The End Of The Tunnel

In that moment, I saw the weekend from a different angle. From Celia’s point of view

The first thing I noticed when I stepped out of the car was the softness of the air. Even the rain felt benign, though I couldn’t see Laura appreciating that. She was a sun-worshipper, near enough literally. My daughter never just liked things, she had to worship them. As she always had her father.

I liked a bit of warmth, myself, but nothing too extreme. When Laura still came away with me, we’d go camping in France in the summer holidays. She loved the south, where the temperature was just that little bit uncomfortable for me. Away from the beaches of the Riviera, I could tell she was bored, looking forward to “proper” holidays with her dad. And, whatever our differences, I had to admit Paul was always a good father, in many ways a better, certainly more demonstrative, father than I was a mother. I tried my best, but he was the one who made Herculean efforts to see her, for us still to be a sort of family.

Mother and daughter relationships were supposed to be cosy and friendly, weren’t they? A bond like no other? Not living up to the standard made me feel like some kind of monster, so it was a surprise when she asked me to share the holiday cottage she and Kieran were renting, one of several booked for the get-together organised by Kieran’s parents in the wake of the couple’s engagement, partly in celebration, partly for everyone to get to know each other.