Page 37 of The Custard Tart Cafe by the Sea
This is such a culturally sensitive subject, rooted in family, honour, tradition, and heritage– and it’s one I know hardly anything about. But I’m more than a little alarmed on behalf of my friend all the same. IMHO– to quote one Leona– Radhika should be allowed to follow her own path in this day and age. But it’s not going to be simple.
“What can we realistically do to help?” I ask, somewhat pointlessly, because this issue is so much bigger than me. It throws my own current dilemma into much-needed perspective.
Kelly looks into space for a moment or two. “Just be patient with her. And maybe help her to realise that when the time is right, a brilliant and long-lasting relationship– one that she chooses to partake in– will come along, so there’s no need to weigh up every male prospect so obsessively. I hate the way that last bit came out.” Kelly shakes her head. “Radhika is beautiful, clever, fun, adventurous and uplifting. She shouldn’t have to feel so… so desperate.” Kelly sniffs and I embrace her.
And that’s what we do, we cultivate patience.
By dusk I have shrugged off the mantle of fury and unease that is Tiago, replacing it with a cute multi-coloured halter neck dress and heels– the sole dress and heels I’ve packed for the holiday. Radhika showers her approval on me… a little less so on Kelly, who is clad in a green maxi dress and teeny-tiny knitted shrug, both better suited to the daytime. The dress is dotted with little Glastonbury Tors and sunrises. It would look cute on a toddler. Nevertheless, holiday rules are holiday rules and we have both kept our side of the bargain, supporting our friend in her choice of excursion.
Leona gives us a lift (mercifully in her car this time) to save us the cost of a taxi fare on one leg of the journey, and we head into Vilamoura, me feigning sleep as we pass the signposts for Tavira. Nevertheless, the hot and steamy things Tiago and I got up to unhelpfully replay in my head; strong, firm hands running the length of my body, the build-up of ecstasy so intense it is all I can do not to bite the pillow. Or the car’s seat belt.
Stop it, Willow!
The venue on the town’s infamous neon-lit street doesn’t open until midnight, so we eatal frescoby the swanky marina, Radhika swooning over the luxury yachts bobbing about next to us. Every chocolate-haired male of a certain age that passes our little table on the pavement is Tiago and I find I have little appetite. Not even for a custard tart dessert.
As the sky turns from salmon and violet to blackberry, pinprick stars illuminating it, Kelly and I surrender to the inevitability of being dragged onto the dance floor for a boogie at the venue down the road. After ‘doing our bit’ for the handful of songs that I might have heard of, had I not had such great taste inpropermusic, Radhika allows us to slope off to the cocktail bar on the sidelines. The one that Kelly has been raving about. I baulk at the price list, which starts at thirteen euros a drink. It’s all well and good us embracing one another’s favourite pastimes, but you could eat at least thirteenpastel de natasfor that price.
Kelly orders us a pair of Sea Dragons, made with rectified Scotch, tomato and peach, a combo you can be sure I’ll never contemplate adding to my custard tarts. She brings the tumblers back to our table looking delighted, or maybe mesmerised, by the seascape of a garnish– a mixture of thistles and what I can only guess are some kind of beach flowers. I brace myself for a sip and grimace. This is making the herbal tea from night one taste good.
We watch Radhika’s progress, like parents proud of their child’s dance moves at a Butlins holiday camp. Surprise, surprise, she has somehow managed to get all of her quarries under the same roof this evening, seamlessly flitting from one to another on the dance floor. Santi, Miguel, and Delivery Guys Two and Three all seem perfectly happy with that. You could hardly label her technique a nineteenth century approach, and yet the treat them mean, keep them keen but at arms’ length technique does have its similarities to the Victorian days of calling cards being presented (or not) to indicate one’s interest in a suitor. Once again, I have to wonder if this is where I’ve gone wrong myself. It seems a better bet than jumping straight into one’s enemy’s bed. I take another swig of the Sea Dragon and wince, hot-footing it to the bar to pull in the next round on my own terms; the Gorilla is made with rose geranium rum, ginger, honeydew melon, and a ‘splish-splash’ of lager. Overlooking the fact the bartender is shoving a massive fern in each long-necked glass, things can only get better, right?
