by Lilac Mills
It wasn’t.
The apartment block was right on the edge of the sea, with only a broad pedestrian walkway separating the building from a spectacular drop into the pounding waves and jagged rocks below. Looking straight out to sea, she could make out the island of La Gomera; or a part of it anyway, because the bulk of it now appeared to have been swallowed by cloud. To the right, in the distance, were those cliffs rising vertically out of the sea, and to her left were pretty villas and apartment blocks, none of them more than a couple of storeys high.
The apartment itself had a decent-sized bedroom with two single beds, a marble-tiled bathroom, and an open-plan living room and kitchen with a breakfast bar separating the two areas.
This will do nicely, she thought, opening cupboards to see what sort of cooking utensils there were and checking on the condition of the fridge and cooker.
As she unpacked, she made a mental note of the things she’d need. Top of the list were coffee and milk (there was a cafetière in the cupboard next to the sink, she’d noticed), plus bread, butter and jam for the morning. Tonight, she’d treat herself and eat out. She couldn’t afford to do that every evening and she was looking forward to exploring what the Spanish supermarkets had to offer, but tonight was special – the first night of the rest of her life – so she intended to make the most of it. She might even have a couple of glasses of wine. No more than two, though, because she hadn’t had any alcohol for such a long time that she was scared it might go straight to her head. Many a time over the last few years, and especially in those final months when she didn’t think she could bear seeing her mother in pain any more, she’d felt like losing herself in a bottle of Rioja, but she hadn’t dared – her mother had needed her almost constantly day and night towards the end…
Stuffing the memories to the back of her mind, Sophie sent her aunt a quick text to let her know she’d arrived safely and that the place she was staying at was lovely. Then she swiftly changed into shorts and a T-shirt, slipped her feet into a cheap pair of flip-flops, grabbed her bag and headed out of the door. She wanted to find the pool, the beach, and the nearest supermarket. And she might even treat herself to a coffee and a sandwich on the way.
She strolled out of the apartment complex and onto the main road, spying a restaurant opposite and deciding to check it out on the way back. A few hundred yards away was a sign for a supermarket and beyond that she could see numerous bars, restaurants and shops. The little town wasn’t too busy from what she could see, but there appeared to be enough going on to make life interesting, if that was what she wanted. For the time being, she’d be content to lie by the pool with her book, and maybe find a coastal path or two that she could explore.
Feeling rather decadent (she hadn’t enjoyed a coffee out for such a very long time), she picked the nearest café, chose a table outside under a colourful umbrella and watched the world go by as she ate her bocadillo (apparently it meant ‘snack’ in Spanish, but it looked like a baguette to her), which came with fries and a side salad. She wanted to pinch herself; she still couldn’t believe she was really here. She kept expecting to snap out of the daydream to hear her mother’s feeble voice calling for her, and a wave of sorrow and guilt engulfed her.
The sorrow was to be expected, but the guilt was a whole new feeling; she’d not expected to feel shame for getting on with her life, yet she did. She felt even guiltier when she realised that she hadn’t thought of her mum for at least an hour, and that she had actually experienced a sense of contentment for a while as she sat at the pavement café with a view of the sparkling sea and the wonderful warmth of the sun on her face.
It was as though she didn’t feel she had the right to be happy, not with her mother’s passing so new and raw. Yet she knew that if her mother was here now, she’d tell her not to be so silly. Her mum would never, ever want to hold her back, and she’d said so frequently, especially over the last few months when her health had deteriorated so alarmingly that it was clear the end wasn’t far away.
‘Put me in a hospice,’ she’d said, but Sophie wouldn’t dream of it. She wanted her mum to spend the remainder of her life at home, with the one person in the world who loved her more than anything. How could she have lived with herself, knowing that her mother was spending her last few weeks and days surrounded by strangers, no matter how caring and professional they were?
‘Sorry, Mum,’ she muttered into her coffee cup, well aware that her mother would be horrified if she knew how she was feeling. She should make the most of this holiday and not spend it wallowing in misery, because Lord knows when she’d be able to afford another one.
Gradually she felt the sun, the warm sea air and the relaxed atmosphere soothe her taut muscles and ease some of the tension from her mind, and she sat back and let the island work its magic.
After a while, she paid her bill and took a walk to the supermarket where she picked up a few essentials, then returned to the apartment to change into her bikini and spend the rest of the afternoon by the pool.
She might even go for a dip!
Chapter 3
It was only day four, yet Sophie felt as though she’d been in Tenerife an awful lot longer. Having an apartment all to herself helped, she decided, because it was almost as though she was living there, unlike the temporary feeling you got when staying in a hotel. She had everything she needed, from a washing machine to a comfy sofa. She had some English channels on the TV, a radio station which was aimed at the British (she liked listening to that in the morning while eating her breakfast – the presenter was funny and smart and played some seriously good music) and a decent Wi-Fi signal. She was also enjoying cooking for herself, even if she did miss having someone to share the meal with.
