The Summer Villa. Melissa Hill
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Her gaze flew upwards to her sister and mother, and her words came out as a whisper, so fragile that if spoken too loudly the dream she was obviously in would shatter and she’d be sent right back to reality.
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ her mother replied tearfully, as she took both of Colette’s hands in hers.
‘We’ve made all the arrangements,’ Noelle added, excitement raising the tone of her voice to almost a squeal. ‘You leave at the end of the month. Three weeks on the Amalfi Coast in sunny Italy.’
Colette couldn’t speak. She shook her head. ‘I can’t. I can’t go.’
‘Why not?’ Noelle asked, confused.
‘Who will take care of Mum and the bakery? The summer season is our busiest, you know that. Who will take care of things around here?’ It seemed as if her entire life had been her mother, the house and the business for so long that she couldn’t imagine a day without having to attend to them. Not even a day without responsibilities.
‘Love, I can take care of myself now.’
‘And I’ll be home for the summer.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ her sister interrupted. ‘You’re going on this trip and that’s that. I knew you’d try to find some reason not to. Didn’t I tell you, Mum?’
‘Yes, you did,’ their mother answered, a small smile on her face as she looked at each of them in turn. ‘Though we have to remember that for the past few years Colette’s been the lady of the house here,’ she explained. ‘She’s done it so much she’s forgotten that she has a life of her own. And now the world is out there for her to discover.’
‘Mum,’ Colette said, realising she was being well and truly cornered. Yes, the doctor said all was well with her illness, but it would take more than a couple of weeks until her mother was ready to take on the responsibilities of the life she’d been forced to relinquish. Was she really up to it? ‘Why do I have to go so soon?’
‘Because Noelle will be home from university by then. And to be honest, it was quite difficult to find a place for you to stay – that part of Italy is very busy over the summer months, apparently. The travel agent said that this was basically all we could get.’
Colette looked at her. So it seemed it was now or never. ‘Are you absolutely sure you’d be OK with this? With my leaving you on your own?’
‘I’ll be perfectly fine,’ her mother insisted. ‘Really.’
‘Hey, like I said, I’ll be here, too,’ Noelle added with some annoyance. ‘Stop being such a worrier, Colette. I can take care of Mum just as well as you. Things are different now. We’ll be fine, honestly. It’s time you got out there and lived some of those dreams you’re always banging on about.’
‘An escape,’ their mother said. ‘High time you had some fun back in your life and came out of your shell.’
‘And live it up a little, too,’ Noelle added with a grin. ‘Go and meet a nice Italian who’ll show you a good time.’
‘Well, maybe not too much of that,’ her mother cautioned automatically, though unlike Noelle she knew well that her eldest wasn’t much of party person. ‘But, love, it is definitely time to see what’s out there for you, don’t you think?’
It sounded all too good to be true, and rather frightening, to be fair, Colette thought. She supposed she’d become quite dependent on her routine, so the idea of going somewhere outside of Brighton, let alone to a foreign country on her own, was a little overwhelming.
Oh, come on, a voice inside chided her. You took care of your mum, a business, and a household. What’s so scary about the Amalfi Coast?
She looked again at the brochures and the ticket with her name on it. Italy had always been such a dream, and like Noelle said, she’d studied Language and International Relations in college, so she did already speak quite a bit of the language. She could view this as a chance for some practical application of her skills. A chance to try new things, meet new people and the opportunity to push herself out of her comfort zone and widen her worldview.
You need this.
Colette had worn the badge of responsibility like a true soldier, never faltering or complaining, but she was tired. She was weary of the routine, of having to always say no to social invitations or a chance to just be flighty or careless. For feeling as if her life was on hold with a terrible end awaiting her. The thought that her mother might die had been a shadow that always loomed in the back of her mind, clouding her decisions. Now that cloud was lifted. She could breathe again.
An escape …
‘All right,’ she decided, smiling. ‘I’ll do it.’
Then
There was an incessant drilling sound that was driving Annie O’Doherty insane. It was Saturday morning. What the hell … ?
‘Oh, feck off!’ She attempted to toss an errant pillow in the direction of the noise but when she turned over in the bed to grab one, she was met with an unexpected obstruction.
There, sleeping soundly beside her, was someone – a man – she didn’t recognise.
Annie felt familiar discomfort rise up in her stomach as she tried to remember the previous night’s events.
Damn. She’d done it again, the thing she’d sworn time and time again not to: come home with some random stranger.
She raised her head slightly, trying to avoid any sudden movements that would alert Prince Charming to her presence, or indeed make her blinding headache even worse.
Now she had to figure out the best way to get this fella out of her flat without complication. This was her flat, yes?
She squinted around suspiciously at the messy room, discarded clothes scattered everywhere – Annie was more a floor-drobe than a wardrobe person – make-up littered all over the dressing table, and a hairdryer and straightening tongs hanging precariously from the radiator.
She’d remembered to turn the tongs off, which was good; it meant that she must have been sober before she went out.
And yep, this was definitely her room. Thank God for small mercies.
Annie raised the sheets a little to see she was wearing her pyjamas, which was another good sign – she hoped. Gingerly, she shimmied her way off the bed, grabbed her dressing gown and threw it on.
She always did this to herself. She’d have a bad week at work, or a fight with her mam, and then she’d go on a binge.
Eileen called her a slut, floozy or whatever