by Lilac Mills
She tried not to stare at the garden as she walked up the short driveway, but it was even prettier from the inside than it had appeared from the coastal path, with flowering climbing plants growing up the high walls, and the giant palm trees waving in the breeze and casting their shade on the house. There were also the typical cacti which were so prevalent on the island, and in the corner furthest away from the sea was what looked like a vegetable plot.
Dear God, she’d give her right arm to own a place like this.
‘Your name?’ the elderly man asked her, and she came to a halt on the porch.
‘Sophie Lakeland,’ she replied.
‘Hugo Santana Negrin,’ he said. ‘You want the job?’
‘Er… um…’ Surely he wanted to know more about her, give her an interview at least, before he offered her the position?
Suddenly she found she didn’t care whether he followed the usual protocols or not – she wanted to accept. In all honesty, she didn’t want to return to the UK. She wanted to remain in Tenerife, and she wasn’t too picky about what she’d have to do to make it happen. He needed an assistant of some kind, and she needed a job and somewhere to live. It was the solution to both of their problems.
‘That’s wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Thank you so much. I promise I won’t let you down.’ Then she saw the confusion on his face and realised she might have been a little premature and that maybe he hadn’t been offering her the job after all.
She bit her lip, her heart sinking, disappointment pricking behind her eyes. For a moment there, she’d envisioned herself calling this place home, even if it was only for a few months.
‘You are here about the job?’ he asked, rather more clearly.
‘Yes, I am.’
She lifted her chin and was just about to put forth an argument as to why she should be considered for it, when he said, ‘You must come in,’ and opened the door wider, jerking his head towards the interior of the villa.
‘Oh, OK, thank you.’ She stepped past him and into a shaded hallway, her pumps slapping on the marble floor. It was cooler inside, and she realised the reason for the shutters being closed was to keep the midday sun out. Then she wondered if he ever opened them at all, or whether he lived in a permanent state of semi-darkness.
She waited for him to shut the door and show her the way, noticing as he went past her that he was using two sticks to help him walk, and that he was older than she’d first thought. From a distance, and in spite of the salt and pepper hair and whiskers, she had guessed he was in his fifties, but up close she revised her estimate upwards by at least a decade. He appeared robust, though, mobility issues aside, and was quite tall, with broad shoulders which were currently hunched because his walking sticks were too short.
‘Please sit down,’ he said, leading her through a doorway and into a room which ran the full length of the back of the house.
It was a room that made her heart sing. The shutters were open and light streamed in from two sets of double doors facing the ocean. If it wasn’t for the terrace immediately outside the doors, she could almost imagine the house was floating on the sea itself. There was nothing in sight apart from water and sky, and the odd boat in the distance.
When she finally dragged her gaze away from that magnificent view, it was to find Mr Santana (or was that his middle name, and she really should be calling him Mr Negrin? Or maybe it was a double-barrelled name, Santana-Negrin?) staring at her with a knowing expression on his face.
‘La vista, the view, is beautiful,’ he said. ‘It hits you, here.’ He thumped a hand to his chest, dropping one of his sticks in the process.
Sophie made to retrieve it, but he waved her away.
‘I can do this,’ he said, doing an awkward sideways bend in order to pick it up. When he was upright again and steady on his legs, although a little redder in the face, he indicated once more that she should sit.
She sank down onto an old sofa, most of it covered by a woollen throw, and Mr Whatshisname took a more upright, high-backed chair, which she guessed was easier for him to get in and out of.
‘The job,’ he began, ‘you want to… er… ask for it?’
‘Apply?’ she said. ‘Yes, please.’ She stopped, not knowing where to start.
‘Do you live here?’
‘On Tenerife? No, but I’d like to.’ For a while, at least, until she’d decided what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go.
‘You are cleaner?’
Cleaner than what? she wondered, then she understood what he meant. ‘Not exactly, although I can clean, and cook, and do the laundry.’ She paused. ‘I looked after my mother for many years, so when I read the notice saying you needed help to recover from an operation, I thought I would apply. I nursed my mum towards the end.’
‘The end?’
‘She passed away. Died,’ she added, seeing him frown.
‘Ah. Your mother, she has not been dead long?’
‘Twenty-nine days.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘So am I, but life moves on,’ she added brightly, feeling the familiar sting of tears and blinking them away.
He said nothing more for a while, and although she was desperate to ask him whether she was in with a chance, she remained silent.
‘Can you do this?’ he asked her. ‘Should you?’
She understood him immediately. ‘It’s what I know, it’s what I’m used to. And it gives me a breathing space. Somewhere new, with new people.’
‘But doing what you are comfortable doing?’
He understood her too, it seemed.
She nodded slowly. ‘Look, Mr Santana… er, Negrin…’
‘Call me Hugo.’
‘Hugo.’ She nodded. ‘I might not have any qualifications, but I can run a house and I’ve had experience of people recovering from operations, so…’
‘Do you like dogs?’
Sophie blinked. ‘I guess so. Yes?’
‘Paco!’
There was nothing for a second or two, then she heard the click of claws on tiles and the largest dog she’d ever seen padded into view, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, his curved tail waving slowly from side to side.
