‘It’s me. Tara phoned. I’m coming up. I’ve got a remedy.’ Kathy’s voice was sharp and frantic, and as she let her in Alice imagined her careering into the lift and bouncing off the wall.
‘Where’s the gecko?’ Alice took the steaming hot tea from Kathy and sat down, finally feeling almost human after a very hot shower and some slow, deep breathing.
‘No idea. Aphrodite is still guarding the toaster,’ said Kathy.
‘I need to sort it.’
‘Forget about that. Neither the cat or the gecko – if there is one in there – are going anywhere for a while, and we can get the porter to sort it. He likes a challenge. You need to sort you first.’
Alice sipped the tea. ‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘Tastes a bit different to the last lot, though.’
‘It does, doesn’t it? Maybe because it’s fresh? Got the magic potion directions from Mary herself.’ They sat in silence for a few moments. ‘She sends her love, by the way. Currently in Thailand. I told her all was well. I was lying obviously.’
Alice sighed. ‘So Tara told you everything?’
‘Yes, she did. She’s right. You can’t hide forever, Alice. Did you respond to the message?’
‘No. I deleted the voicemail and the number.’
‘Well, he’ll be in touch again.’
‘This girlfriend … why is he helping her when all he did was take from me?’
‘Don’t think about that,’ said Kathy. She picked up her phone and began tapping away angrily. ‘Time to get some information so you can start to fight back. Drink some more tea.’
Alice watched her friend and tried to get as angry as she was, but it wasn’t there – just a sense of weariness and defeat, somehow accumulated over time without her even noticing. Until now.
‘Aha!’ Kathy waved the phone at her triumphantly. ‘Here they are, look.’
Alice took it and read the Facebook page she had found.
‘VeroniqueCeramics: The Flavour of South America. Argentinian ceramic artist and potter, Veronique Longbottom and partner, travel-writer Adam Kennedy launch new online art supermarket with a studio and shop to be open soon.’ Alice read it out loud, glancing up at Kathy to see her reaction.
‘Bastard,’ spat Kathy, drinking more tea.
‘There are photos of some of her bowls and stuff,’ said Alice.
‘Not interested,’ said Kathy. ‘Where’s your camera? Can I look at all these photos you’ve been taking?’
Alice looked at her.
‘Time to take a stand,’ said Kathy. They both peered at the canvas on the terrace. ‘That’s beautiful, but too big for today.’
‘I’ve downloaded my photos onto the computer,’ said Alice, picking up on the sudden excitement in Kathy’s voice.
‘Are they ready to print?’
‘Not all of them.’
‘Can you pick out six of the best?’
‘Yes, but why?’
Kathy picked up her phone. ‘Just a sec, I’ve got a friend that runs a print shop, I’ll see if he can help us out urgently.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Alice. ‘We need more tea.’
Chapter Twelve
‘Come on, I’ll introduce you,’ said Kathy, walking into the shop. ‘I know the owner. It’s fine. It’ll be easy.’
Alice wavered, pausing outside, clutching her freshly bought portfolio holder, containing a selection of her photographic prints which Kathy’s friend had produced free and on the spot.
‘Alice.’ Kathy walked back out towards her. ‘She’s lovely, but I can’t sell these for you. You have to be confident.’
‘Sorry,’ said Alice. ‘But three hours ago we were having a cup of tea, now suddenly I’m here to sell photographs. I forgot what you were like. Although, that tea has relaxed me a bit, I think.’ Then she found herself giggling.
‘I think you forgot what you were like,’ said Kathy, putting her arm around her friend and guiding her into the shop, ‘And hurrah for the relaxing tea – goodness knows what you’d be like if you hadn’t had a few brews. And stop giggling,’ she said, giggling too. ‘Now, into action!’
Alice scanned the room to get her bearings. On the walls were a mixture of modern paintings and large photographic prints of cities around the world. Her heart began to beat a little too fast as she tried to visualise one of her works on the wall next to a spectacular view of Funchal and a cityscape of Barcelona. Not good enough, I’m not good enough, she thought, and began to back out of the door.
