Finding herself in a busy square, she paused. It was jammed with cafés, their coloured tables tangled higgledy-piggledy into one mass.
‘Hey!’ said a waiter, approaching her. ‘Would you like to eat? Or a coffee?’
Alice wasn’t thirsty. It hadn’t crossed her mind. She had somewhere to go. Then she remembered that the whole point of this was that she didn’t have anywhere to go. She was relaxing. But she still said, ‘No thank you,’ out of habit and began to walk on.
‘Sitting in the square drinking coffee is an important part of the day,’ he said.
Alice turned back to say no thank you again, but he was beaming at her cheekily, with the back of a chair in his hand, pointing at the seat with his other hand.
She laughed, admiring his bravado. ‘Go on then,’ she said, surprising herself at how easily she’d given in.
‘Excellent.’ He laughed too. ‘These with the red tablecloths are my tables.’ He smiled. ‘They are the best to sit and watch the world go by. Look – you can see all three entrances to the square, plus that little hidden one there.’ He pointed at some narrow steps between two small shops. ‘To the old town.’
Alice sat down.
‘So.’ He smiled again, his dark brown eyes holding her gaze.
Alice smiled back.
‘To drink,’ he said. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Of course. Silly me. I hadn’t thought about it. Um ...’
‘A galao?’
‘A what?’
‘Milky coffee in a glass. Like a latte, but Portuguese. And it’s much better. You can have it darker or lighter.’
‘Oh, darker then, I think.’
‘Okay. One moment please.’
Alice watched him as he went inside still impressed at the ease with which he’d got her to sit down for a coffee when she really didn’t want one at all. The lion chose the slowest moving member of the antelope herd, monitored its prey and measured the exact time to pounce, she thought, smiling. You are that antelope.
The waiter reappeared with her drink. ‘On the house,’ he said.
‘Oh, that’s very kind.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘My name is Carlos.’
‘Alice,’ said Alice.
‘You are here for a holiday?’
‘Sort of. No … yes. No.’
‘So, you have moved to live here?’
‘No … well, no … but, well … I’m here for four weeks. Six weeks. Two months or more, or less …’
‘A few weeks then. You are here with our husband? Your boyfriend?’
‘No. Just me. Visiting a friend.’ Alice smiled.
‘Just you? Well, welcome to Cascais,’ said Carlos, his smile now even wider.
‘Thank you. I am here to ...’ Alice trailed off then tried again. ‘I am here to ... go with the flow … and replenish my energy.’ The words felt like a statement of what she should be doing instead of how she felt. If I say it enough, though, she thought, maybe I’ll believe it.
A man with an Alsatian dog sat down at a nearby table.
‘I have to go. Work calls,’ said Carlos. ‘Luis,’ she heard him say. ‘Don’t see you here very often these days.’
‘No,’ said the man. ‘I’ve been busy with a few house projects. Got a deadline for this one. Antonio’s supposed to be helping me, but he’s too busy pursuing his dreams. And gambling. Illegally.’
‘Ha, the band,’ laughed Carlos.
‘He tried to get me to wear a white jacket … a new image. Anyway, I’ve told him I’m leaving. Too busy for music these days.’
Alice realised she had forgotten how to sit and listen and watch. She had filled her life with work and the house, and when the house was finished, she had started re-decorating it. It meant she didn’t have to think about Adam and money. She gritted her teeth again. There it was. The thing she was running from. The thoughts. The thing she was not supposed to be thinking about. Him. It. Forcing herself to eavesdrop to push it away, she leaned back in her chair, and took a sip of coffee.
‘Where’s this house? I lose count,’ said Carlos.
‘Over in Torre,’ answered the man. ‘I want to get it done so I can do the next one.’
‘You’ve got another one already?’
‘This one is different,’ said the man.