Alas, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Far from anything in my current life pickle improving, things are deteriorating at one hundred miles an hour. For who is standing before me, smack bang opposite on the other side of the bar, but flipping Edu. Tiago’s cousin! I knew we shouldn’t have come near the coast tonight. Edu is in his late teens, for goodness sake. Of course the nightlife on the Strip will attract him and his mates, moth to flame.
I hide behind a pillar and now the barman has to twist his neck around it to ask for my payment. I try to communicate to Kelly that we have to go– like yesterday– by making a T sign. She shakes her head in disappointment and I realise she thinks I’m asking if she wants a cuppa instead of a cocktail. Not that Tiago is necessarily here, but I can’t take any chances. This visit is all about catching up with his family, after all. It’s getting awkward passing the barman my euros at such a distance, so reluctantly I edge out past the pillar– and that’s when Edu spots me. His eyes light up as he makes the connection, regardless of the fact we’d barely acknowledged one another in thepasteleria’s kitchen.Noooooo!Now he’s on his way around the bar. I abandon the money and the drinks without waiting for my change, without sampling another liquid foraged delight, and run out of the club, Kelly on my heels.
“What happened back there? Don’t tell me you spotted Tiago?” She’s out of breath when she finally catches up with me on Praia da Oura, the nearest stretch of beach, sandals in her hands to help her walk faster.
“Why?Did you?” I panic, my own breath rising and falling with a heavy crash in time with the pounding of the waves.
“I was too busy savouring the rest of my gorgeous Sea Dragon,” says Kelly. “I reckon I could fuse that amazing amalgamation of flavours into ice cream. I can’t wait to see my customers’ faces!”
Hmm. The only clientele who’d find that special blend appealing would be those who’d lost their taste buds via Covid. But moving swiftly on…
“Not Tiago, no. His cousin. You only saw Edu’s back, when you and Radhika were hauled in and then spat back out of the kitchen. He was busy making thepastéis.”
“I appreciate the problem, Willow, but we can’t just leave Radhika like this.”
“And I can’t go back in there!”
“Hang on a minute.” Kelly holds up a hand to stop my objections. She fishes around in her handbag and pulls out a pair of binoculars.
“What on earth? Were you planning on bird watching this evening or something?”
“I put them in my case so I could use them if we went hiking, then forgot all about them until now. Might as well get some use out of them tonight, playing chaperone to Rad.”
“Kelly! That’s a bit voyeuristic.”
“It’s also saving your bacon, Willow. She’s over on the benches with Santi… at least I think it’s him. Seems like our services will soon be no longer required. We can find out what the lovers’ plans are, then get ourselves the most environmentally-friendly looking cab back to the quinta for a lovely pot of herbal tea before bed.”
I feel decidedly middle-aged at this announcement, and could almost run back to the hedonism of the club. I may be straight but I would love to watch the pole dancers in action. Callum and I never went to any raves or clubs on our Ibiza holiday three years ago, and it feels like a rite of passage in your twenties. But I remember how soft my bed is and how I have officially fulfilled my duties as babysitter to Rad– well, nearly. Once that’s done, nothing is stopping me from submerging myself in every aspect of the quinta from now until our final day.
“Sounds wonderful,” I say to Kelly with a massive grin, as we ignore the protests of our aching tendons and sprint through the rippling sand back to the lovebirds.
***
The next daywe decide it’s high time we venture into the local town proper. São Brás may not be as picturesque as other inland destinations on the Algarve (overlooking the gorgeousness of the quinta on its outskirts and similarly rustic properties dotting the surrounding landscape, and of course Santi’s beloved cork trees) but it has a fabulous market. It’s a wonderful place to spend a morning. Kelly haggles rather impressively in her pigeon Portuguese over plump red tomatoes and fragrant stuffed olives which we will take back to the quinta for lunch. And I pick up some mouthwatering cheeses and breads.
Radhika and Santi pace behind us in a gooey-eyed world of their own. It seems Santi really did win our friend’s heart last night, not that I’m sure the criteria of his dance moves to Mambo Number Five can tell a woman much about a man. Don’t knock it until you try it, I suppose. One thing’s for sure, using that barometer I could have skipped my entire relationship with Callum, who had not so much two left feet as cold feet. Not once did I manage to lure him onto a dance floor, even though we met at a club.
