Page 68 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
‘I can’t believe you said that’ she said, unfurling her legs.
In the evening, the couple sat alone on their terrace. It was dusk, and the garden lights were on, illuminating the pine trees and casting arcs of yellow over the terracotta pots, turning the honey-coloured paving stones a rich gold. The faint scent of lavender wafted towards them, mixed with the resin of the pines. Mark sat with a beer in his hand and the warm breeze on his bare arms.
‘Any news from the UK agents?’ asked Emily.
He didn’t want to poison the atmosphere. Despite Mark lowering the price, the Devon buyer had withdrawn, unable to fund his purchase. Mark answered with feigned confidence, ‘It’s still only August. Have faith.’
Twenty-three
September 4th
Ellis bank balance: £267.98
90-Day Rule Tally: Emily: 34 Mark: 26
The redesign of Villa Anna took a step backwards when Emily presented Miguel’s estimates. She confessed she herself was a bit surprised by the six-figure budget. ‘But,’ she gushed, ‘Miguel assured me all the structural work can be done while we’re in London for Christmas. So, there won’t be any need for us to rent, which is a big saving.’
Mark wasn’t surprised by the total and didn’t believe the work could be completed in the seven-week timetable suggested. ‘No.’ He pushed the estimate to the side of his desk like an empty plate.
‘No to which bits? I agree he’s got a bit carried away, but this market is very OTT. We can ditch his ideas for the cinema room and bar.’
‘Just no. Since we sorted the damp problem, there’s nothing wrong with this house.’
He flipped open the computer screen and logged in.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Villa Anna is closer to a building site than a home. Take out an overdraft or a second mortgage on one of the houses.’
‘Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?’ he demanded, thumpinghis fist on the table. ‘We can’t borrow. No one lends to people like us.’ He scanned his emails, searching for any updates from the UK selling agents. Please, just let one of these effing houses sell!
He could feel her anger roasting him from the doorway.
‘I’m not going to beg for the money,’ she snipped at his back.
‘Good. Cos we don’t have any. And you’re off to London again this weekend, so that’s more lost revenue from the B&B.’ He shuffled some papers on his desk.
‘What am I expected to say to Miguel?’
‘Your project, your problem,’ he muttered.
She walked into his study and wrenched the door shut behind her. ‘How can I explain to Miguel that we won’t do anything?’
He spun his chair around, his hands gripping the armrests. He hadn’t meant to accuse her, but it just slipped out. ‘You can tell your lover what you like.’
Her face turned scarlet. ‘Lover?’
Mark folded his arms and said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, ‘Yes, Fran told me she had a lovely time at your impromptu drinks party. And she told me who was on the invite list. Don’t think I haven’t seen his eyes roaming your body like a hungry cat eyeing a bowl of cream.’
She burst into laughter. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You really have led a closeted life in the city – he’s more interested in your body than mine!’
The Red Book of House Rules was face-down on the kitchen floor. Mark stepped sideways and ground his heel into the file. Last night, returning from dropping Emily at the airport, Mark found the file propped open with a tin of baked beans at the “Kitchen Rules”section, and had hurled it with the same downward force Tim encouraged him to exert on his serves, feeling a frisson of pleasure watching it land in a heap. It wasn’t just the rule book he hated. He felt powerless to prevent thedownward spiral of his marriage. They’d driven to the airport discussing banal topics like the weather and tennis in stilted short sentences, as if they were strangers sharing a taxi. Despite Emily catching the last plane, he’d dropped her off shortly after five o’clock. She wanted a pre-flight snooze in the business-class lounge. She’d come up with the idea after her first July late-night special, when she’d found it impossible to sleep on the noisy plane. For several minutes, Mark had sat alone in the car, watching her departing back. He tried to snigger at his mistake about Miguel’s sexuality, but it was months since she’d been receptive to his own advances. Was there more going on in London than she was telling him?
His stomach rumbled, reminding him it was lunchtime, and he opened cupboards randomly, pushing around tins and picking up boxes of cereals. The fridge was no more inspiring. He rummaged among the jars lined up in the racks on the inside of the door, picking up two and examining the grey-green contents.
Deciding on a cheese sandwich, he dragged out the bread and the toaster. Out of habit, he picked up the dishcloth, his hand hovering over the crumbs on the wooden chopping board. He grinned, tossed the cloth into the sink, then lobbed the butter-smeared knife at the taps, watching it ricochet off its target and leave a greasy smear across the bottom of the shiny sink. Mark sent up a little cheer, added a bottle of beer and a packet of crisps to his tray, and yelled a satisfying ‘Fuck off!’ at the red file as he kicked it into the corner.
Effing rule book. Emily was trying to control him like one of the blasted dogs. She was changing their relationship into one he no longer wanted to save.
Finishing his sandwich and recalling his lonely night in the marital bed, he replayed their latest tiff in his head. He should’ve been more sympathetic about the renovation. He recognized that it was his impotence making him lash out because, forthe first time in their marriage, Mark couldn’t finance Emily’s dreams. Would it have helped if he’d explained how he felt? Was he pushing his wife away? He ran his tongue over his lips, letting his eyes rove around his desk. There was nothing on it except his computer, and he’d only logged in to check the bank balance. He was hiding in this study, manufacturing reasons to cling to a routine that only existed in his dreams, while his wife was earning more money than he was and still picking up the lion’s share of the housework. No wonder she was fed up.