A waiter, a property-developer and the busker who liked to sing for his mum whilst she’s out shopping, thought Alice, wondering who else was nearby. A couple sat at a table next to her and quietly began to argue about whether to have beer or wine and a child began to chase some birds around the statue. Alice ordered another coffee and finally started to properly relax. After a while she looked at her watch. She’d been sitting watching people bustle by in the square for nearly an hour. That was nice, she thought to herself as she stood up, pushing her chair back. A loud, sudden whimper came from behind her, and she looked around, startled. The dog had stood up, whilst his owner, the man who Carlos had been talking to, tried to calm him down. All she could see was black, lustrous, wavy hair, with tiny flecks of grey at the temples.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t realise he was there. He or she? Is he alright?’
‘He’s fine,’ said the dog’s owner, brusquely. The dog continued to whimper. ‘Elvis, calm down, it’s just a chair,’ he said. ‘Well, a woman and a chair.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Alice again, a little flustered by the man’s rudeness.
‘It’s fine,’ said the man, barely looking up.
‘Hope he’s better soon.’ She hurried out of the square, on edge again, and walked through the old town towards the sea, trying not to go over and over the incident – a habit developed in the last few years as she had tried to unpick the unravelling of her relationship with Adam. For goodness sake, Alice, she thought, frustrated with herself. Stop over-analysing it. You’ll never see him again. He will have forgotten it by now and the dog is fine. Standing next to the sea wall she gazed at the expanse of blue ocean stretching out to the horizon and her mind slowed. Two small yachts were moored close to the town beach, bobbing up and down in the breeze, whilst a dog ran backwards and forwards into the shallows, barking excitedly at its owner. The sea did look very enticing, so Alice began to walk back down the hill. As she did a coach pulled up pouring its passengers out in a jostling crowd, every individual pushing to take photographs of the perfect view of the bay. Another coach arrived, spilling out even more holiday-makers, fighting for space on the narrow pavement. Suddenly surrounded by people she staggered out onto the road and took a deep breath.
‘Miss Matthews … Miss Matthews …,’ shouted a man from a sleek black car.
Alice heard it but ignored it. She hardly knew anyone here, so who would be calling her name?
‘Miss Matthews … Alice ... Alice …’ The man waved enthusiastically at her.
She peered at him, confused. He had hair like a hedgehog’s prickles and a kind smile. ‘Ah, Ignacio,’ she said eventually. ‘Sorry. You are driving a different car. And I didn’t expect to see you, so I didn’t see you, if you see what I mean.’
‘I am in my workday car today. My yellow Rolls Royce is tucked safely in its garage. I am going to the hotel to pick up a customer. Can I give you a lift? It is free. On the house!’
‘Free? That’s kind. Are you sure?’
‘Of course. Please.’ Ignacio jumped out of the car to open the door, whilst Alice discreetly checked her dress buttons to make sure they were all done up. She wasn’t used to so much being ‘on the house’.
‘Everyone is so generous,’ she said as she got in.
‘How are you liking Cascais so far?’ asked Ignacio as they pulled away from the crowd.
‘It’s lovely. I just sat on the beach for a while, then I had a coffee in the square. Then I was surrounded on the hill as you saw! The waiter in the square was very nice. He gave me a free galao ... galao ... is that right?’ Alice could see Ignacio’s eyes narrow in the mirror.
‘What café was this waiter in?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know the name. It had red tablecloths though.’
‘His name. Was it Carlos?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Do you know him?’
‘Madam. Alice … just to say that my brother, Carlos, the waiter in the square. He is very flirtatious. He is not always to be trusted with women. Always compliments. So, please be aware of this. A pinch of salt and some distance, as they say.’
‘Okay.’ Alice smiled. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’
‘You look lovely today if I may say so.’
‘Oh. Thank you very much.’
‘When you arrived in Portugal you looked tired and pale. And sad.’
‘Right, um …’
‘Very sad. But today. Only a few days of being here, and you have blossomed already.’
‘Thank you. I think. The sunshine helps.’
‘No one can be sad in Paradise,’ he repeated what he had said when he had first met her.
‘Is that why you get so many tourists trying to take photos of the bay?’
