The Summer Seekers Page 3

  “You’re a bit close on my side, Liza.”

  “It was the hedge or a head-on collision.” She was shaken by what had been a close shave, her emotions heightened by her brief glimpse of Finn Cool. “He laughed—did you see that? He actually smiled as he passed us. Would he have been laughing if he’d had to haul my mangled body out of the twisted wreckage of this car?”

  “He seemed like a pretty skilled driver.”

  “It wasn’t his skill that saved us. It was me driving into the hedge. It isn’t safe to drive like that down these roads.”

  Liza breathed out slowly and drove cautiously down the lane, half expecting another irresponsible rock star to come zooming around the corner. She reached her mother’s house without further mishap, her pulse rate slowing as she pulled into the drive.

  Aubretia clung to the low wall that bordered the property, and lobelia and geraniums in bright shades of purple and pink tumbled from baskets hung next to the front door. Although her mother neglected the house, she loved the garden and spent hours in the sunshine, tending her plants.

  “This place is a gem. She’d make a fortune if she ever did decide to sell it, leaking roof or not. Do you think she will have made her chocolate cake?” Sean was ever hopeful.

  “You mean before or after she tackled an intruder?”

  Liza parked in front of the house. She probably should have baked a cake, but she’d decided that getting on the road as soon as possible was the priority.

  “Can you call the kids?”

  “Why?” Sean uncoiled himself from the front of the car and stretched. “We only left them four hours ago.”

  “I want to check on them.”

  He unloaded their luggage. “Take a breath, will you? I haven’t seen you like this before. You’re amazing, Liza. A real coper. I know you’re shaken up by what’s happened, but we’ll get through this.”

  She felt like a piece of elastic stretched to its limits. She was coping because if she didn’t what would happen to them? She knew, even if her family didn’t, that they wouldn’t be able to manage without her. The twins would die of malnutrition or lie buried under their own mess because they were incapable of putting away a single thing they owned or cooking anything other than pizza. The laundry would stay unwashed, the cupboards would be bare. Caitlin would yell, Has anyone seen my blue strap top? and no one would answer because no one would know.

  The front door opened and all thought of the twins left her mind because there was her mother, her palm pressed hard against the door frame for support. There was a bandage wrapped around the top of her head, and Liza felt her stomach drop to her feet. She’d always considered her mother to be invincible, and here she was looking frail, tired and all too human. For all their differences—and there were many—she loved her mother dearly.

  “Mum!” She left Sean to handle the luggage and sprinted across the drive. “I’ve been worried! How are you feeling? I can’t believe this happened. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why? You’re not the one who broke into my house.”

  As always, her mother was brisk and matter-of-fact, treating weakness like an annoying fly to be batted away. If she’d been frightened—and she must have been, surely?—then there was no way she would share that fact with Liza.

  Still, it was a relief to see her in one piece and looking surprisingly good in the circumstances.

  If there was one word that would accurately describe her mother it would be vivid. She reminded Liza of a hummingbird; delicate, brightly colored, always busy. Today she was wearing a long flowing dress in shades of blue and turquoise, with a darker blue wrap around her shoulders. Multiple bangles jangled on her wrists. Her mother’s unconventional, eclectic dress style had caused Liza many embarrassing moments as a child, and even now the cheerful colors of Kathleen’s outfit seemed to jar with the gravity of the situation. She looked ready to step onto a beach in Corfu.

  Despite the lack of encouragement, Liza hugged her mother gently, horrified by how fragile she seemed. “You should have had an alarm, or a mobile phone in your pocket.”

  Instinctively she checked her mother’s head, but there was nothing to be seen except the bandage and the beginnings of a bruise around her eye socket. Even though she’d tried to enliven her appearance with blusher, her skin was waxy and pale. Her hair was white and cropped short, which seemed to add to her air of fragility.

  “Don’t fuss.” Kathleen eased away from her. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. By the time help arrived it would have been over. My old-fashioned landline proved perfectly effective.”

  “But what if he’d knocked you unconscious? You wouldn’t have been able to call for help.”

  “If I’d been unconscious I wouldn’t have been able to press a button either. The police happened to have a car in the area and arrived in minutes, which was comforting because the man recovered quickly and at that point I wasn’t sure what his intentions were. Charming policewoman, although she didn’t seem much older than the twins. Then an ambulance arrived, and the police took a statement from me. I half expected to be locked up for the night, but nothing so dramatic. Still, it was all rather exciting.”

  “Exciting?” The remark was typical of her mother. “You could have been killed. He hit you.”

  “No, I hit him—with the skillet I’d used for frying bacon earlier.” There was an equal mix of pride and satisfaction in her mother’s voice. “His arm flew up as he fell—reflex, I suppose—and he knocked it back into my head. That part was unfortunate, but it’s funny when you think that bacon may have saved my life. So no more nagging me about my blood pressure and cholesterol.”

  “Mum—”

  “If I’d cooked myself pasta I would have been using a different pan...nowhere near heavy enough. If I’d made a ham sandwich I would have had nothing to tackle him with except a crust of bread. I’ll be filling the fridge with bacon from now on.”

