Margo let the heavy door slam behind her, her hand lingering on the cold brass of the doorknob. She felt the heat envelop her, the air thick and still with it, no sea breeze to bring relief. There was even a heat haze over the sea, blurring the horizon. Sasha’s small sticky hand slipped out of hers and she was off, taking Sandcove’s steep steps with hops and jumps. ‘Da!’ she kept calling. She was chasing her father, she was always chasing her father. Margo watched as the white blonde curls shot along the sea wall above the beach, the curve of her cheek slathered in sun cream.
Margo shouted ‘Not near the edge!’ hearing the echoes of all the times growing up this had been shouted at her. ‘Imi, go with her, make sure she’s okay! Your father’s too far away.’
Imogen obediently trailed down the steps, book in hand. She moved slowly, dreamily. Margo noticed how knotted her long hair was, there was a huge bird’s nest at the back. People would think she wasn’t coping if they saw it.
‘Quicker than that! She’s already at the walkway.’
Margo felt Rachel lurking beside her, two enormous picnic bags at her feet. Margo looked at her eldest daughter’s face which always seemed to be set in a scowl these days. She was wiser than she should be at nine, clever and sarcastic. She did not help the atmosphere in the house with her sharp observations.
‘What’s wrong now?’
‘Didn’t you see? Dad just left, he didn’t take anything for the picnic.’
Margo had seen Richard’s pale legs disappearing over Horestone Point. He’d been holding something, most likely the cooler box. He would already be on the white sand of Priory, a glass in his hand, chatting to whoever was there. On a day like this people would be coming into the bay by boat for barbecues and picnics.
‘He couldn’t wait to get away from us.’
Margo wanted to go back alone into the cool and quiet of the house. But she couldn’t leave Richard in charge, she would never be able to leave him in charge. She needed to say something reassuring to Rachel.
Leave a Reply