‘Kathy,’ said the woman behind the counter. ‘How lovely to see you.’
‘It’s been ages, hasn’t it, Farrah? Time goes so quickly and you suddenly realise it’s been months since you’ve seen anyone. I’d like to introduce you to my friend Alice … wait, where are you going Alice?’
Alice paused, realising reluctantly that there was no escape. Kathy was on a mission again, and she was bringing Alice with her. ‘Thought I heard something, sorry. Nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too,’ said Farrah.
‘Alice is a very talented artist and photographer from London. She’s staying here for a while and has been taking some wonderful photos. I suggested she show them to you, as you have a great eye.’
‘I’m always looking for new artists,’ said Farrah. ‘Can I look?’
This is it, thought Alice. Judgement. ‘Of course,’ she said, her heart beating even faster. She unzipped the case and lay the prints slowly out on the counter. Farrah picked them up one by one, her face serious and intense. Alice shuffled nervously as Kathy checked her phone.
‘The area is so beautiful,’ said Alice eventually, ‘I just felt I needed to capture as much as I could. I’ve just been doing it for me to be honest, but Kathy said I should show them to you.’
‘She’s right,’ said Farrah looking at Alice and smiling widely. ‘They really are very, very striking. I love the way you have digitised some of them to keep scatterings of colour. Particularly the ones of the gardens and the lighthouse.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ said Alice, beaming back, eyes wide, supressing a sudden sob of happiness. ‘You like them?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Farrah.
‘I told you so,’ said Kathy.
‘Can you get me two of each of these?’ Farrah asked. ‘We’ll see how they go. Sale or return. Let’s discuss terms, shall we? Cash in hand, of course. For the first few anyway.’
Alice stared at her in silence for a moment. ‘Really?’
Farrah laughed. ‘Of course. I have no doubt they will sell.’
Then Alice began to cry. And laugh. She wanted to jump up and down for joy, but Kathy had hugged her in a vice-like grip and she couldn’t move.
Following the success in the first shop, Kathy had dragged Alice to two more in the centre of town, both of which had taken the photos and asked for them to be delivered to them at the end of the week.
‘That’s how you do it,’ said Kathy. ‘You are now officially an artist again. And by the way, Alice Dorothy Matthews, they took them because they were good, not because they knew me. I know what you’re like – you’ll start deconstructing it and deciding they did it as a favour to me. They didn’t. They have businesses to run. And they don’t stock rubbish. And here endeth my speech.’
They sat down at a café and celebrated Alice’s new status with one glass of wine each.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ said Alice, ‘but I’m not sure I could have done it without the calming effects of those cups of tea.’
‘You did try to bolt at one point,’ said Kathy.
‘Imagine what I’d have been like without it. I probably would have run and jumped in the marina when Farrah said she liked the prints.’
‘Or you would have grabbed hold of the door frame and not let go!’
The giggling started again and carried on for the next half an hour.
‘Are you alright?’ Kathy asked after they paid the bill. ‘My stomach’s a bit iffy all of a sudden.�
�
‘I’m alright,’ said Alice.
‘God. I think I’d better go.’ Kathy stood up unsteadily. ‘Good day, though. Wasn’t it? Are you fine to get home?’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’ Alice smiled and felt as if she was floating calmly an inch above the pavement.
‘Right. I’m going that way.’ Kathy hugged her and walked swiftly towards the taxi rank.
‘Which way shall I go?’ muttered Alice. ‘Left towards Estoril, or right towards the square, or behind me to the supermarket, or straight ahead to the sea. After all, the world is my oyster.’ She chuckled to herself for no particular reason and leaned against the wall. The sea looked particularly blue today. And the sky was shinier. ‘And the boats in the bay are much bouncier,’ she said to herself, ‘or floatier.’
A couple walking past glanced at her and smiled.
