The Men in her Life

suppose not,’ Clare said, suddenly depressed by the fact that after knowing him an hour, Holly knew how to deal with him better than she did.
    ‘He is so different from what I expected,’ Holly went on, hoping that if she talked about him the crush she was developing would go away.
    It was the same intensity of feeling she had experienced seeing Robert De Niro in Godfather II for the first time. She vividly remembered coming out of the cinema vowing she would do anything to meet him. They would only have to meet, she had told herself as she stood in the rain in Leicester Square , and he too would somehow miraculously know that she was the One for him. The only time she had got close to him, at Cannes more than twenty years later, Bobby’s eyes had met hers for a split second as his bodyguards had swept her aside, but there had been no flicker of recognition. But a long time had passed, she had consoled herself as she watched him duck into a waiting limousine, and she couldn’t truthfully say that she felt the same way about him now either.
    ‘What do you mean?’ Clare asked, looking sideways at her and indicating with her eyes that she should be careful what she said in front of Tom.
    ‘He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?’ Holly said. If she acknowledged it openly, then she would not feel so ashamed about fancying him.
    ‘What did you think?’ Clare wanted to know, ‘that I would plight my troth to some geek?’
    ‘I just thought he would be more, more...’ Holly searched for the right word, ‘more vegetarian,’ she finally said.
    Clare looked at her in disbelief, then threw back her head in laughter.
    ‘You’re quite mad,’ she said, ‘did you know?’
    ‘Holly MAD!’ shouted Tom, leaping out of the pushchair and running towards the sea. Holly chased after him right into the sea where she picked him up and threw him into the air.
    ‘I love Holly,’ Tom shouted, running back up the beach to his mother.
    ‘So do I,’ Clare told him, smiling at her sister over the top of his golden curls.
    They spread out towels and rubbed factor 25 sun lotion into Tom’s skin and then their own. Then they lay back while Tom shovelled sand into the buckets, giving a running commentary on each step of the procedure and occasionally demanding that Holly empty one for him.
    ‘What is it with Scandinavians?’ Holly asked, turning onto her front after only a few minutes.
    ‘What? Where?’ Clare sat up, half-expecting to see a couple of Vikings walk along the sea front.
    ‘Not here, I just meant how come Scandinavians have fair hair and go nut-brown?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Clare said, lying down again.
    Holly lay back next to her.
    ‘Do you ever tan?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes, if I’m careful.’
    ‘I never do. It’s Mo’s fault, obviously,’ Holly said, sitting up, ‘I mean we’ve both inherited the red-haired gene from our father, but I’ve got another one from my mother too...’
    ‘Is Mo red-haired?’ Clare asked.
    ‘Not really, but you kind of feel it’s lurking there. Her hair is sort of springy brown, and really long. She looks very Irish. Did I tell you she’s getting married?’
    ‘Yes.’ Clare sat up. There was obviously going to be no restful lie in the sun with Holly fidgeting about beside her.
    ‘I want ice-cream,’ Tom announced.
    ‘I’ll get it,’ Holly said, jumping up and taking his hand, ‘do you want anything?’
    ‘No, thanks.’
    Clare watched as the two of them, one very tall, one very small, walked up the beach together. She could see from the movement of his head that Tom was explaining something important. He was one of the few people on earth, Clare thought smiling, who could give Holly a run for her money in opinionated chatter.
    There was no-one at the window of the van.
    ‘Hello?’ Holly called, standing on tiptoe to peer right over the counter.
    Matt suddenly stood up, almost colliding with her nose.
    ‘Hello,’ he said, smiling at her.
    He had had his hair cut, almost shaved. Without the gold tips, he looked much more ordinary.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
    ‘I’d like an ice-cream for my nephew,’ Holly said, gesturing frantically at Tom’s head.
    He pulled the lever that ejected a stiff white swirl onto the smallest size of cone. She looked away5 pretending to see something going on towards the harbour.
    ‘Changed your mind about the lolly?’ he said as he handed it to her.
    ‘As a matter of fact, I’m escaping from a rat that