfire. ‘Let’s just get a few things straight. First of all—’

  ‘Joke!’ said Jenna and grinned at the astonished faces. ‘You can put me anywhere you like! I don’t care where I sleep. Or who with, come to that.’ She winked at a startled Philip, and Chloe stifled a grin. ‘Is this the sunblock?’ Jenna reached for a plastic bottle on the dressing table. ‘Yep. OK, I’ll see you guys later.’

  She threw back her dreadlocks and sauntered out of the room. The others looked awkwardly at one another.

  ‘Well,’ said Philip eventually. ‘She seems …’ He cleared his throat. ‘She seems like … fun.’

  Sam and Nat had found the swimming pool.

  ‘Wow,’ said Nat as they rounded the corner and took in the sight of blue water cascading down over the mini-waterfall, glinting and rippling in the sunshine. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Cool,’ admitted Sam, sauntering towards a recliner.

  ‘This house is amazing.’ Nat stopped as he saw two small girls, a hundred yards away. Suddenly he felt as though he were trespassing. ‘Who d’you think they are?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Sam, folding his arms behind his head. ‘Who cares?’ Nat looked at him, then looked at the girls again. They were younger than him, dressed in matching blue swimsuits decorated with daisies. He recognized them as the two little girls from the plane.

  ‘Hello,’ he said cautiously to the older one. ‘Are you swimming?’

  ‘You can’t go in without a grown-up,’ she informed him sternly.

  ‘OK,’ said Nat. ‘I’m not changed, anyway.’ He sat cautiously down on a recliner and watched the girls as they sat down on the grass. ‘D’you think they live here?’ he asked Sam quietly.

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘What do you think Mum and Dad are doing?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Sam pushed off one shoe with his foot, then the other. Suddenly he froze. ‘Holy shit.’

  Nat followed his gaze. A girl was coming round the side of the house. The girl with red dreadlocks.

  ‘It’s her!’ he hissed to Sam. ‘The one who was nice to us!’

  Sam wasn’t listening. He was staring straight ahead in staggered, rapturous silence. The girl with dreadlocks was unselfconsciously peeling off her T-shirt, to reveal a skinny brown body attired in a minute black bikini. A silver ring glinted in her navel; on one thigh a tattooed snake was curling suggestively towards the tiny bikini triangle. As he stared he felt a hardening in his groin; without moving his eyes for even a second, he shifted in his chair. At that moment, as though reading his mind, the girl looked over and saw them.

  ‘Hello, boys,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Didn’t I see you on the plane?’

  ‘Yes,’ called Nat. ‘We’re staying here. I’m Nat—and this is my brother Sam.’

  ‘Hello, Nat,’ said the girl. Her twinkling eyes moved to Sam’s and held them for a few seconds. ‘Hello, Sam.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Sam, lifting a nonchalant hand in greeting. ‘How’re you doing?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  She bent down to pick up a bottle of sun cream, smiled again at the boys, then walked towards the two little girls on the grass.

  ‘OK, you two,’ they heard her say, ‘who’s first with the sun cream?’

  ‘She’s really nice,’ said Nat, turning to Sam. ‘Isn’t she?’ There was silence and Nat frowned in puzzlement. ‘Sam?’

  ‘She’s not nice,’ said Sam, without moving his head. ‘She’s not nice. She’s a fucking … goddess.’ He stared at her for a few more moments, then seemed to come to. He sat up and p
eeled off his T-shirt, glanced complacently down at his toned, tanned torso, then grinned at Nat. ‘And I—’ he leaned back in his chair ‘—am going to have her.’

  By the time all the luggage was unpacked, it was evening. Chloe stood on the balcony, gazing over the lush, well-planted gardens. The bright sunshine of the day had gone; the colours before her were muted. There were no voices below, no signs of people; only quietness. Tranquillity and peace.

  But Chloe did not feel peaceful, she felt restless and twitchy. As her gaze lifted from the garden to the mountains beyond, she felt a desire to stride over them. To stride away, right away …

  ‘Well,’ said Philip behind her, and she gave a start. ‘What do you think?’ Chloe turned to face him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This holiday.’ Philip pushed a hand through his dark curls. ‘It’s not exactly what we planned, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Chloe after a pause. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘But they seem nice enough. I should think we’ll be able to make a go of it.’

