Page 28 of The Custard Tart Cafe by the Sea
“Oh, come on, Willow.” It’s the first time he’s used my name and, although I’m reluctant to admit it, it makes my heart flutter. “You can’t deny how fantastic they are.Just as they are.Which leads me to say something else now, that you’ll either take as a compliment or want to slap me across the face for… but I’ll take my chances anyway. You look fantastic too, without the huge sapphire and turquoise eyes. Not that it isn’t your prerogative to have huge sapphire and turquoise eyes, but they are colourful enough without all that makeup. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Do you need this?” I pick up the fork and hand it to him, trying in vain to ignore the bolt of electricity that flies through my hand and up my wrist as skin brushes skin. “It’s not a shovel, but it will help you with that very large hole you are digging yourself.”
Something about the ridiculousness of all of this finally hits us both at the exact same moment and we break into unadulterated laughter. Belly-clutching giggles. Tears stream down my face and I marvel at the way human emotions can change so very quickly. Grandma is hovering at the edge of the table when I can finally breathe again; a sure sign to put a lid on it and make my exit, lest she be left with no customers. I rise to do just that but Tiago puts a gentle but firm hand on mine. We both look at each other, somewhat startled. Actually, my eyebrows feel as if they’ve taken off and are orbiting space. Tiago looks at least half as shocked at what’s going on. And then Grandma totally throws me off my balance by saying:
“So, Tiago, I think it’s time to introduce youravóto youramiga.”
And just like that, any hopes of me making my great escape evaporate into thin air.
“Well, Grannie.” Tiago’s chipper confidence disappears in a puff of smoke too, his voice warbles. Evidently ‘Grannie’ is quite a matriarch figure in his family. “This is Willow… a fr-friend from England. And Willow, this is my grannie, Elsa.”
“Ohh,” Elsa crows. “And why didn’t you tell me when you placed your order,minha querida?”She looks questioningly at me and I try not to flinch under her scrutiny. “I would not have taken your money had I known you were acquainted with my delightful grandson. Those tarts would have been a gift. Still, you are here now and I insist that you’ll eat dinner with us this evening back at the house. I’ve got acaldeirada de peixeon the go.”
I cannot get over this lady’s English. Although heavily accented, her vocabulary is both extensive and impressive. And I can’t get over that invite, either. No, though. As much as the idea of (what sounds like) fish stew is making my stomach rumble. Grannie Elsa’s got the wrong end of the stick here. The wrong end of a very wrong stick. There’s not a chance I’m going to be doing any of that. I open my mouth to protest at the same time as Tiago.
“I really can’t, you see, I have to get back to my friends who I’m here on holiday with, but thank you for your kindness.”
“She… Grannie, no. I mean we haven’t known each other so long– we’re merely acquaintances, that’s all.”
“Is that right?” Elsa looks pointedly at our hands. They appear to be waiting to be bound together in holy matrimony by a vicar. I deftly snatch my fingers from Tiago’s grasp. And then I feel bereft.Oh, for crying out loud, Willow! Get a grip. This is the man who is trying to put you out of business, you stupid, STUPID girl!
“Okaaay,” Elsa looks from one to the other of us, scanning our faces to see who will cave in and reveal the truth first. Which is pointless. We’ve both told her the facts. And yet our body language had an agenda of its own just then. “At the very least you will come into the kitchen so I can give you a little tour of thepasteleriaand send you off with some fresh supplies for your friends.”
At this, she tucks my arm under her wing and walks me behind the scenes into the busy kitchen. I feel like a show pony bustling past the other ladies, busy serving their customers. Tiago paces nervously behind us, hands upturned, eyes wide like a Pleading Face emoji when I turn to him for an explanation.
“Here we have the heart of the operation, the hub of the business. Allow me to present my youngest grandson, Eduardo, who is learning the ropes, and my husband—”
“It’s her second husband so he’s not my actual grandad,” Tiago interrupts his grannie’s sentence.
“He’s been as good as, and you know it, young man. Eduardoand Silverio: say hello to our guest,” Elsa sets Tiago straight and completes her introduction to the old man who is currently hunched over the very familiar sight of a tart mould.