She’d eaten on the spacious balcony every evening, watching the sun sink down over La Gomera. She’d read that there were dolphins and whales in abundance in the stretch of water between that island and Tenerife, but despite squinting at the sea until her eyes watered, she’d not yet spotted any.
Her days so far had been spent reading and napping by the pool. Significantly more napping had taken place than reading, if she was honest, as she hadn’t realised how totally and utterly exhausted she was until she’d had the time to relax. Looking after a terminally ill loved one then watching them fade away was bound to leave physical and emotional marks, so for the first couple of days she’d been kind to herself and had simply tried to recharge her batteries. It seemed like Aunty Anne had known what she was talking about after all, and Sophie vowed to buy something nice to take back for her.
Today, though, she’d woken with a sense of purpose. Enjoyable and necessary as the past few days of lounging around had been, she now had itchy feet. She didn’t have the funds to hire a car or to go on any organised tours, much to her disappointment, but she did have her legs and there was always the bus service, which appeared to be fairly frequent and quite cheap, so there was nothing stopping her from exploring a little bit of the island if she wished.
Tenerife was considerably larger than she’d first thought and she knew she’d only be able to see a fraction of it, which was a pity because she doubted if she’d visit the place again. But she was determined to see the places she could get to, and so with that in mind she took out her guidebook and studied it while she ate a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast washed down with hot, strong coffee.
She could walk to Los Gigantes, she realised, and view those massive cliffs up close. The harbour looked pretty too. Or she could walk along the coastal path to Alcalá, a town to the south of where she was staying. Her guidebook informed her it was worth a visit and the walk should take about forty minutes. She really fancied dawdling along by the sea rather than taking the main road, which she’d have to do for some of the way if she went to Los Gigantes, so she decided on the coastal route.
The beginning of the walk was just down the road from her apartment, she discovered. So she grabbed her little rucksack and filled it with a large bott
le of water, a towel, a book and sunscreen, then jammed a hat on her head and shoved her feet into a pair of trainers.
Time to go exploring!
It didn’t take more than five minutes to reach the start of the coastal path (although she had been tempted to stop for a while to admire the gorgeous seafront homes along the way), and then she was strolling along a wide paved path with dark, rough volcanic rocks on the one side and banana plantations on the other. The surf pounded the rocks, sucking and booming, flinging spray into the air which fell back in sparkling rainbows as the sun caught the droplets. The air had an invigorating ocean smell of salt and seaweed, and the gentle breeze fanned her cheeks, warm and soft on the exposed skin of her arms and legs.
She was developing a tan, she noticed. Her pale, almost translucent colouring was turning a gentle golden brown, and the sun had lightened the front of her hair and brought out a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She hadn’t seen those for such a long time that she’d assumed she’d grown out of them. They made her look more like twelve than thirty-three, she’d giggled to herself when she spied them in the mirror this morning after her shower. The sun used to bring out freckles on her mother’s shoulders and arms too, she recalled.
Before she’d ventured out this morning, she’d smeared herself with factor-thirty sunscreen, aware of how deceptive the Tenerife sun could be. The breeze kept the temperature at a comfortable level, but she’d discovered that it could get really hot in sheltered spots, and she guessed she’d burn if she wasn’t careful.
As she carried on along the path, she knew she’d made the right decision not to spend the day by the pool. There were a few other people on the path, some jogging, some with dogs, and others, like her, out for a walk; but not so many that she felt crowded. The area was quite wild and rugged, with the waves surging against the rocks and hardly any houses in sight, apart from one villa in the middle of nowhere, sitting on a small rocky outcrop with a pebble beach on either side, and what looked like a farmhouse on the edge of a banana field beyond that. In the distance she could see a couple of low-rise houses clustered together, but this path was a far cry from the built-up area her apartment was in. This was peaceful and serene, despite the waves, and she felt the coil of grief inside her unwind a little bit further. Seeing all this rugged beauty, she understood why so many expats lived here. With views like this and gorgeous weather all year round, she would be happy to live here too.
As she drew closer to the villa, she studied it surreptitiously, not wanting the occupants to see her staring and think her rude. It was a lovely little house, though, perched on its low outcrop just above the waves. It was set far enough back not to be inundated during bad weather, but close enough to feel part of the ocean. At least, that’s what she imagined the people who lived in it might feel when they were sitting on the terrace with only a wooden fence separating them from the water below.
I know what would look fantastic instead of the fence, she thought – a toughened glass barrier. She’d seen some on other balconies and terraces as she’d wandered to the shops, and she’d thought at the time that it was a wonderful way of both being secure and making the most of the view.
The villa was painted a faded pale pink, with a terracotta tiled roof and a high wall enclosing the gardens. Tall palm trees waved majestically, their fronds towering over the villa, and the tops of other plants peeped over the wall, interspersed with the exotic orange and red colours of bougainvillea, which draped over the coping stones and tumbled down the sides.
The path meandered right alongside the villa, and Sophie was delighted to discover a pair of large, green-painted wrought-iron gates which allowed her to see up the little paved driveway to the front of the villa itself. Up close it was rather more neglected than she’d thought when she’d first seen it, but it was still delightful.