  Chloe was silent. She felt bursting with something, she wasn’t quite sure what. Frustration with Philip’s easy acceptance of the situation; anger at how things had turned out. Most of all, disappointment. She had been so desperate for the oblivion of a foreign country; for a different horizon and a new atmosphere. She had so craved the chance for her and Philip to shake off the problems that dogged them at home, to lie in the sun and talk, and slowly rediscover themselves.

  Instead of which, they would all spend the week performing for another family. They wouldn’t be able to talk; they wouldn’t be able to behave naturally. They would be on show all week, with no privacy, no time to themselves. This was no escape, this was torture.

  And not even a stranger’s family. Not even the comfort of anonymity.

  Through her mind flashed again Hugh’s shocked expression as she’d got out of the car, and she rubbed her face roughly, trying to rid herself of it. Trying to rid herself of the little prickles of antagonism she’d been feeling ever since; the little bubbles of curiosity. Another lifetime, she reminded herself firmly. A long time ago. Two different people entirely. She was no longer affected by him. She wasn’t even that shocked to see him. After all, she and Hugh both lived in London—albeit very different parts of the metropolis. The surprise was that they hadn’t bumped into each other before.

  But did it have to be this very week? she thought, closing her eyes. This week that she and Philip needed so badly?

  ‘What shall we do about supper?’ Philip wandered across to the corner of the balcony and peered over. ‘I think the boys are fending for themselves. They found some pizzas in the freezer. But we could be a little more ambitious.’

  Chloe was silent. She couldn’t bring herself to think about food. All she could think about was her own agitation.

  ‘Chloe?’ Philip came over and peered at her. ‘Chloe, are you OK?’

  ‘Let’s go.’ Chloe turned to Philip, gazing up at him with a sudden urgency. ‘Let’s just get in the car and drive off somewhere. Leave this villa.’ She gestured towards the rolling mountains. ‘We’ll find somewhere to stay. I don’t know, a guesthouse or somewhere.’

  ‘Go?’ Philip stared at her. ‘Are you serious?’

  Chloe gazed at him for a few silent moments, trying to convey her jumbled emotions. Trying to spark in him the reaction she wanted—without quite knowing what that was. Then, with a sigh, she turned away. She reached for a pale pink flower and began to pull the petals off, one by one.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m being stupid. It’s just …’ She paused, staring down at the half-spoiled flower. ‘This isn’t what we wanted. We wanted time alone together. A chance to … sort things out.’ She pulled out the last remaining clump of petals sharply, and dropped them over the side of the balcony.

  ‘I know.’ Philip came over to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. He looked at the bare stem in her fingers and raised his eyebrows. ‘Poor flower.’

  What about poor me? Chloe thought furiously. What about poor us?

  Suddenly she thought she might scream. She felt cramped by Philip’s presence, by his apathy. By his very acceptance of their circumstances. Why couldn’t he be angry, like her? Why couldn’t he share her indignation? She felt as though her words were sinking into a soft, indifferent nothingness.

  As she glanced sidelong at his face, she saw that his eyes were focused on the middle distance, his brow wrinkled in distracted thought. He wasn’t thinking about the holiday, she suddenly realized with a jolt. His mind was still in Britain, still fruitlessly worrying. He wasn’t even trying to relax, she thought with resentment.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ she said, before she could stop herself, and Philip started guiltily.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’ He turned his face towards her and gave her a half-smile, but Chloe couldn’t smile back.

  ‘I’m going out,’ she said abruptly, and pulled away from his touch. ‘I think I’ll have a wander round the garden.’

  ‘OK,’ said Philip. ‘I’ll pop down to the kitchen in a moment and start some supper for us.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Chloe, without looking back. ‘Whatever.’

  Hugh stood by the bath in the second bedroom suite, watching as Amanda scrubbed sun cream off Octavia’s shoulders.

