by Lilac Mills
She prepared the chicken with Paco supervising her every move, his gaze never leaving the bird until she put it in the oven. Then she lifted his lead off the hook near the front door and called him to her. She decided to go north towards Playa de la Arena and pop into the little shop where she’d found the Bisto gravy to see if they had any packets of stuffing. She hadn’t thought about it at the time, but a nice bit of Paxo’s finest sage and onion would set the meal off a treat.
The sun was deliciously warm on her back and she remembered how much her mum had loved the summer. Although technically it was winter here, it was a far cry from the depressingly short days, the constant rain and the dipping temperatures she’d left behind. Her mother would have loved Tenerife, and for a moment her grief threatened to rise up and swamp her.
It often hit her when she least expected it, and she knew from experience that the only thing she could do was to let it wash over her. So she perched on one of the large rocks which lined the path and let the sorrow take her, knowing she’d feel better if she didn’t fight it.
Paco, bless him, sensed there was something wrong and came and sat at her feet, his tail wagging gently as he stared up at her with a seemingly concerned expression. Absently she stroked his fluffy ears, taking some comfort from his presence.
She hated feeling so wretched and she knew her mother would have been appalled to see her like this, but a part of her never wanted to let go of the intense sorrow because that was all she had left of her.
Chapter 10
‘Paco, sit,’ Sophie commanded, snapping her fingers and pointing to the pavement outside Mrs Tiggywinkle’s. Paco obediently sat, his tongue lolling. He knew what was expected of him, even if she wasn’t totally sure he understood the English word ‘sit’. He knew the drill and that he wasn’t allowed inside.
She loved the name of the shop – it was so English, like a little piece of home. And that was exactly what it stocked, shelf upon shelf of familiar items that could be found in any British supermarket, from food to toiletries, and newspapers to books. She couldn’t find all her favourite items (like Marmite-flavour crisps), but it was a start.
Expecting to see Mrs Tiggywinkle herself behind the counter, Sophie was surprised to see an unfamiliar man operating the till. He was about her own age, maybe a couple of years older, slim, fairly good-looking, with light brown hair which had been bleached to blond at the ends flopping over his forehead. British, she guessed, because… well, he just looked it.
‘Er, excuse me, do you have any stuffing?’ she asked when he glanced up.
He gave her a broad smile and she could have sworn there was an appreciative look in his eyes when he saw her.
‘Just over there, next to the baked beans. I’ve no idea why my mother thinks that’s a logical place for it, but she insists that’s where it belongs, and who am I to argue?’
‘You’re Mrs Tiggywinkle’s son?’
He laughed, his eyes twinkling. ‘You do realise that’s not her real name, right?’
She felt herself blushing. ‘Of course I do, but I don’t know what else to call her.’ Actually, she hadn’t been entirely sure that it wasn’t her real name. She once knew someone called Henrietta Criebabie (pronounced ‘cry baby’), so anything was possible.
‘Tracey Brockman, and my dad’s name is Ted. I’m Dominic, by the way. Are you here on holiday?’
‘I’m Sophie.’ She smiled back at him. ‘I’m not on holiday, although I was. I live here now.’
‘Cool.’ He nodded at the packet of stuffing. ‘Still missing the home comforts, though?’
‘Yeah, there’s only so much of this deliciously healthy Mediterranean food I can take before I crave a bit of stodge in the form of roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and gravy.’
‘I know what you mean. I’ve been here since I was thirteen, but I still need egg, beans and chips now and again, with a dollop of brown sauce.’
Sophie looked horrified. ‘Don’t you mean tomato sauce?’
‘Nope. Tomato sauce is so wrong. Except in a hot dog. And maybe a burger.’
She laughed as she paid for her purchase. ‘You ought to have a sign around your neck, warning people of your weirdness.’
‘Now you’re just being rude,’ he said, but he was laughing so she knew he was taking it in the spirit it was meant. He glanced at the door. ‘Is Paco with you?’
