“Why isn’t he coming in?” I ask, puzzled.
“He’s not allowed in here,” says Matt.
“He’s not allowed in the dining room?” I say, baffled.
“He has his zones,” explains Matt, and I try to hide my horror. Zones? That sounds sinister, if you ask me. It sounds like a spaceship from a dystopian movie. I smile sympathetically at Mouser, who is still standing at the threshold. Mouser gives a single bark, and John immediately frowns.
“Now, Mouser,” he says. “Behave. Lie down.”
Immediately, Mouser lies flat on the floor, as I stare, slightly flabbergasted. I’ve never seen a dog like that. He’s like a robot dog.
“Why’s he called Mouser?” I ask. “Because he catches mice?”
“No, Mauser. After the gun,” says Matt, and I nearly drop my coffee cup in horror. A gun? They named their dog after a weapon?
“Mauser’s on good form,” says Walter, who has barely spoken all lunch.
“Ava has a dog,” Matt tells Walter, who lifts his eyes toward me with the barest interest.
“Oh, really?”
“I have a beagle,” I say eagerly. “A rescue beagle. He was found on the side of the A414.” As ever, when I talk about Harold, my voice starts overflowing with love. “He’s…would you like to see a photo?”
“No thanks,” says Walter shortly, as John pushes back his chair.
“Matthias, Walter, I think we should get on.”
“Sure,” says Matt, draining his coffee cup. “Will you be OK, Ava?”
“I’ll sort out something for Ava,” puts in his mother, before I can reply. “You go along, Matthias. I’ll join you.”
“Nice to meet you,” says Walter to me, and I muster a smile.
“You too!”
John strides out of the room along with Walter and Matt. Mauser follows them, practically in step, and as I watch them go, I realize I’m mentally singing the Darth Vader theme tune. Oh God, I hope no one can hear.
“Ronald, your massage therapist will be here soon,” adds Elsa, and Ronald gets to his feet.
“Very nice to meet you, Ava,” he says, and squeezes me briefly on the arm before heading out of the room.
“Ava,” says Elsa with her chilly smile. “I’m afraid we will be in our meeting for some time. But you are welcome to use the pool. It’s indoor,” she adds. “You’ll find the pool complex in the garden.”
I gape at her in surprise. The pool? I never expected a pool.
“Amazing!” I say. “Except…I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
“We have spare swimsuits for guests at the complex,” she says. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you!”
I beam back at Elsa, all my antipathy melting away. Here we are. This is our common ground. Swimming! I may not be a sportswoman, but I can drift around a pool with the best of them. I’ll loll around in the pool all afternoon and have a lovely relaxed time and then maybe we’ll have the patisserie cake for tea, since we haven’t had it for lunch.
“Oh, I should warn you,” adds Elsa as she reaches the doorway. “My aunt Sigrid and cousin Greta are over from Austria with some friends, and are coming to stay. You may meet them. They’re very charming.”
“Awesome!” I say happily. “And maybe I’ll have a little walk in the garden first.”
“Be our guest,” says Elsa, waving a hand at the French windows, and she almost sounds friendly. I can’t believe it. This visit has completely turned around!
* * *
—
The garden is quite large and complicated, with walled sections and orchards and grassy bits that look like other grassy bits. As I’m trying to find my way back, I get drawn into a WhatsApp debate between Sarika and Maud about vitamin C serum and perch on a bench to join in. So it’s quite a long time before I make my way to the pool complex, which is a glass-fronted wooden building.
The pool is stunning, all blue and glittering, just like something in a posh hotel. There are several sun beds and even a steam room and sauna. I can’t help giving a little whoop of exhilaration as I look around. Why didn’t Matt tell me about this in the first place? That is so typical of him.
Then I become aware that I can hear voices. I follow the sound, through a curtain, and find a group of women getting changed and chattering loudly in German. Three seem to be in their forties, and one is older. They look up in surprise as I enter, and I raise a shy hand.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m a friend of Matt’s. Ava.”
