“…ridiculous!” James is saying. “I mean, if you’ve got the emails…”
“…can’t find them. That’s the thing…”
“…makes no sense…”
“Exactly! That’s what I keep saying! Look!” Demeter shows her phone to James, but his eyes are drifting away, as though he’s got other things to think about.
“It’ll blow over,” he says. “These things always do.”
“Right.” Demeter seems dissatisfied by this answer—in fact, she still seems pretty stressed—but she visibly pulls herself together and heads off with all the others toward the minibus, which will take them to the pottery class.
And I know it’s nothing to do with me anymore. But all morning, as I’m going through the accounts with Dad, I can’t help wondering: What’s up?
—
Pottery day is always a good one. First of all, everyone loves pottery, whatever age they are. And second, the pottery teacher, Eve, is very skillful at “helping” people just enough, so that their jug or vase or whatever will actually stand up straight. She’ll fire the pots tonight, and all the glampers will get them by Friday, and it’s a nice souvenir for them to take home.
So I’m expecting to see a happy group of people piling off the minibus when it returns at lunchtime. But, instead, there’s a rather weird procession. Demeter and Eve are together at the front, and Demeter seems to be talking very much at Eve. Behind, at a distance, everyone else is following, and I can see a bit of eye-rolling. As Demeter gets into earshot, I think I have an inkling why.
“…and then we were lucky enough to get a private view of the collection in Ortigia,” she’s saying smugly. “Have you ever met the curator, Signor Moretti? No? Charming man.”
I’d forgotten that ceramics was one of Demeter’s things. I bet she’s been ear-bashing poor Eve all morning.
“Welcome back!” I say hastily. “Eve, you must be exhausted; come and have a drink!”
I seat Eve next to Susie and Nick, well away from Demeter, and then it’s the usual rush of serving bread and salad and locally made pork pies, while all the guests discuss the morning. Even though I’ve told myself not to, I can’t help hanging around Demeter’s table a little more than the others and watching her family.
My opinion hasn’t altered: They’re dreadful. Coco is outwardly defiant and rude. Hal just ignores his mother. And James, who should be supporting her, is on another planet. If I thought Demeter was distracted, that’s nothing on her husband. All he can focus on is his phone. Does he even realize he’s on holiday?
During pudding, they start talking about some school play that Coco’s in, and Demeter gets all show-offy about Shakespeare. She starts going on about a production she saw at the RSC that was “tremendous” and “groundbreaking,” while Coco yawns ostentatiously and rolls her eyes.
Demeter really doesn’t help herself. Can’t she tell that everyone’s bored stiff? But at the same time, I can see that she is actually trying to help.
“Honestly, Mum!” Coco erupts at last. “Stop going on about it! You probably won’t even see me in the bloody play. So.”
“Of course I’ll see you in it!” Demeter retorts.
“No, you won’t. You never come to anything. You know what Granny calls you? Mrs. Invisible.” Coco sniggers and catches James’s eye. “Doesn’t she, Daddy? She says, ‘How’s Mrs. Invisible today?’ ”
“Mrs. Invisible?” Demeter sounds calm, but I can see her hand trembling as she takes a sip of water. “What does that mean?”
“The invisible mum,” says Hal, glancing up from his phone. “Come on, Mum. You’re never there.”
“Of course I’m there.” Demeter sounds as rattled as I’ve ever heard her. “I come to all your events, all your parents’ evenings—”
“What about my basketball?” Hal gives her a wounded look. “Did you even know I was on a basketball team?”
“Basketball?” Demeter has her confused, eye-darty look again. “Basketball? I didn’t— When— James, did you know about this?”
“Dad comes to every match,” says Hal. “He chants and everything.”
“Stop it, Hal,” says James sharply. “He’s winding you up, Demeter. He doesn’t play basketball.”
“But why—” Demeter breaks off, bewildered. “Why would you—James?” she practically yells, as James starts tapping at his phone again. “Could you please join in this discussion?”
“Hal, cut the attitude,” says James. “Say sorry.”
“Sorry,” mutters Hal.
I wait for James to insist: “Say it properly,” like Dad would have done to me, but he doesn’t. He’s already tuned out again. I don’t care how brainy and important he is, he’s a tosser. Maybe he’s one of these men who can’t cope with successful women. I have no idea what induced Demeter to marry him.
Hal just carries on with his lunch, while Coco shreds a bread roll into pieces. Demeter is silent and subdued. And all I can feel, right now, is really sorry for her.
—
After we’ve served coffee, the two children disappear out of the barn. I should really go and help Biddy with the afternoon’s baking activity. But I can’t leave. I’m too fascinated by the horror show that is Demeter and her family. I station myself within earshot of them by the old oak dresser, folding and refolding napkins. Not that Demeter and James even notice me. They’re engrossed in their own little bubble.