His piercing blue eyes lit up. ‘Wait until July and August. All day the coaches come. The people jump out with their cameras, snap their snaps and then jump back in and leave.’
‘Where do they go afterwards?’
‘No one knows. They disappear.’
Alice smiled. ‘Really?’
‘No,’ said Ignacio. ‘I am lying. They take them to Estoril. Then Belem. Then Lisbon. And only then do they disappear.’
Alice laughed.
‘We are here,’ said Ignacio as they turned into the hotel.
‘Well, thank you for the lift. That was kind. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay?’
‘No. On the house. Ate logo. Until later. Ciao.’
Alice involuntarily checked her dress buttons again as she got out. They were all done up. ‘Bye then,’ she said.
‘Goodbye Alice,’ said Ignacio. ‘See you soon.’
Walking past reception, she remembered that Kathy had left her phone there. Her heart began to beat anxiously as the clerk handed it back. Checking it as she got in the lift, she sighed with relief. No missed calls. No messages. Maybe I’ll put it in the safe tomorrow when I go out, she thought. Two hours without the phone seemed to have done her good. As the doors closed she smiled. ‘It felt like Cascais kept interrupting my fretting,’ she said to the wall. ‘I liked it.’
Chapter Five
‘Why can’t you be friendlier,’ he hissed into her ear.
‘I am being friendly.’
‘No you’re not. You’re hiding, as usual, in a corner and not speaking to anyone.’
‘I sat down because I have worked five ten-hour days and I’m tired.’
‘Where did you go? You used to be fun to be with. Now you are just so … oh, I give up.’ He lost interest and scanned the room, his eyes finally fixing on a woman laughing with her friends by the bar. ‘I’ve only just started freelancing for the company. I need to make an impression. You need to try harder. For us. Not just for me.’
‘I am trying very hard, Adam. I am working very hard for us.’
‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered, looking at the woman again. ‘And where did you get that dress? It’s a bit bloody pink.’
‘I bought it especially for tonight. My friends said I looked great. I thought …’
‘Well, you are a bit too visible in that. I’m going out for some air,’ he interrupted.
Alice watched him as he sauntered towards the door, hovering near the woman and catching her eye as he left.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Madam, your laundry,’ said the voice, as Alice struggled into consciousness, breathless. ‘Madam?’
‘Yes, please. Just a moment.’ She climbed out of bed and took the bolt off the door. ‘If you just put it over there, on the sofa,’ she said to the maid. Then she ran into the shower and tried to wash the memory away. It was Mary’s leaving party that night, and Alice wanted to enjoy the experience without Adam’s shadow ruining it.
‘You look fabulous,’ said Kathy as they drove along the sea road to the hotel where the party was being held.
‘Aw, thanks. So do you,’ said Alice.
‘I mean it. You look lovely and sun-kissed and relaxed. And that pink dress is fab-u-lous. Where did you get it?’
‘Oh this? I’ve had it for about five years actually. Only worn it once.’
‘Really? It’s stunning.’
Alice looked out of the car window as the waves rolled onto the rocks. It was a great dress, despite what he said.
‘So,’ said Kathy eventually. ‘Are you going to tell me?
‘Tell you what?’
‘Don’t you start with me, Alice. Why do you not want to sell the house so much that you have run away from home?’
‘Well …’
‘Well? Maybe it’s a good thing. A fresh start in a new place. I’m sure it’s worth quite a lot of money by now.’
‘Adam … ‘ Alice closed her eyes and almost had to force the words out. ‘Adam stopped paying for that house years ago. He was always working on his novel or in between freelance work.’
‘Oh.’
‘And it just drifted.’ Then the words began to rush out, her heart beating fast. ‘If I ever brought it up, he accused me of pushing him. He used to get defensive and say he would more than make up for it when things got more regular. But they never did. And you know I couldn’t just stop paying. I owned the house too.’
‘Ah. I see …’
‘So he left the first time for his fling after Paul died …’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot his brother died.’