Paco must have become fed up waiting for her, because he was standing half in and half out of the doorway and looking expectantly at her.
Sophie grinned at the sight. ‘Yes. You know him?’
Dominic walked out from behind the counter and called the dog to him. Paco padded over, wagging his tail in that slow way of his. ‘Good, I thought for a moment that Hugo’s dog had taken it upon himself to go for a wander.’
‘No, he’s with me. I thought I’d combine walking him with a visit to your shop. A two birds and one stone kind of thing.’
‘How is Hugo? I haven’t seen him for a while.’
Sophie hesitated, not sure how much she should say about Hugo’s health. He seemed a very private man and she didn’t want to share anything she shouldn’t. ‘He’s good,’ she replied diplomatically.
Dominic was ruffling Paco’s ears and the dog had a blissful look on his face. ‘So, apart from the fantastic weather, the beautiful scenery and the wonderful atmosphere, what brings you to Tenerife?’ he asked.
‘Work, mostly.’ She didn’t feel it necessary to add the fact that the work in question came with live-in accommodation, which made it all possible, or that her employer was Hugo himself.
‘Oh?’ He was looking at her curiously, but she didn’t explain. ‘Are you living in Playa de la Arena?’
‘Actually, I’m living at Hugo’s place,’ she said.
His eyes widened. ‘You’re at Villa Delfín?’
Was that what it was called? She’d had no idea. To her, it was simply ‘the villa’, and she’d never even thought to ask. There was no nameplate, no sign or plaque that she’d noticed.
‘Yes, Villa Delfín.’ She tried the name out on her tongue, liking the feel of it. ‘I meant to ask Hugo what delfín means, but I keep forgetting,’ she lied. Was it some kind of family name?
‘It means dolphin. Years ago, they used to come in so close that you could see them from the shore, but there’s a bit too much traffic out there now, so they tend to stay in deeper water.’
Dolphin? How lovely. There was a substantial tourist trade in whale and dolphin watching, and she often saw boats grouping around what she assumed to be a pod of the lovely creatures.
‘I must get back,’ she said, ‘before my roast chicken becomes a charcoal chicken.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Dominic said, straightening up as Paco backed out of the door. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again?’ His expression was hopeful.
‘Maybe,’ she said as she left, smiling to herself.
He was nice; friendly and pleasant to talk to. And he was probably the only man who had looked at her twice in years.
Then she told herself to stop being so silly, because he was probably just as nice to everyone and she’d imagined the way he’d looked at her had meant anything. The last time she went out on a date was…? She honestly couldn’t remember.
It would be lovely to have some romance in her life though, even if it did have to be relatively short-lived.
Chapter 11
The following day was yet another glorious one. The tide was in, which meant that the natural seawater pool on the edge of Alcalá would be full. She hadn’t summoned the courage to take a dip yet, but she’d seen plenty of people swimming there, and Paco loved it. She’d asked Hugo what breed of dog he was, and Hugo thought he was a Newfoundland. The dog had a thick black coat, which Sophie enjoyed grooming, and Hugo had drawn her attention to the dog’s webbed feet, a feature typical for the breed. He wasn’t entirely certain Paco was a purebred, and neither was he sure of the dog’s age, having obtained him from an animal shelter, but
one thing was certain, the dog loved to swim, and no surf was too high or too rough for him.
Today she intended to let him swim in the piscina natural, and she took one of his balls along to throw for him. He loved nothing better than retrieving it from the water. Again and again and again. Never seeming to tire of it, Paco would happily retrieve all day, as long as there was water involved, and she guessed the constant immersion in the sea helped keep him cool.
She reminded herself to give him another grooming session after dinner to brush the salt from his fur. Then she quietly chuckled to herself; most people who were lucky enough to find themselves in her position might be planning on a more exciting evening, like opening a bottle of wine and watching the sun go down, or maybe checking out one of the nearby bars. Or even spending the evening somewhere far more lively, like a nightclub.