The animal plodded over to her, the top of his head almost level with her chin, and sat down, then gave her his paw, plonking it in her lap. It weighed as much as a small child and felt solid and heavy.
‘He likes you,’ Hugo said.
‘He does?’
‘If he didn’t, he would do this.’ Hugo put his nose in the air, gave a disdainful sniff and turned his head away.
Sophie giggled and reached out to stroke the dog. To her surprise his abundant black fur was very soft and as fluffy as it looked, and she ran her fingers through it, much to the dog’s delight.
‘After hospital, I won’t be able to walk him. He needs his… er… hair… er…’ Hugo mimicked brushing his own hair.
‘Ah, he’ll need grooming?’
‘Sí. Every day. The hair, it is everywhere.’
‘I’m happy to walk him and groom him,’ she said. ‘Are there any other duties?’
‘Making food, washing clothes, cleaning.’
She nodded again. ‘I can do all that. What about you? Will you need any help?’
Hugo grimaced. ‘No, I will dress and wash myself. I will not need help for me, just for the house and the dog.’
Sophie took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. ‘I can do that.’
‘I can only offer a small wage, and only for two or three months,’ he warned.
‘That’s fine, if accommodation is included.’
‘It is. And food.’
‘Great!’
Hugo struggled to his feet and Sophie watched him, knowing instinctively that he wouldn’t want her help, no matter how much he needed it. If he did take her on, she’d have to be subtle about any attempts to make his life easier for him.
‘You still want the job?’ he asked.
‘Yes,
please!’ She was shocked at how much she did want it. The wanting was almost a physical thing, a deep need, and it made her heart flutter and pound.
‘Take a look around before you say yes. You might want to say no.’
Sophie cocked her head. ‘Oh?’ Please, please don’t tell me there’s only one bedroom, she prayed.
‘The house, I have only a little TV, and no internet. It is not like a hotel room.’
‘I didn’t expect it to be,’ she said. ‘This is a home, your home.’
‘Go look; then tell me what you decide.’
Sophie looked.
It was perfect; rustic and basic, but perfect. Exactly as she imagined it, even down to the dark wood that was so prevalent in Canarian homes she’d seen on travel programmes on TV. There was an open fireplace in the living room and each of the three bedrooms had a bed, a wardrobe and bedside table. One bedroom was clearly occupied by Hugo and she glanced idly at a photo of him with his arm slung around the shoulders of a younger man. His son, perhaps? Whoever he was, the man was remarkably good-looking.
Feeling as though she was snooping, she had a quick look in the only other room she hadn’t explored, and saw that the kitchen held freestanding cabinets, a sink, a cooker and a fridge. It might not be the most modern kitchen she’d seen, but at first glance it had everything she needed.
She had a good feeling about the place, as if it was welcoming her.
When she wandered back into the room with the marvellous view, she felt as though she was coming home.
She made her decision.
Chapter 6
Sophie eyed the couple sitting next to her on the plane as she settled back in her seat and buckled up. They wore resigned expressions along with their tans and summer clothes. Sophie, fearing that the early winter weather in the UK wouldn’t be kind, had worn a lightweight, long-sleeved top, jeans, and trainers with warm socks. She currently had a fleece draped around her shoulders – because the inside of the aircraft was cooler than the departure lounge had been, as if the plane was trying to acclimatise its passengers – and she’d placed a coat in the overhead locker.
Once they were airborne, she retrieved a small pad and a pen from her bag and began to make lists. Several of them. It kept her occupied during the four-hour flight and calmed her churning thoughts. She’d always been a list-maker, ever since she was young. It seemed as though the act of putting things down on paper served to tidy things up in her mind and helped her focus, and right now she needed all the focus she could lay her hands on.
Satisfied that she had done as much as she was able to while being jetted through the air at close to six hundred miles an hour, and without the benefit of an internet connection, she put her pad with its invaluable lists away, and went to sleep. The next few days were going to be busy, and she needed all the rest she could get.
However, rest was the last thing on her mind as she collected her little car from the airport car park and drove home.
Home. What an evocative word that was, especially when she technically didn’t have one. Although there wasn’t a letter from the council waiting on the mat advising her of her need to vacate the property (her home, her mother’s home) by a certain date, she knew its arrival was only a matter of time. How much time, she had had no idea.
After dumping her case in her bedroom and shoving a load of dirty clothes in the washing machine, Sophie rooted around in the freezer for something to pop in the oven. The sight of a dish filled with chicken casserole brought a lump to her throat as she realised that her mum had still been alive when she had prepared and frozen it. She used to do that a lot – cook batches of food when she had the chance, then freeze them – because she never knew what might tempt her mum, or whether she’d need to grab a meal quickly and race back to the hospital. Dashing away fresh tears (would this crying never end?), she retrieved the casserole from the freezer and switched the microwave on, making a mental note that she needed to use up as much of the food in the freezer as she could before she left. It seemed a shame to waste it… Maybe Aunty Anne could use some of it?
As she was eating, her phone rang. That was another thing she needed to add to her list – getting the house phone disconnected.