“Hello!” replies a beaming, athletic-looking woman with short curly hair. “I am Greta, Elsa’s cousin. This is Heike, Inge, and Sigrid.” She gestures to the older-looking woman. “My mother. We are visiting with our husbands, who will be joining us here shortly. We are conducting a short tour of the UK. A road trip.”
“After staying here for a few days, we go to Stratford,” chimes in Heike. “I have never been to Stratford.” She puts on a bathing cap with a snap. “Ready to swim,” she adds cheerfully. “Bring it on.”
“You all speak really good English,” I say in admiration.
“No, no,” says Heike modestly. “We do our best, but we are sadly lacking.”
Is she kidding?
“There’s no way I could say ‘sadly lacking’ in German,” I say frankly. “Not a chance. So you win.”
All the women laugh, exchanging pleased looks with one another, and I feel a glow rising through me. They’re nice!
“The pool’s amazing,” I say, starting to take off my clothes.
“Yes!” says Greta cheerfully. “We’re looking forward to our swim. See you there.”
They all disappear out to the pool, and I take a swimsuit from a basket marked Guests. As I put it on, I’m actually smiling to myself, because this is so not what I expected of today. A lovely lazy afternoon in the pool with Matt’s extended family! There are sun beds to lie on, I’ve already noticed. Or maybe we’ll sit on the side, dangling our toes in the water, and chat about stuff. Maybe they can tell me what happened to Ronald.
But as I head out, no one’s lying on the sun beds, nor dangling their toes. All the women are swimming hard. Like, seriously. Front crawl. Back crawl. The whole pool is like some sort of Olympic training session. Even Sigrid is performing a professional-looking breaststroke, and she must be seventy, at least. Who are these people? As I stand, flabbergasted, Greta reaches the near end of the pool and smiles up at me.
“It’s refreshing!” she says. “Come in!”
“Right.” I hesitate. “You’re all…really good swimmers.”
“We met through the swim team,” says Greta cheerfully. “Although our technique is not what it was!”
As she speaks, Heike thunders toward the edge of the pool, turns a somersault underwater, and streaks back in the opposite direction.
“Do you swim?” adds Greta politely.
“Well.” I swallow. “I mean, I can keep afloat….”
“Enjoy!” she says, and then pushes off into a deft front crawl.
I make my way cautiously down the steps into the water, which is colder than I expected, and try a few cautious breaststrokes. Then I hastily move out of the way of Inge, whose arms are like pistons in the water. Oh God, I can’t drift around with this lot thrashing up and down. It’s like the M1 in here. Maybe I’ll leave the swimming for now, I decide. Maybe I’ll try the steam room and the sauna. The relaxing stuff.
“Just going to the steam room!” I say to Greta, as she pauses at the end of the pool, and she nods cheerily. I grab a towel and pad over the tiled floor to the steam room, and as I enter, I can feel all my muscles unwinding. This is more like it. This is the life.
I close my eyes and let the steam engulf me. My head is spinning with all the weird moments of today, from the salmon dish used by Princess Margaret in 1982 to poor t
earful Ronald. After a while I can almost feel myself nodding off. But my chin jerks up as I hear voices again. It’s Greta and the other women. They’re obviously out of the pool, and I can hear some booming male voices, too, which must be the husbands. I should go and say hello.
It’s a good strategic move to be friendly with Greta, I’ve concluded. And indeed her whole group of mates. They seem very nice (far nicer than Elsa), and it’s a great way into the family. But as I emerge from the steam room, the pool area is empty. Where’ve they all gone? I look around—then notice two pairs of flip-flops outside the sauna door.
Of course! Well, even better. What could be more bonding than sharing a sauna together?
I wrap my towel around my body and cautiously open the sauna door, feeling a blast of heat hit me. I take a step inside—then stop in dumb horror.
They’re all in here. All the women, at least. They’re sitting on towels and looking up with friendly smiles—and they’re all naked. Naked. Stark naked. All I can see is breasts and stomachs and…Oh God.