  “Bacon can be a lifesaver—I’ve always said so.” Sean leaned in and kissed his mother-in-law gently on the cheek. “You’re a formidable adversary, Kathleen. Good to see you on your feet.”

  Liza felt like the sole adult in the group. Was she the only one seeing the seriousness of this situation? It was like dealing with the twins.

  “How can you joke about it?”

  “I’m deadly serious. It’s good to know that I can now eat bacon with a clear conscience.” Kathleen gave her son-in-law an affectionate smile. “You really didn’t have to come charging down here on a Friday. I’m perfectly fine. You didn’t bring the girls?”

  “Exams. Teenage stress and drama. You know how it is.” Sean hauled their luggage into the house. “Is the kettle on, Kathleen? I could murder a cup of tea.”

  Did he really have to use the word murder? Liza kept picturing a different outcome. One where her mother was the one lying inert on the kitchen floor. She felt a little dizzy—and she wasn’t the one who had been hit over the head.

  Of course she knew that people had their homes broken into. It was a fact. But knowing it was different from experiencing it.

  She glanced uneasily toward the back door. “You left it open?”

  “Apparently. And it was raining so hard he took shelter, poor man.”

  “Poor man?”

  “He’d had one too many and was most apologetic, both to me and the police. Admitted it was all his fault.”

  Apologetic.

  “You look pale.” Kathleen patted Liza on the shoulder. “You stress about small things. Come in, dear. That drive is murderous...you must be exhausted.”

  Murderous. Murder.

  “Could everyone stop using that word?”

  Her mother raised her eyebrows. “It’s a figure of speech, nothing more.”

  “Well, if we could find a different one I’d appreciate it.” Liza followed her into the hallway. “How are you feel
ing, Mum? Honestly? An intruder isn’t a small thing.”

  “True. He was actually large. And the noise his head made when it hit the kitchen floor—awful. I never should have asked your father to lay those expensive Italian tiles. I’ve broken so many cups and plates on that damned surface. And now a man’s head. It took me forever to clean up the blood. It’s fortunate for all of us that he wasn’t badly hurt.”

  Even now her mother wouldn’t share her true feelings. Her talk was all of bacon, broken plates and floor tiles. She seemed more concerned for the intruder than herself.

  Liza felt exhausted. “You should have left the cleaning for me.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve never been much of a housekeeper, but I can mop up blood. And I prefer not to eat my lunch in the middle of a crime scene, thank you.”

  Her mother headed straight for the kitchen. Liza didn’t know whether to be relieved or exasperated that she was behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If anything, she seemed energized, and perhaps a touch triumphant, as if she’d achieved something of note.

  “Where is the man now? What did the police say?”

  “The man—his name is Lawrence, I believe—is doing very well, although I don’t envy the headache he’ll have after all that drink. I remember one night when I was in Paris celebrating—”

  “Mum!”

  “What? Oh—the police. They came back this morning and took a statement. A very pleasant man but not a tea lover, which always makes me a little suspicious.”

  Liza wasn’t interested in his choice of beverage. “Are they charging him? Breaking and entering?”

  “He didn’t break anything. He leaned against the door and it opened. And he apologized profusely, and made a full admission of guilt. He had impeccable manners.”

  Liza fought the urge to put her head in her hands. “So will you have to go and give evidence or something?”

  “I truly hope so. It would be exciting to have a day in court, but it seems unlikely I’ll be needed as he admitted everything and was so remorseful and apologetic. I thought my life would be considerably enlivened by an appearance in my own courtroom drama, but it seems I will have to content myself with the fictional variety.”

  Her mother fussed around the stove, pouring boiling water into the large teapot she’d been using since Liza was a child. The tea would be Earl Grey. Her mother never drank anything else. It was as familiar as the house.

  The kitchen, with its range cooker and large pine table, had always been her favorite room. Every evening after school Liza had done her homework at this same table, wanting to be close to her mother when she was at home.

  Her mother had been one of the pioneers of the TV travel show, her spirited adventures around the world opening people’s eyes to the appeal of foreign holidays from the Italian Riviera to the Far East. The Summer Seekers had run for almost twenty years, it’s longevity due in no small part to her mother’s popularity. Every few weeks Kathleen would pack a suitcase and disappear on a trip to another faraway destination. Liza’s school friends had found it all impossibly glamorous. Liza had found it crushingly lonely. Her earliest memory was of being four years old and holding tight to her mother’s scarf to prevent her from leaving, almost throttling her in the process.

  To ease the distress of Kathleen’s constant departures, her father had glued a large map of the world to Liza’s bedroom wall. Each time her mother had left on another trip, Liza and her father would put a pin in the map and research the place. They’d cut pictures from brochures and make scrapbooks. It had made her feel closer to her mother. And Liza’s room would be filled with various eclectic objects. A hand-carved giraffe from Africa. A rug from India.

  And then Kathleen would return, her clothes wrinkled and covered in travel dust. She’d bring with her an energy that had made her seem like a stranger. Those first moments when she and Liza were reunited had always been uncomfortable and forced, but then the work clothes would be replaced by casual clothes, and Kathleen the traveler and TV star would become Kathleen the mother once again. Until the next time, when the map would be consulted and the planning would start.