Not her – she was planning on grooming a dog.
It occurred to her as she spread a towel out on the rough rocks and sat down to dangle her feet in the saltwater pool that she was getting old before her time, that she should be living life to the full and wringing every second of fun out of it.
But all the fun had been sucked out of her from watching her mother’s slow, inevitable decline. She felt that her youth had died along with her mum, and it was probably too late to do anything about it now. All of her friends – those same friends she used to giggle about boys with and share bottles of rosé with before going out clubbing – were now married, and many of them had children too.
A bolt of envy shot through her at the thought that life seemed to have passed her by, but she swiftly chased it away. She was hardly old at thirty-three. There was plenty of time for her to start living again. Her problem was that she didn’t know how to any more. But for the moment, at least, she was happier than she’d been for a very long time, and she intended to make the most of her stay on Tenerife, to recharge her depleted batteries and work out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
She didn’t have to make any decisions today, though. All she had to do right now was to keep throwing the ball, and she found she was taking a great deal of delight in making one shaggy dog very happy.
When they got back, Sophie wondered whether to visit Mrs Tiggywinkle’s again. She didn’t actually need anything, but Dominic kept popping into her mind. Apart from Hugo, he was the only person she’d really spoken to since she’d moved into the villa, except to ask the price of something. She wasn’t feeling lonely; it was more a feeling of restlessness, a need to chat with someone closer to her own age (sorry, Hugo) or who could actually join in with a conversation (sorry, Paco). However, she’d been out once today walking the dog and she wasn’t sure whether she could be bothered to go out again. She supposed she could always ask to borrow the car for an hour. Not that she had to ask, Hugo had assured her, but she didn’t like to take it without him knowing.
‘I met Mrs Tiggywinkle’s son yesterday,’ she said to Hugo, who was sitting on the terrace staring out to sea, deep in thought. He was having his operation tomorrow, and she guessed it must be playing on his mind.
‘That is not her real name,’ he said with a smile.
‘I know. Dominic told me she’s called Tracey Brockman.’ She paused, then asked, ‘What do you know about them?’
Hugo shrugged. ‘They are English, they came here about twenty years ago and opened the shop. That is all I know.’
Since he’d told her he moved to Tenerife when he was thirteen, that would make Dominic about thirty-three, the same age as her. ‘I haven’t seen him there before,’ she said.
‘He has his own job.’
‘What does he do?’ Gosh, this was like pulling teeth.
Hugo turned to look at her. ‘Why are you so interested?’ There was a knowing expression on his face and a hint of a twinkle in his eyes.
‘No reason,’ she replied, and Hugo chuckled.
‘He has a radio show in the mornings, an English show. You have listened to him sometimes.’
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘I have?’ She usually tuned into an English-language station in the mornings because she liked the music – a wide range from the seventies to the present day, and nearly all of it stuff she could sing along to. The presenter wasn’t really the same Dominic as she’d met in Mrs Tiggywinkle’s shop, was it? She hadn’t for a moment thought his voice sounded familiar, though, so she vowed to listen to his show tomorrow morning when— Oh, actually, she wouldn’t have time because she’d be taking Hugo to hospital in the morning for his operation, a thought that quickly sobered her. She hoped he’d be OK; in the short period of time she’d known him, she’d grown to care about the old man. Not that he was all that old, she conceded, being around her aunt’s age.
‘He surfs,’ Hugo announced, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Out there.’ He pointed to the southern end of the small bay, where the waves crashed and surged against an outcrop of rocks. She’d noticed that the rollers tended to be larger there and start further out than in any other stretch along the coastal path. She’d seen surfers there often when the sea wasn’t too rough, bobbing about in their sleek wetsuits like so many seals playing. While she admired their sense of adventure, she wasn’t in the least bit tempted to take a dip herself in the chilly water.
She decided she’d look out for him the next time she walked to Alcalá, although in their black suits the surfers all looked very much alike.
