Page 79 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
The sun was warm on his skin. He could hear dance music from the tennis centre, and the sound of a mower from Tommy’s garden, but Villa Anna was a scene of tranquillity, the only noise the gentle hum of the pool pumping system. Portugal was a fabulous country.
‘You’re on holiday. Mum doesn’t expect you to do the housework,’ he said, following her inside.
‘Only takes a few minutes, and I like to earn my keep. They’ll be dry in a few hours with this sun. I’ll go spruce our room up a bit.’
He took the empty basket from her. ‘I cleaned the shower after I used it. Go and sit outside while it’s not too hot. I’ll bring out your book and sun cream. I want to tell you where I’m taking you for dinner tonight.’
Alex had cleared away after lunch and he and Jess were in the new utility room with a mound of white sheets between them. Behind him, through the open door, he heard his mother call out, ‘I’m home!’
The front door slammed, and he heard the warning beep of the fridge door opening. Alex was about to reply, when his mother’s phone rang, and he heard her excited voice: ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing you, Mary!’
Jess held out two corners of a sheet, her hands twitching at him. He grabbed the sheet and she backed away, pulling it tight. His mother’s voice floated through from the kitchen, revealing her plans to meet Mary for a drink. Same bar as always.
‘Now fold it in half,’ directed Jess. He copied his girlfriend. She walked towards him, handing him her ends of the sheet. ‘This isn’t too difficult, is it?’ she said, giving him a playful shove. ‘Much easier when there’s two of you.’
Alex started to tickle his girlfriend. She ran into the corner giggling, and he poked his head into the kitchen. ‘Hi, Mum.’
His mother spun around, stepped backwards, and tripped over a dog. She stumbled, clutching at the kitchen island for support. Her handbag went flying, Alex tried to catch it, missed, and it skittled across the floor, spilling the contents in a trail of keys, purse, papers, passport, and peppermints.
‘I’m OK,’ said his mother, massaging a knee.
Jess was kneeling beside Alex. She picked up a hairbrush, then a sheet of paper. ‘I’ll tidy this lot up. Alex, why don’t you sit your mother somewhere comfy and check that her knee is alright?’ She was staring at the document in her hand, frowning.
In the morning, to avoid paying for parking, Mark drove tothe far end of the pretty fishing town of Olhão. They all walked back along the wide cobbled pavement, the marina on one side, pavement cafés on the other. In the distance, Mark could see a small ferry drawn up at a jetty, a few pale visitors tipping their faces to the sun, or stretching limbs towards the rays, as if worshipping. Was it the one going to Armona?
Jess lingered a few steps behind, so Mark stopped and waited for her to catch up, listening to the clink of rigging on masts. His son took Jess’s arm and asked her if she was all right. Jess screwed up her face but didn’t answer.
Mark walked on. He hadn’t heard Jess speak all morning, but then he’d been preoccupied with an email he’d received from Pedro. The senior partner had demanded a copy of hisspecial clientslist; was Mark about to get a visit from the police? When he got home, Mark planned to ask David for the name of another lawyer. Better to be prepared for the truth, however ugly.
‘When do you think the ferry departs?’ asked Emily, pulling out her purse. ‘Let’s take a water taxi to the island.’
Mark’s shoulders tensed, but he trudged down the gangway towards the line of speedboats. How much extra was this going to cost, on top of lunch at the island? The four climbed into a taxi, Mark sitting in the prow, and the boat pulled away, slowly manoeuvring through the harbour, then accelerating once clear of the other vessels. Mark looked over the side, watching the white crest of the wave, feeling his hair slicking back off his face, and inhaling the salty air. He was leaving his British problems behind like the wake at the rear of the taxi. London would complete in three weeks; the overdraft would be settled. Emily was off this weekend, and she would return recharged. His London challenges were in good shape, but his Portuguese ones still loomed large.
They pulled up at a jetty. Nearby, small, brightly coloured fishing boats bobbed at their anchors, and fishermen satmending nets and lobster pots. A few hundred yards away were two restaurants.
‘Which one do you ladies fancy?’ he asked.
‘Neither,’ said Emily, claiming there was a third on the other side of the island that Fran swore was well worth the trek.
The men walked in front. Alex was chattering on about Lisbon; Jess wanted to visit the Sintra palaces, and he wondered if his parents had seen them.
‘Not yet. Have you and Jess had a row?’ Mark asked, passing little shops selling the same beach balls and towels he remembered from the Essex beachfront shops of his childhood. Poor Alex, he could still remember trying to learn how to grapple with a girl’s hormones when they got grumpy.
Alex shook his head. ‘No. Dunno what’s eating her.’
Mark felt a surge of sympathy. ‘If you want my advice, talk to her, and whatever you’ve done wrong in her eyes, just apologize.’
His son dropped back. Mark wandered on alone. Emily had mollycoddled Alex, just like Mark’s own mother did, but she’d brought him up with far more help than Gwen had. If only Alex could sort himself out with a job!
Tiny bungalows lined the track that snaked inland, some closer in size to a large dog kennel, but each one, like the beach huts Mark recalled from his childhood, were someone’s idea of the perfect escape. Pastel shades clashed with lime-green and startling purple; some terraces were covered in tiles like an oversized outside bathroom; a few had little shrines to the Virgin Mary carved into a wall. There were bougainvillea, purple and white lantern-shaped flowers curling around the supporting poles of patios, and tattered bamboo blinds pulled down as protection from the sun.
Hearing the cry of seagulls, Mark slowed his pace, then stopped. To the right of the track was a restaurant that screamedholidays. It had table-high turquoise walls, rolled-up rattanblinds secured to the ceilings, and it sat just a few hundred yards from the shore. They chose the table closest to the sea, set out on a little walkway, and ordered fresh fish – whatever the fishermen had caught that morning – grilled on the barbecue, beer, and chilled white wine.
‘You’re quiet today, Jess,’ said Emily. ‘Feeling OK?’
Jess’s gaze flitted between Emily and Alex, unsmiling. ‘Sorry, I had some bad news yesterday and I haven’t slept well.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’ asked Emily.