  ‘It’s too bad,’ she was saying jerkily. ‘I mean, look at us. Cooped up in here …’

  ‘Hardly cooped,’ said Hugh, looking around the spacious marble bathroom. ‘And they’re perfectly entitled to have that room.’

  ‘I know,’ said Amanda. ‘But we didn’t come on holiday in order to be turned out of our room by people we’ve never even met. I mean, it’s not as if they’re friends. We don’t know anything about them!’

  ‘They seem perfectly nice,’ said Hugh after a pause. ‘Perfectly nice people.’

  ‘You think everyone’s nice,’ said Amanda dismissively. ‘You thought that woman across the road was nice.’

  ‘Mummee!’ wailed Octavia. ‘You’re hurting me!’

  ‘Amanda, why don’t you let me do that?’ said Hugh, taking a step towards the bath.

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ said Amanda, sighing slightly. ‘You go and have your gin and tonic. I won’t be long. And Jenna will be along in a moment.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Hugh. ‘I could put the children to bed, too.’

  ‘Look, Hugh,’ said Amanda, turning on her haunches. ‘I’ve had a long enough day as it is. I just want to get the children in bed as quickly as possible and then maybe we can relax. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ said Hugh after a pause. He forced himself to smile. ‘Well … goodnight, girls. Sweet dreams.’

  ‘Good night, Daddy,’ chorused the girls dutifully, barely looking up, and Hugh backed quietly out of the bathroom, feeling a small, familiar gnawing in his chest.

  As he walked to the door, he passed Jenna coming in with two pairs of pyjamas.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, and held them up. ‘Are these the right ones, d’you know?’

  For a few moments, Hugh gazed at the sprigged cotton pyjamas; at the tiny sleeves, the miniature pockets.

  ‘I dare say they are,’ he said eventually. ‘Not really my area.’ And he walked quickly away before the girl could say anything else to him. He went down to the kitchen, found a cabinet full of bottles and slowly, methodically, began to mix a gin and tonic.

  Not really his area. The truth was, nothing to do with his daughters was his area. Somehow, over the five years since Octavia’s birth, he had fossilized into a father who didn’t know his own children. A father who spent so much time at the office, he often went a whole week without clapping an eye on either daughter. A father who had no idea what his children liked to play with, or what they watched on television, or even what they liked to eat. Who was too embarrassed, at this late stage, to ask.

  Hugh took a deep swig of gin, closing his eyes and savouring the aromatic flavour. A gin and
tonic every night had become one of his habitual props, along with his newspaper and, lately, e-mail. When Beatrice refused to come to him for a bedtime story and wailed tearfully for Mummy, he would turn away and hide his expressionless face behind the paper. While the girls and Amanda went to ballet class every Saturday morning, he would sit at his computer, checking his e-mails and typing unnecessary replies. Sometimes he would read the same message ten times over.

  When this was done, and they were still not back, he would turn to whichever corporate challenge had most recently been drawn to his attention. He would read the data and process the information, then shut his eyes and submerge himself in the world he knew better than any other. He would sit in complete silence, working out alternate strategies like a chess player, like a military general. The more complicated, the more distracting, the better. Some of his most inspired work was done on a Saturday.

  Amanda, he knew, often described him as a workaholic, rolling her eyes heavenwards. Her friends would sit, drinking coffee in her immaculate kitchen, and swap sympathetic comments. You’re the equivalent of a single mother, they would say indignantly. What happened to New Men?

  Three years ago, Hugh had come home, cold and weary, and with a proposition he had dreamed up on the train. That he should give up his full-time job and go freelance as a management consultant. The money wouldn’t be as good—but he could work from home, and spend far more time with her and the children.

  He had rarely seen Amanda look so appalled.

  Hugh took another swig of his drink, then wandered out of the kitchen into the drawing room—then out of the french windows into the garden. The sky was a mid-blue, the air warm and quiet. Gerard’s garden was obviously tended by those who knew what they were doing, he thought. Shrubs were trimmed, flowers arrayed neatly in beds, a small stone fountain trickled clear, cold water. He turned a corner, wondering how far it went, and stopped.