Eduardo raises a hand, rolling out pastry so deftly that I wonder what he has to learn. Silverio doesn’t look up immediately, as we watch him pour the last of a jug of buttercup-yellow custard into the pastry cases. Finally, he gives us a little wave, devoid of eye contact, his mind on more important things as he heads to the oven with the tray, briskly pulling two batches of beautifully scorchednatasfrom the heady heat and setting them to rest on the worktop. It is a polished operation and I can tell straight away that this man would be as alarmed as Tiago is at the baking methods Tim and I use.
On which note, I really should make my excuses and go, before my culinary sins are laid bare for all to dissect at the kitchen table. I can already tell that Elsa will go ape… and there are far too many rolling pins on this worktop for my liking, all of them just lying in wait for her to strike me with. I remove my phone from the back pocket of my cut-off denim shorts and ask Elsa’s permission to take a photo of Silverio’s handiwork (with the ulterior motive of checking the time).Sugar.There’s only half an hour left before I’m due to meet Kelly and Radhika. I’ll have to slip away as quickly as I can.
As if sensing my desperation to leave, Elsa cracks open a bottle of port and sets out four mini goblets, plying her visitor first with what appears to be a non-negotiable tipple. I accept it gratefully… for medicinal purposes. I’m still in a weird state of shock, after all, unable to fathom how one thing has led to another so fast. The bitter blackberry and chocolatemêléehits my throat and I feel my eyes glaze over. Then I watch Silverio quickly but carefully remove each tart from its piping hot mould. My back senses the heat from Tiago’s body as he edges closer.
“Will you stay for dinner if it’s just you and me?” he whispers in my ear, making me jump when Elsa, Silverio, and Eduardo are deeply immersed in their respective tasks, his lip brushing my earlobe ever so slightly. “I’ll drive you back to your accommodation before midnight and I’ll behave like a gent. You have my word.”
What did he just say?
My brow furrows as if trying to work out an equation that doesn’t add up. I wonder if I’ve somehow gulped down two or three glasses of this port without realising it. Okay. I’ve told you several times over that I don’t swear, but now I am going to have to– if only in my head.This is majorly fucked up. All I came to Tavira for today was custard tarts, for a taste test of the most authentic local specimens I could find, so I could compare them to my own and decide, deep within my heart (and belly), if I am on the right track with my venture.I am.
And now I’ve got legs like Bambi’s, a pulse of I-don’t-even-want-to-know-what, and a dinner date that I definitely didn’t see coming, especially given that I am dressed in an old T-shirt, frayed denim shorts, and a pair of sensible and totally un-sexy Birkenstocks.
Elsa, oblivious to the fireworks her enigma of a grandson has set off in my stomach, gets to work laying out cardboard boxes and a large paper carrier bag bearing the name of the family’s business on it:Pasteleria Pereira.Before I even have time to answer Tiago with ‘I really don’t think so… this is not some holiday version of Pride and Prejudice,” there comes a very English-sounding voice from the shop outside.
“Hellooooooo! Anybody there? I meanolá…”
Sugar. No, condiments won’t do…shit. That’s Kelly!
“Tiago, go and see to the customer, Susana and Carolina must have their hands full,” Elsa instructs her grandson, just at the moment when I think I have formulated something kickass and get-out-clause-esque to quip back to him, in the wake of that proposition. But the next thing I know, Kelly and Radhika are trailing into the kitchen behind Tiago, all full of the wonders of modern day ‘coincidence’.
“Well, well, well! This was obviously meant to be, wasn’t it?” Kelly crows as we stand in a little huddle, with Elsa and her team beavering away in the background.
A ridiculous grin plasters itself across Radhika’s face. “You’re the epitome of a dark horse, matey… and a bloody good actress to boot. I thought I’d sussed you on the plane, but then you spun such a convincing yarn… and you weren’t remotely grateful for this guy’s heroics. I never could fathom that.”
Both friends are staring at me. If there were an illustrated dictionary of the emotional states, I’d be top choice as the pictorial reference forflustered.