A wide curving path led to a recessed front door, painted green to match the gates, and there were green shutters on all the windows. Unfortunately they were all closed, so she couldn’t see inside the villa itself, but she did notice a pergola covering a terrace on the south side of the house, which made sense considering it would be facing the sun for most of the day. More bougainvillea grew up and over it, shading the space underneath, and she was convinced she could see the odd bunch of grapes dangling among the flowers. There was an old table and a set of chairs and she thought she could see a couple of loungers, but she wasn’t certain. She might get a better view if she climbed onto the bottom rail, but she already had her nose squashed against the gates, and if anyone saw her they’d be well within their rights to give her a telling off.
Reluctantly, she moved away, still keeping her eye on the sweet little villa. Ooh, look, it had chimneys – two large ones – and she could imagine being snuggled safely inside with a fire in the hearth, on a stormy night with the sea lashing the rocks and the wind howling. Not that she thought Tenerife had many storms, but maybe it got colder towards January and that’s why fireplaces were needed.
It wasn’t cold now – far from it. The back of her neck was hot and damp, and she fished around in her rucksack for a band to put her hair up with. As she carried on walking, she looked back at the house, seeing it from a different angle. It looked equally as lovely from here, and she envied the people who were lucky enough to live in it.
Continuing her stroll, she rounded a small headland where a handful of surfers were playing in the waves just offshore, and she saw another small bay in front of her. The path led around it, past the farmhouse she’d seen earlier, and on towards the cluster of two or three villas – it was hard to tell the exact number from where she was. She wondered how much further she had to walk until she reached the next village. Although she’d worked her socks off for the past couple of years, looking after her mum and keeping their home running, she hadn’t walked this far in ages and her legs were beginning to ache.
When she finally clambered up the rocky path which led around the villas – they were in a great location, but she didn’t think they were as nice as the one she’d passed earlier – she saw the start of a lovely promenade with several small black-sand beaches and a seawater pool, and she knew the effort had been worth it.
Sophie was dying to dip her toes in the water, followed by a sprawl on the beach, but she needed a cold drink and something to eat first, so she made her way towards an open-air café, picked a table and sank down thankfully onto a chair.
Tapas, she decided after reading the menu, and as she tucked into a selection of delicious dishes, a rare and unexpected feeling of contentment stole over her. All too soon she knew she’d have to return to reality, but for now she was determined to live in the moment and enjoy every second of this wonderful place.
Chapter 4
If there was one trip she was determined to make, it was a visit to Tenerife’s heart – Mount Teide. How could she travel all this way and not see such a spectacular sight? She guessed there must be hundreds, probably thousands, of tourists who never set foot outside their hotels, but she felt it would be a shame not to pay the volcano a visit. The glimpses she’d seen of it had intrigued her, so she’d decided to pop into one of the places advertising excursions, to ask how much it would cost. Although she’d winced a little at the price, she was relieved to be told that lunch was included, as was the ticket for the cable car to the summit, so she’d booked it.
The day of the trip, wearing trainers and carrying a fleece (it could be quite fresh and chilly at the summit, apparently), she settled back in the front seat of the coach to watch the scenery unfold.
As soon as the bus had left the coast, it began to climb up steep, winding roads, where the earth dropped away at an alarming rate and the rugged mountains grew closer and higher. Before long they were a thousand or so feet above sea level, and if she craned her neck and looked behind her, she could see the Los Gigantes cliffs and the harbour below. More twists and turns took them through villages and a small town or two, before they left civilisa
tion behind and were driving up through tall pine trees on either side of the road. For a volcano, and from the pictures and postcards she’d seen, she had been expecting the area to be far more desolate than it was and not so green.
Then abruptly the trees thinned, becoming small, twisted growths, and the coach was trundling along a stretch of tarmac with hardened black lava fields on either side. Wow, she thought, it felt like being on the surface of the moon. The road seemed to her like a long, charcoal ribbon which had been placed precariously on top of the jagged bleak landscape, which might be stark but was also strangely beautiful and compelling. There was something alien and otherworldly about it.
The guide, who was sitting across the aisle from her at the front of the bus, giving his passengers a steady stream of facts and figures, had explained how the island had come into being, and that Teide was also a live volcano. Sophie found it quite disturbing as she’d watched a documentary once about Mount Vesuvius and what had happened to the inhabitants of Pompeii. The fact that this enormous lump of rock was capable of spewing out molten lava whenever the mood took it was rather worrying. As was the information that the island was ancient, yet parts of it were surprisingly new. The last eruption on Teide had occurred just over a hundred years ago, resulting in the blackened mass of tortured rocks to their left. And there was plenty more where that came from, she guessed. Nothing grew on it, not even a blade of grass. Her imagination ran riot as she pictured the slow unstoppable creep of the hot lava down the slope, blanketing everything in its path. It must have been a sight to behold, but she sincerely hoped she wouldn’t be around when the next eruption took place.