  Liza had once asked her father why her mother always had to go away, and he’d said, Your mother needs this.

  Even at a young age Liza had wondered why her mother’s needs took precedence over everyone else’s, and she’d wondered what it was exactly that her mother did need, but she hadn’t felt able to ask. She’d noticed that her father drank more and smoked more when Kathleen was away. As a father, he had been practical, but economical in his parenting. He’d make sure that she was safe, but spent long days in his study or in the school where he was head of the English department.

  She’d never understood her parents’ relationship and had never delved for answers. They seemed happy together and that was all that mattered.

  Liza had thought about her mother exploring the desert in Tunisia on the back of a camel and wondered why she needed her world to be so large, and why it needed to exclude her family.

  Was it those constant absences that had turned Liza into such a home lover? She’d chosen teaching as a career because the hours and holidays fitted with having a family. When her own children were young she’d stayed home, taking a break from her career. When they’d started school she’d matched her hours to theirs, taking pleasure and pride in the fact that she took them to school and met them at the end of the day. She’d been determined that her children wouldn’t have to endure the endless goodbyes that she’d had as a child. She’d prided herself on connecting with them, and encouraging conversations about feelings, although these days those conversations were less successful. You can’t possibly understand, Mum, as if Liza hadn’t once been young herself.

  Still, no one could accuse her of not being attentive, another reason she was feeling uneasy right now.

  Sean was chatting to her mother, the pair of them making tea together as if this was a regular visit.

  Liza glanced around her, dealing with the dawning realization that clearing out this house would be a monumental task. Over the years her mother had filled it with memorabilia and souvenirs from her travels, from seashells to tribal masks. There were maps everywhere—on the walls and piled high in all the rooms. Her mother’s diaries and other writing filled two dozen large boxes in the small room she’d used as an office, and her photograph albums were crushed onto shelves in the living room.

  When her father had died, five years before, Liza had suggested clearing a few of his things but her mother had refused. I want everything to stay as it is. A home should be an adventure. You never know what forgotten treasure you might stumble over.

  Stumble over and break an ankle, Liza had thought in despair. It was an interesting way of reframing “mess”.

  Before her mother could sell this place it would need to be cleared, and no doubt Liza would be the one to do it.

  When was the right time to broach the subject? Not yet. They’d only just walked through the door. She needed to keep the conversation neutral.

  “The garden is looking pretty.”

  The French doors in the kitchen opened onto the patio, where the borders were filled with tumbling flowers. Pots filled with herbs crowded around the back door. Scented spikes of rosemary nestled alongside the variegated sage which her mother sprinkled over roast pork every Sunday—the only dish she ever produced with enthusiasm. The flagstone path was dappled by sunlight and led to the well-stocked vegetable patch, and then to a pond guarded by bulrushes. Beyond the garden were fields, and then the sea.

  It was so tranquil and peaceful that for a moment Liza longed for a different life—one that didn’t involve rushing around, ticking off items from her endless to-do list. She just wanted to sit.

  Her quiet fantasy of one day living near the sea had all but died. There had been a time early in their relationship when she and Sean had discuss
ed it regularly, but then real life had squeezed out those youthful dreams. Living on the coast wasn’t practical. Sean’s work was based in London. So was hers. Although teaching was more flexible, of course.

  Sean brought the food in from the car and Liza unpacked it into the fridge.

  “I had a casserole in the freezer, so I brought that,” she said. “And some veg.”

  “I’m capable of making food,” said her mother.

  “Your idea of food is bacon and cereal. You’re not eating properly.” She filled a bowl with fresh fruit. “I assumed you weren’t set up for an invasion of people.”

  “Can two people be an invasion?” Her mother’s tone was light, but she gripped the edge of the kitchen table and carefully lowered herself into a chair.

  Liza was by her side in a moment. “Maybe I should take a look at your head.”

  “No one else is touching my head, thank you. It already hurts quite enough. The young doctor who stitched me up warned me that it would leave a scar. As if I’m bothered by things like that at my age.”

  Age.

  Was this the moment to mention that it was time to consider a change?

  Across the kitchen, Sean was pouring the tea.

  Liza paused, nervous about disturbing the atmosphere.

  She tried again to encourage a deeper conversation. “You must have been frightened.”

  “I was more worried about Popeye. You know how he dislikes strangers. He must have escaped through the open door and I haven’t seen him since.”

  Liza gave up. If her mother wanted to talk about the cat, then they’d talk about the cat. “He’s always been a bit of a wanderer.”

  “That’s probably why we get on so well. We understand each other.”

  Was it crazy to be jealous of a cat?

  Her mother looked wistful and Liza resolved to do what she could to find Popeye. “If he’s not back by the morning we’ll search for him. And now I think you should have a lie-down.”

  “At four in the afternoon? I’m not an invalid, Liza.” Kathleen put sugar in her tea—another unhealthy habit she refused to abandon. “I don’t want a fuss.”