‘You’re back!’ her aunt shrieked, before Sophie had a chance to say hello. ‘I hoped you would be.’
‘I am. I got in about an hour ago.’ She was smiling as she said it – her aunt had clearly missed her. But abruptly her smile faded. Oh dear, Anne wasn’t going to like her news very much if this was how she reacted to her being away for only two weeks.
‘The twins are here! Sophie, did you hear what I said? Denise has had the babies. They’re three weeks early but they’re here and they’re perfect.’
‘That’s wonderful news. How is Denise, and what do the boys think of their new sisters?’
‘She’s good. Sore obviously and tired, but everyone is fine. The boys…? Hmm, you know what teenagers are like. They haven’t taken a great deal of notice, if I’m honest. How was your holiday?’
‘Great. More than great—’
‘They might let her out tomorrow, fingers crossed.’ Her aunt clearly had more important things on her mind than hearing about Sophie’s holiday.
‘Can I pop round in the morning?’ Sophie asked, determined to tell her about her plans as soon as possible.
Anne sounded doubtful. ‘Denise might not be home until the afternoon, and I don’t think she’ll be up to visitors for a few days.’
‘I meant pop round to see you?’
‘Of course you can, but it mightn’t be for long if Joe fetches her and the babies home, because she’ll need me there to help with everything.’
‘How about if I come to yours now?’ Sophie asked, feeling a stab of pain. She knew her aunty loved her and she knew she was part of the family, but Anne had new commitments and responsibilities now, a new focus (two of them, actually), and Sophie felt a little left out.
* * *
Sighing, she cleared her solitary plate away and put her coat on. The sooner she told Anne the better, before she changed her mind and backed out of the whole thing.
As soon as she stepped over the threshold of her aunt’s compact retirement flat, Anne first enveloped her in a massive hug, then stepped back to scrutinise her.
‘You look well,’ she said, nodding to herself. ‘Better than you’ve looked for years. I was right – you needed a holiday. The sun agrees with you.’
Sophie smiled. ‘Everything about Tenerife agrees with me.’
Anne led her into the kitchen and flipped the switch on the kettle. ‘Tell me all about it. Did you have a good time?’
‘I did, thanks. It was lovely.’
‘Good. I’ve got some photos of the babies – want to see?’
‘Ooh, yes please!’ And for the next few minutes the pair of them cooed over tiny noses and starfish hands.
Eventually, Sophie plucked up the courage to tell Anne her news. ‘I’m… um… going back to Tenerife,’ she said.
‘I don’t blame you. I went there years ago and it was lovely. You might want to give one of the other islands a go, though. I hear Lanzarote is nice.’
‘I’ve got a job,’ she said hesitantly, wondering how her aunt would take the news.
‘Already? That was quick. You’ve only been home five minutes. I knew you’d find something, a smart girl like you. Where is it? What will you be doing?’
‘It’s in Tenerife, and I’ll be looking after an elderly gentleman who’s having a hip operation.’
Anne blinked. Then frowned. Then she made them both another cup of tea. Finally she said, ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
Sophie continued. ‘It’s a live-in position. But don’t worry, it’s only for three months, it’s not permanent.’
Her aunt frowned again. ‘I don’t know if I like the sound of it…’ She tapped her fingers against her cheek. ‘I just hope you’re not doing anything drastic on the rebound.’
Despite A
nne’s obvious misgivings, Sophie had to smile. ‘I’m not on the rebound.’
‘No, but you’re grieving and sad, and I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.’
‘And I don’t want to regret not doing something,’ she replied gently. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘What would your poor mother say?’ Anne fretted.
‘You know Mum; she’d tell me to go for it.’
Her aunt sighed. ‘You’re not wrong there.’ She got up from her chair and gathered Sophie into an awkward hug. ‘Are you sure about this?’
She nodded. ‘Just think of it as an extended holiday.’
‘Hmm. I’m still not happy, but you’re a grown woman and you’ve got to make your own choices in life. Just be careful, eh?’
‘I will,’ she promised. ‘Now, I’ve got to dash. There’s a lot to sort out.’
She tried not to let the tears pricking the back of her eyes fall as she said goodbye to her aunt. It was only for three months, and it wasn’t as though she was leaving Anne all alone. Anne had Denise and the babies to keep her occupied, and although she knew her aunt would miss her, the time would fly by and Sophie would be back before she knew it.
Once again, it felt incredibly sad to walk into the empty house. Without her mum there, it was as though the life and heart had been bled out of it, and all that was left was an empty shell. In some ways, she’d be glad to leave, but in others…
Sophie bit back a sob as she got to work. Keeping busy was the best remedy, because if she stopped to think about what she was doing she thought she might freak out. So she began the task of wrapping up her life in the UK (albeit temporarily) by doing some research on storage units and finding one not too far away. Some things she’d take to the charity shop, like her mum’s clothes for instance. Other things, very few other things, she’d take with her to Tenerife. The rest would go into storage for when she returned to the UK, because she’d need them in order to furnish whatever place she rented afterwards. Even three months’ storage costs added up to less than a hundred pounds and was far, far cheaper than having to buy everything new. She didn’t fancy starting from scratch.