What do I do now? What? Am I supposed to be naked too?
“Shut the door!” says Greta, gesturing at me, and before I can get my thoughts straight, I’m closing it.
“Sit down!” adds Heike, shifting up on the bench, her veiny breasts swaying as she does so.
No. Do not look at her breasts. Or her…
Oh God, stop. Don’t look. I hastily swing my eyes from Heike, to find myself peering at Inge’s pale nipples, which are at eye level. In horror, I whip my head away, to find myself regarding a mound of bushy pubic hair.
No. Noooo.
OK. Keep calm. Basically, no line of sight is safe. So I will stare at the door. Yes. Sweat is already pouring down my face, which is nothing to do with the heat of the sauna. It’s sheer stress.
Should I leave? But what if that looks rude?
“Sit on your towel, Ava,” says Greta encouragingly, and gingerly I place it on the wooden slats. As I sit down, I can see Sigrid peering at me with detached interest.
“Why do you sit in a costume?” she inquires politely. “Are you ashamed of your pubis?”
Am I…?
What?
“No!” I say, my voice shrill. “I mean…I don’t think…Gosh. I’ve never really…It’s quite hot in here….”
My floundering is cut short by the sauna door opening. Three men troop in, all wrapped up in towels and smiling broadly.
“Henrik!” exclaims Greta. “This is a friend of Matt, Ava.”
“Hello, Ava!” says Henrik cheerfully. And I know it’s my cue to reply, but I can’t speak. I’m paralyzed in dread. The men are all busily unwrapping their towels, revealing hairy chests and thighs and…They’re not going to…They’re not…Surely they’re not…
Oh my God. Yes, they are. All three of them.
Look at the door, Ava. Look at the door.
My head is rigidly fixed ahead. My gaze is locked on the wooden slats. I’m trying to blank out that glimpse I just caught of Henrik’s…
I mean, just as a sidebar, no wonder Greta’s so cheery….
No. No. Stop thinking, Ava. Stop looking. Just…stop.
I realize I’m clenching my towel so hard that tendons are standing out on my hands—and Greta seems to notice. “Ava, are you feeling quite well?” she says in concerned tones. “Is the heat too much? If you are not used to saunas, it’s better not to overdo it.”
“I’m fine!” I say. “I just…I suppose I’m not used to the…” I trail off and take a deep breath. I might as well come clean. “In England we don’t tend to…We wear bathing suits.”
Greta’s eyes instantly pop with understanding.
“Of course!” she exclaims. “Of course.” She says something in rapid German to the others, and they all start exclaiming, too, including the men.
“We must apologize!” says Greta brightly. “Poor Ava. You must find this very strange! You see, to us it is normal. Imagine, Henrik! She walks into the sauna expecting to see bathing suits. Yet she finds naked bodies!”
Her arm sweeps around the sauna, and before I can stop myself, I follow it with my gaze, and…
Okaaaay. I’ve seen the whole lot. Can’t unsee that.
“Quite a misunderstanding,” Henrik is saying jovially. “Very hilarious.”
“We will eat out on this!” Greta nods, then turns to me, her breasts flopping about. “Is that the correct idiom, ‘eat out’?”
“I…guess,” I say, desperately trying not to see her nipples. “Or ‘dine out’ would be more—oh!” I gasp, as Henrik gets up, swaying all over the place.
“Elsa and John are just coming down as well, by the way,” he says conversationally to Greta. “The sauna will be packed!”
As his words impinge on my mind, I stop dead. Elsa and John are—
What?
It takes a moment for me to comprehend the full horror of this scenario. My possible future in-laws? In a sauna? Naked?
Already I’m on my feet, clutching my towel, my heart thumping, sweat pouring down my face in rivers.
“It was lovely to see you all,” I gabble. “I mean, meet you all. I mean…But I think I’m sauna-ed out. So…er…have fun!”
As I push my way out, my legs are trembling. I need to get changed very, very fast. I need to not see Elsa or John naked. This is my priority.