‘Oh dear, said that out loud,’ she said out loud, then sat down, realising that she was feeling a bit light-headed. And a little bit happy. That wine must have been strong, she thought. Or it could have been the tea. What had Kathy put in it? Coffee, she suddenly thought. That’s what she needed. And then she would walk home and begin her new life as an artist. Olive oil, said the voice in her head, which also seemed to be affected by the tea. You need olive oil. You’ve run out of olive oil. For cooking. So she glided into a tiny supermarket off Rua Frederico Arouco and picked up a bottle of olive oil. And some wine. Why not? And those oranges looked nice. She tried to pick up two of those. But as she did so, the bottle of oil slid slowly out of her hands and smashed onto the floor. Alice stared at the liquid seeping slowly from the shattered bottle along the aisle.
Oh dear.
‘What have you done? Why did you not use a basket?’ the owner hurried towards her, brush in hand. ‘Move, move,’ he shouted.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Alice. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Nothing. You were thinking nothing,’ said the owner sharply, trying to clear up the mess.
A woman, possibly the owner’s wife, came over and took the wine and oranges from Alice. ‘Come,’ she said kindly. ‘Pay for these and we will clean up your feet. There is oil all over them. You can’t walk like that. You will slip.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ muttered Alice again.
‘He has seen worse,’ said the wife. ‘Do not worry about him. Come.’
Alice found herself outside watching the woman squeeze washing up liquid onto her feet and spray them with the hose used to clean out used bottles of beer. ‘You are so kind,’ said Alice. ‘I feel so silly.’
‘It could happen to anyone.’
I don’t think so, thought Alice. Carefully walking to the square, she was aware of tiny bubbles puffing from her flip-flops every time she took a step. And then there was the oil that had not quite been washed away; it was more like sliding than walking. She sat down, slumping her head onto the table, laughing uncontrollably. A cup of coffee was soon placed gently on the table.
‘Perhaps drinking at lunchtime doesn’t suit you?’ said Carlos.
She looked up, startled. ‘I think it was the tea, Carlos,’ she said.
‘Of course it was,’ he replied.
‘No, really.’ She giggled. ‘And look at this.’ She stamped her feet on the floor to make more bubbles escape.
Carlos smiled.
‘Olive oil,’ she said solemnly. ‘And washing up liquid.’ Then she giggled again.
‘What have you done?’ Ignacio had materialised beside her. ‘I saw you crossing the road. You looked a bit ill, like you couldn’t walk properly.’
‘I dropped olive oil. On my feet.’ She stamped them again to show Ignacio the bubbles.
‘I will take you home,’ he said brusquely. ‘Perhaps you should not drink so much at lunchtime.’
‘I have had one glass of wine only,’ she shouted. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.’
‘Well, something else then,’ said Ignacio.
‘No, I haven’t, actually. Don’t you think the bubbles are funny?’
Ignacio looked like he was trying not to smile. ‘No.’
Alice sighed. ‘Okay, you’re right. A lift home would be most welcome. I don’t know if I could walk uphill on extra virgin olive oil coated flip-flops.’ Standing up inelegantly, her bag swept her empty cup onto the floor.
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ said Carlos. ‘Just get home safely.’
Following Ignacio mutely towards the road she noted three young women glaring at her from another table. ‘Do I know them?’ she asked him loudly.
‘I do not know, Alice,’ he said, putting a protective hand on her shoulder.
She didn’t realise it was Marcella and her friends until she fell into the back of the car.
‘Are you sure you have time to do this?’ asked Luis as they drove up to the farmhouse the following day. ‘If you have to get the photos ready to be printed professionally for the shops, shouldn’t you be doing that?’
‘It’s okay,’ said Alice. ‘I went into town first thing this morning to put the orders in. Amazingly I had an excellent night’s sleep last night and woke up as fresh as a daisy at six a.m.!’