‘And I had to keep paying, and when he came back, all contrite and guilty, blaming his behaviour on that I took him back … because I felt guilty … and when he cleared off for the second time, he just went. And all I get is postcards, as you know.’
‘Oh, Alice.’
‘So it’s not our house really. It’s my house. And he can’t have it.’
‘Alice …’
‘I don’t want to talk about it any more at the moment.’ She had learned not to talk about it as it made the hurt feel real again, so she shut down. Opening the window Alice breathed in the fresh air. ‘Music please,’ she said.
‘Any kind of music in particular?’ asked Kathy.
‘Just music.’
‘I have just the thing.’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair.’
‘And you have this because?’
‘For emergencies. For when they annoy me, upset me or I just want them to go away.’
‘Okay, let’s sing.’
‘And forget.’
‘Forget about bastard Adam and houses and mortgages. And rain. And jobs. And being sad.’
‘Take it away, Alice!’
Kathy dramatically almost skidded to halt in the car park of the Hotel Sessimbra as they continued to sing and laugh loudly and exuberantly. They almost shrieked the words as they got out, slamming the doors in time to the music that Kathy did not switch off, and they stood singing to each other next to the car. Out of the corner of her eye Alice noticed a man in a car apparently having a conversation with a large Alsatian dog at the same time as they tunelessly held the last word of the song as it ended.
The man looked out of the window, confused, as the dog’s ears pricked up trying to identify the noise.
‘Whoops, we’ve been spotted,’ whispered Alice.
‘Bit late in the day to be whispering,’ whispered Kathy back.
Alice giggled.
‘Right,’ said Kathy. ‘I will nonchalantly turn off the power and lock the door, and we will saunter towards the hotel entrance as if there was no singing.’
‘Like there was no singing,’ echoed Alice. ‘Got it.’
The dog barked and whined briefly as they walked past. Alice glanced in the window and shuddered slightly. ‘Oh dea
r. I think I stood on that dog,’ she said in a loud whisper to Kathy.
‘Oh dear,’ giggled Kathy. ‘That’s not very nice.’
The man was looking at them quizzically. Alice put her head down and hurried on. ‘Yes, it was the dog. The owner wasn’t very happy about it. It was an accident to be fair.’
‘Try not to do it again, Alice,’ said Kathy pretending to be stern. ‘Now look straight ahead and walk in the door as if you haven’t noticed.’
They giggled again and went in.
Alice drifted onto the terrace whilst Kathy chatted to some of the other guests. Leaning against the balcony she gazed out to sea. The sky was slowly turning from pink to deep purple, the setting sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. ‘Photo,’ she muttered to herself, taking her phone out of her bag. ‘Massive photo opportunity.’ As she held it up, attempting to frame the shot, a man weaved slowly and drunkenly behind her, lurching suddenly into her back. The phone plummeted towards the concrete patio below.
‘Ow. Jesus Christ!’ shouted a startled voice.
Alice peered downwards, panicked. There was a man. A tall man. A tall, dark, very handsome man with flecks of grey in his lustrous, black wavy hair. He was looking up at her angrily. Next to him sat a large Alsatian dog, also looking up. It was the man in the car and the dog she’d trodden on in the square. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ she shouted.
‘No need to shout, I’m not that far away.’
‘Sorry. Sorry. Are you alright? It got knocked out of my hand. Shall I come down? I’ll come down.’ Alice ran through the bar, ungainly in her pink kitten heels, pausing only to hiss at Kathy, ‘I’ve dropped my phone on a man’s head. I don’t think he’s hurt. I trod on his dog a few days ago too.’ Rushing through the doorway, Alice nearly tripped over the Alsatian, as its owner was holding her phone in one hand and rubbing his head with the other.
‘Here,’ he said, giving her the phone. ‘It’s not cracked or anything. I meant my head. Not the phone.’
‘What a relief. You must have a really soft head. Oh, that came out wrong. Do you need stitches or anything? Or should I call a doctor? Or just get a plaster?’
The House That Alice Built Page 4