But as she was making sure Hugo’s bag was packed and that he had everything he needed for his short stay in hospital, she couldn’t help wondering why she was bothering herself about Dominic. In a few short months she’d be back in England, and while Dominic might be good-looking and nice to talk to, she’d been on her own for so long that maybe she wouldn’t recognise a spark if it burst into flame and set her hair on fire. She also didn’t know for sure whether he fancied her, so it was a moot point anyway.
She came to the conclusion that she was being silly because her emotions were all over the place from the loss of her mother. A brief romance wasn’t going to heal the big hole in her heart; she needed to give herself time to grieve properly and not try to fill the emptiness inside her by throwing herself at the first man who showed an interest (if indeed he actually had). She needed to concentrate on Hugo and her job, and to start planning for her future back in the UK. She was realistic enough to understand that it wasn’t love that she needed right now – it was security. And at the moment she had neither, just a temporary job and a temporary home, and a temporary respite from her life in England.
With a despondent sigh, she added a bar of soap to Hugo’s washbag, then zipped the whole thing up. The problem was, she much preferred this life to anything she could envisage when her time in Tenerife was up. By trying to run away from her problems she’d actually gone and created a few new ones. She’d fallen in love with the island and the villa, and was becoming increasingly fond of Hugo and Paco too, and she simply couldn’t bear the thought of having to leave any of them.
Chapter 12
Hugo had only been gone a few hours and already Sophie was missing him. Although he mightn’t say a great deal, he was always there, another person in the house. Of course, Paco was also there too, but it wasn’t the same.
Since she’d dropped Hugo off at the hospital (she’d waited with him until the very last minute), she’d cleaned the villa from top to bottom, weeded and watered the garden, washed the terrace down, taken Paco for a walk (no surfers today), and made herself some dinner which she’d eaten outside while watching the sun slip down over the misty island of La Gomera.
Actually, the sunset had been the most spectacular one she’d ever seen, and she wished she’d had someone to share it with. Hugo had probably seen hundreds, if not thousands, of such sights, but the display of scarlet, orange, peach and purple had taken her breath away.
It was only when she stood up to take her plate into the kitchen that she realised the sky to the west above Mount Teide looked rather weird.
It was an odd ochre colour, and she wondered if there was a storm brewing.
Please not tonight, she prayed, not with her only having Paco for company. She had visions of the sea pounding the rocks and sending spray high into the air, and the wind whipping around the villa. She also had visions of the electricity going off, and the thought of being without light and all alone was rather worrying. She wouldn’t mind if the villa was in a village, but it was on its own in the bay. There was the farmhouse near the headland, but even that was some distance away.
‘Paco,’ she called nervously, and the dog came padding over to her and leant against her legs. His weight made her stagger slightly, and she felt a little calmer at the feel of his solid body against her. Paco didn’t seem worried and she trusted him to let her know if anything was amiss. She also trusted him to protect her, but considering he’d never shown the slightest hint of aggression, she had no idea why she thought that; it was just a feeling she had that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
She wasn’t going to take any chances, though, and if there really was a storm brewing, she wanted to be prepared, so with that in mind she made her way around the outside of the house, closing all the shutters and battening down the proverbial hatches. Once back indoors, she had to grope around for the light switch, as the interior of the villa was now in almost total darkness because she’d forgotten to turn any on before she’d gone outside.
‘You can stop laughing,’ she muttered to the dog. He was staring up at her, his tongue lolling to one side, and she could have sworn he was finding the whole thing amusing. ‘You’ll soon be coming to me for cuddles once the thunder starts,’ she warned him. ‘Let’s see who’ll be laughing then.’
To be honest, she suspected neither of them would be, so she checked the doors and windows again, this time from the inside, then dug around in one of the cupboards for a bag of tea lights. She’d found them while cleaning one day and had wondered at the time why Hugo needed such a large bag. She knew now, all right…
