Page 66 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
He clamped his lips shut, glaring at the fat crows’ feet chiselled into the skin by Shirley’s eyes.Nasty bat!
‘Come down and join us normal people whenever you like.’ She chuckled, then shepherded her men towards their table. ‘Tim, I said sit over there. Now where’s that bottle of wine?Did you order the wine yet? I’m gasping.’ She called over to the Ellis table: ‘Let’s have a coffee sometime, Emily.’
The Ellises feasted like tourists, butter oozing down their chins which they scrubbed at carelessly with greasy hands.
‘Do you think I should nudge up the rates for the B&B?’ asked Emily, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
He didn’t want to talk about her website, and he didn’t want her examining it anytime soon either. With an inspection scheduled for next year, the hot food licence was a distant prospect, but – despite Emily’s hygiene scruples – Mark was beginning to wonder if Villa Anna’s kitchen would pass inspection.
‘We wouldn’t want to put people off,’ he said, wiping his chin with his dirty napkin. ‘Forget about work today. This expat lifestyle’s not so bad, is it?’ He was expecting a smile, or better, a dreamy laugh. He got neither.
‘The novelty of the sunshine hasn’t worn off yet but running the B&B is exhausting.’
‘You were always busy in London.’
‘If you’d had your hands down a bog as often as I have this year, you wouldnottry drawing a parallel.’
She ran a finger round the rim of her wine glass, making ithum. Was Emily that unhappy? She liked looking after people, but did she resent the housework involved in the B&B that much? He must help more. If he jogged faster, he could be back in time to shower, then lay the tables, and wash up after she cooked.
The squeaking noise stopped; she was watching him, a weariness in her eyes. ‘And it’s just that sometimes I wonder ... I mean ... is this it? Is this all I’m going to do with my life? What have I achieved other than raising Alex?’
He chuckled. ‘That’s no small achievement, and your job’s not done. I haven’t heard of a job yet. More wine?’ He leaned over with the bottle. ‘We’re going to be OK, you and I, aren’t we?’
The silence lasted a beat longer than it should have.
‘Shall we get the bill?’ suggested Emily.
Spotting cheap flights to Faro, Alex booked, and hitchhiked to Bristol airport, imagining his mother’s face when he turned up at Villa Anna. He sat with his nose pressed up against the plane’s window, comparing Jess’s family to his own. She must think they were a dysfunctional bunch – her brother apprenticed in the family business when Alex could barely manage five minutes in the same room as his father.
In the passport queue, he cadged a lift to Almancil with a stag group who’d organized a minibus to take them to Vilamoura. They dropped him at the edge of the Almancil bypass, and he walked the last few dusty miles, the sun scorching his bare arms, his T-shirt sticky with sweat. He should make more of an effort with his father on this trip.
Alex pushed the gate bell, running his tongue over his cracked lips – hug first, then he would have a drink and flop in the pool. The door opened. Alex grinned. Tosca shot out and woofed a greeting.
His father leaned around the door, scowling. ‘What are you doing here?’ Miserable man.
‘Hi! Where’s mum?’ Alex asked, slipping sideways through the opening gates.
‘London, back tomorrow,’ said Mark, walking back inside, leaving the youngster staring at his father’s back.
After a swim, Alex made himself lunch and sat in the shade, chomping on a sandwich, sipping a beer, listening to the grinding sound of a chainsaw. During a gap in the noise, he heard a whine and looked down; four black eyes looked back up. He’d missed the dogs when he was in Devon. He tore off a piece of bread and tossed it onto the terrace, followed by the crusts. The door slid open, making a rasping sound, just as the jarring noise of the saw restarted.
‘What’s that bloody racket?’ demanded Mark. He pointed at the crusts on the terrace with his foot. ‘Your mother will be at you about ants.’
‘Not if she’s in London,’ said Alex. ‘And there’s no chance of ants. This pair lick every crumb off the floor in a nanosecond.’ Telling himself to relax in his dad’s company, Alex swung his can in the direction of Tommy’s house. ‘That screeching is Tommy sawing his hedge. He must be bloody hot.’ He angled the beer at his father, who was dressed as if he still worked at the bank. ‘Aren’t you hot in all that gear?’
His father glared at next-door’s garden. ‘He’s bloody inconsiderate. It’s lunchtime, and I’ve got a board meeting to prepare for.’
Alex pushed his plate away, glugged his beer, then belched. ‘Sorry, this is the last beer.’
‘Why don’t you go up to Pingo Doce, and stock us up?’
‘I can’t drive that manual car. Why don’t you run me up?’
‘Catch a bus,’ suggested Mark.
Alex pulled a face. ‘I don’t have any money; I blew it on the flight.’
‘Get yourself a job and you’ll soon have money.’