I drench myself briefly in a shower and dump the wet suit in what seems to be a laundry hamper. Then I shove my clothes on any old how and hurry out of the pool complex, in a state of slight panic. As I’m hurrying up the path, I see Matt approaching from the house and accelerate till I meet him.
“Did you have a nice time?” he begins. “We finished sooner than I—”
“Oh my God,” I cut him off. “Oh my God, Matt. You should have warned me!”
“What?” Matt looks puzzled.
“The sauna!” I half-whisper, half-squeak. “Your family and their friends were in there! Naked!”
“Oh, right.” His face relaxes with understanding. “Yeah.”
I wait for him to say more—but that seems to be it. Is that really all he’s going to say?
OK, I am not a needy person, but in my opinion, “Oh, right. Yeah,” is not a sufficient response at this time.
“Naked,” I repeat for emphasis. “They were naked. All of them. You know how when you do a speech, they say, ‘Imagine they’re all naked, it’ll give you confidence’? Well, that’s a lie! It doesn’t!”
“It’s just the Austrian tradition.” Matt shrugs.
“But it’s not my tradition! I was freaked out! I was like, ‘Oh my God, I can see…’ You don’t want to know what I saw,” I finish meaningfully. “You don’t want to know.”
Matt laughs and I glare at him. He thinks this is funny?
“Did you set me up for this?” I say accusingly.
“No!” He seems astonished. “Ava, I didn’t know anyone else would be there, it didn’t occur to me that you’d take a sauna…basically I forgot. I’m so used to it, I forget. And really,” he adds, lowering his voice as his parents approach us down the path, “is it such a big deal?”
“What?” I begin—then stop. Already Elsa and John are in earshot and Elsa is addressing me: “Hello, Ava. Did you have a good swim?”
“Wonderful, thanks,” I respond with a polite smile. “Such a lovely pool!”
But as she starts telling me about the garden, my head is churning. Indignation is sparking around my body. Is it such a big deal? Is he for real?
Seventeen
By the time we get into the car, an hour later, I’m bursting. I’m actually bursting. Arguments have been mounting up in my mind like planes waiting to land. First, Matt doesn’t warn me about the naked sauna. Then he makes out like I’m overreacting. Then, over tea, he tells his parents that Har
old needs training, even though he knows I don’t like him saying that.
Then, as I’m still reeling from that, his parents launch into a half-hour lecture on the eighth wonder of the world that is Genevieve. I know that Genevieve has appeared on the cover of three magazines. And she’s going to film a TV documentary. And she has to have two assistants to deal with all the fan mail she receives.
And OK, yes, Matt tried to steer the conversation away, but maybe he didn’t try hard enough.
And, oh my God, what was that with the cake?
I’m breathing hard as I get into the car and wave at Matt’s parents. “Thank you so much!” I call through the window. “I had a lovely time. It was wonderful!”
“So,” says Matt as he puts the car into reverse to turn. “How was that for you?”
Even his question flicks me on the raw. How does he think it was?
“Oh, I’m just super-thrilled I’ll get an A-plus in my test on ‘Genevieve the wonder woman,’ ” I say, still smiling sweetly at his parents through the window, and Matt sighs.
“I know. I’m sorry. My parents are…They can’t let go.”
He puts the car into first gear, and we shoot forward with a little spurt of gravel under the wheels. As we exit the gates, we both breathe out.
“But it was OK otherwise?” says Matt after a few moments. I know he wants me to say it was lovely. And I know I should. But I can’t. I’m feeling tetchy and stroppy.
“Apart from Genevieve and the naked sauna and you insulting Harold, it was fab,” I say, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Insulting Harold?” Matt sounds perplexed. “How did I insult Harold?”
“You said he needs training.”
“He does need training,” replies Matt, and I feel a spurt of rage.
“He does not! And why didn’t they open my cake?”
“What?” Matt looks baffled. “What cake?”
What cake?
“I spent an absolute fortune on a cake from a patisserie, and they just left it in the kitchen!”