Page 78 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
Knocking on Tommy’s door, Mark reflected on his contrasting experiences with neighbours. The Ellis family had lived over twenty years in a terraced house in London and couldn’t name a single person who shared a wall with them. They’d owned Villa Anna for less than a year, and one neighbour had already managed to earn the prefix “effing”; even Mark’s archenemy Paul hadn’t earned that title until he fired him. The other neighbour was standing beside Mark. He listened to the rumble of voices behind “effing” Tommy’s door. Through the glazing he saw a shadowy figure, an arm reaching forward, and then Toni’s smiley face appeared.
‘Good morning, we haven’t seen you all year. Pleased to be back?’ she asked.
Anger bubbled up from Mark’s stomach. ‘I was until ...’
‘Now, now, Mark,’ said David, giving him a lopsided smile. Mark felt the older man’s arm round his shoulder, and he closed his eyes to shut off the memory of his flooded lawn. There’d been a thunderstorm the night before, and this morning was the third time Mark had woken up to carnage, but instead of wading through the icy water, he’d marched round to David’s.
In a calm voice that reminded Mark of his old headmaster, David said, ‘Sorry, Toni, this isn’t a social call. Is Tommy in?’
Toni’s smile slipped. She pulled the door wide, flattening herself against the wall. ‘He’s on the terrace.’
Mark heard the door click shut behind them and followed David through the kitchen and outside. Tommy was sitting in a deckchair, his hands propped behind his head. His eyes were closed, his face turned towards the early morning sun.
‘Who was it, love?’ asked Tommy.
‘It’s your neighbours,’ said David, raising a warning hand to Mark, who clamped his mouth shut.
Tommy opened his eyes and shuffled onto his side to face them. Mark thought he saw a flicker of alarm cross his face.
‘Both your neighbours,’ added Mark, copying David’s flat tone.
Tommy grunted. ‘What’s up?’
Toni walked out onto the terrace, a shower cap in her hand and a curious expression on her face. ‘Tommy, we’ve got no water again,’ she said.
‘No,’ said David, ‘and you won’t have any until your husband promises to unblock the storm drain and start behaving in a more neighbourly fashion.’
‘Tommy!’ scolded Toni.
‘It’s not your borehole, David. It’s shared three ways. You’ve no right to stop my water,’ said Tommy in a cocky tone.
‘Stop your water, Tommy? Why would I want to do that to someone who blocks driveways and storm drains and tosses their garden refuge onto neighbouring property and secretly applies for permission to build a house right on someone’s boundary?’
Toni gaped at them, her eyes flitting between the visitors and her husband. Tommy flinched under her gaze.
‘It’s an empty threat, love,’ he told her. ‘The water’s a three-way share.’
‘And where’s the agreement that specifies that?’ asked Mark in a tone he’d so often used in the City.
‘The borehole is in my garden and you’ve no right to come onto my land,’ said David. ‘We’ll see ourselves out, Toni. Come on, lad.’
Mark scratched the side of his face to hide his smile as they walked past the startled Toni.
Twenty-eight
March 7th
Ellis bank balance: (£157,137.97) Overdrawn.
90-Day Rule Tally: Emily: 86 Mark: 84
Alex showered, made the bed, and pulled on a pair of swimming trunks. He slipped onto the terrace, shielding his eyes with a cupped hand, and cast around the garden for his girlfriend. The sunbeds were arranged in pairs around the terrace, and under the pine trees; Jess wasn’t on any of them.
His girlfriend rounded the corner, a plastic laundry basket balanced on her hip.
‘There you are,’ he called out. ‘Fancy a coffee? Have you had breakfast?’
‘I ate with your mum. I’ve just been pegging out sheets.’