‘Ahh, Mary’s tea.’ Luis laughed
‘Never again. Never, ever again,’ groaned Alice. ‘I dread to think what I must have looked like with those bubbles pouring out of my flip-flops.’
‘I wish I’d seen it,’ said Luis.
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ laughed Alice. They drove in silence for a while, Alice’s mind darting between the excitement of selling her prints and the pain caused by Adam’s behaviour. No matter how hard she tried to push it to the back of her mind, she felt betrayed.
‘You may not be happy about this,’ said Luis eventually. ‘But Antonio is going to be at the house. He’s helping out today with the heavy work.’
‘Good news,’ sighed Alice. ‘I’ll just keep out of his way.’
‘It’s the money. He’s been gambling. His mother’s worried sick. I’m paying him to help – I’m doing it for her,’ he said.
Alice squeezed his hand. ‘Well that’s what friends are for,’ she said.
‘And here he is. Mr Happy,’ said Luis, as they drove up towards the house.
Antonio was pacing back and forth, smoking a cigarette and rubbing his temples. As the car parked up he turned towards them and stood, staring at Alice. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he hissed, as they got out of the car.
‘Alice is going to help with the house. She has a lot of experience. And a good eye for detail,’ said Luis.
‘She’s a woman. What could she know about construction?’ scoffed Antonio.
‘Do you want to earn a day’s wages, or do you want to walk to the road and catch a bus home?’ said Luis angrily. ‘I’m helping you out of loyalty to your mother, for no other reason.’
Antonio walked into the house in silence and Alice and Luis followed.
‘I’ll start on the bathroom,’ said Alice, hurrying to get away from the anger she could feel from Antonio. As she did, he picked up a hammer and smashed it into one of the kitchen cupboards, then smashed it again. And again. Alice could feel the walls vibrate.
‘That’s a much better way to deal with your anger issues,’ said Luis. ‘Now, I need you to get everything in here off the walls and into the skip.’
‘Yes sir,’ muttered Antonio, swinging the hammer at a worktop and bringing it down with a crash.
Alice began to work, prising the tiles from the wall, focusing her energy on that rather than the muddle in her mind.
Luis appeared at the door. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry about him. He’s even worse than usual. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have asked you to help.’
‘I’m okay,’ she said quietly.
‘No you’re not.’ Luis began to work on the other wall.
‘Well Antonio is the least of my problems at the moment, but his attitude is very unpleasant,’ Alice said, dropping a broken tile onto the floor. She d
ropped another tile and watched it bounce. ‘That was supposed to shatter into hundreds of little shards,’ she said.
‘I thought you’d be happy about selling your photographs.’ He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. ‘I’m very impressed.’
‘So am I. Thank you.’
‘So what is it then?’
Alice sighed. ‘The past. Adam left a message on my voicemail. And now I know why he wants to sell the house.’
‘Why?’
‘To help him and his new girlfriend set up a ceramics business.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh. Indeed.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Of course not. I’m so angry. All the love I put into that house. And the money. When I was doing my sensible job to pay the mortgage, bringing it back to life and making it beautiful, it saved my sanity. And when he went, it was … it was ... I hid in it. It made me feel safe … and now he wants to take it and use it to help someone else. Someone else ... when … it’s not hers to have. Or his.’ Tears began to prick her eyes.
Luis held her tighter. ‘Oh, Alice. Bricks and mortar. They can’t protect you from everything, can they? They can protect you from the wind and the rain and the cold, but they can’t protect you from your emotions.’
‘That was very profound.’ Alice sniffed into his shoulder.
‘Thank you. I thought so.’
‘I’m not finished though.’
‘Okay, carry on.’
‘And now I’m here, and I feel good and safe and it’s making me better, and now he’s leaving me messages. I don’t even want to hear his voice here, let alone have him here. It feels like he’s invading. Even talking to him feels like giving in.’
‘Look. I’m here. I’ll support you. You are not on your own.’
‘Well he can stew in it a bit more as far as I’m concerned.’
The House That Alice Built Page 14
