Her mother’s letter was cheerful and newsy. All about the boys and Brenda and what Grandpa Myles’s latest was. Reading it, Jennifer felt suddenly homesick. Soon she’d be home, she comforted herself. And then what? No job, waiting for her exam results. All at once going home didn’t sound that appealing.
The following day, she was swimming with the children in the pool when Bryan appeared through the french doors.
‘Daddy, Daddy,’ Emma shrieked, galloping up the steps at the shallow end.
‘Look at me, Dad, Dad, look at me I can belly-flop!’ Gavin shouted, clambering out of the side of the pool and falling in dramatically.
‘I told you not to do that, Gavin,’ Jennifer said sternly as he came up gasping and spluttering.
‘My daddy lets me,’ Gavin said cheekily, repeating the exercise. Great, thought Jennifer in disgust. All my hard work down the drain. Before she knew what was happening, Bryan had slipped out of his robe and belly-flopped into the pool himself.
‘Dad, that was brill!’ his son exclaimed, casting a triumphant look at Jennifer.
Prat! she thought as Bryan surfaced and swam towards her.
‘Morning, Jennifer, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ he greeted her chummily.
‘Morning,’ she said coolly. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling him Bryan.
‘You’ve a lovely colour.’ He ran a finger down her arm. Jennifer froze. He was deliberately standing very close to her, ogling her.
‘I think I’ll get out now.’ She swam sideways around him down to the far end of the pool. She was furious. The cheek of him, touching her like that. And looking at her like that. Who did he think he was? Paula would have cut him down to size with a few well-chosen words, but Jennifer wasn’t one bit sure how to handle the obnoxious Mr Curtis.
The next week was a nightmare. He constantly sought excuses to touch her and make lewd joking remarks to her. Jennifer was very uncomfortable. Gillian ignored him. The kids were as bold as brass.
‘I’m sick of him,’ she complained to Charlotte as they sat sipping San Miguel beer at a café overlooking the bay. ‘He’s revolting. He thinks he’s God’s gift. No matter how rude I am he still keeps harassing me. Even in front of Gillian.’
‘He sounds like a right moron,’ Charlotte observed. ‘Do you know what my beauties did? They had a party last night and Stella told me if I cleaned up this morning, she’d pay me extra seeing as today’s my day off. Well I cleaned up, it took me two and a half hours, the place was in a shambles. And in the end, I had to give the kids their breakfast because the other pair had such hangovers, so I might as well not have had a day off. Do you know how much extra the mean slag gave me? Five bloody quid. I’ve a good mind to pack my bags and split.’
‘Would you go home?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Naw,’ Charlotte said vehemently. ‘I’d go to the Costa on the mainland. I know a couple of girls who did that, they made great money working in bars and restaurants. It would be a hell of a lot better than what I’m doing. Talk about slave labour!’
‘It sounds good,’ Jennifer remarked.
Charlotte’s eyes lit up. ‘Let’s do a bunk! We’d have a great time. It’s high season, I bet we’d have no trouble getting a job. We could stay with one of my friends until we got a place,’ she said excitedly.
Jennifer laughed. ‘Are you mad? We couldn’t just take off.’
‘I could,’ Charlotte said glumly.
Lying in bed that night, having endured Bryan’s smutty remarks, Jennifer was sorely tempted to phone Charlotte and tell her she would join her in the flight to the Costa del Sol.
Two days later, she had just put the children to bed. Gillian was lying down with a headache. Bryan was pacing around in a bad humour. He’d been drinking.
‘Do you fancy going for a drink?’ he asked. ‘It’s high time I took you out for a meal. You deserve a treat for working so hard.’
‘No thank you. I’m only doing the job I’m paid to do. There’s no need for you to feel you have to treat me,’ she said politely. A meal with Bryan Curtis was not Jennifer’s idea of a treat.
‘Come on, Jennifer.’ He slipped an arm around her waist, his fingers sweaty against her skin. ‘Let’s get to know one another a bit better.’
‘Look, do you mind?’ Jennifer struggled to evade his embrace. ‘I don’t go for meals with married men.’
‘Oh for goodness sake, Jennifer, don’t let that stop you. Gillian won’t mind, we have an open marriage.’
‘Well I suggest you close it,’ Jennifer snapped, trying to pull away.
‘Oh come on, stop playing hard to get. You’re beautiful, I want to touch you,’ he said hoarsely, trying to kiss her.
Jennifer nearly died of fright and shock and revulsion.
‘Let go of me!’ She fought against him trying to push him away. His hands mauled her, touching her breasts and thighs. A lamp crashed to the ground in their skirmish. It didn’t stop Bryan, his breath was hot against her cheeks, she could feel him trying to force his leg between hers.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Gillian stood at the door. Jennifer felt Bryan’s hold loosen. Panting she pushed him away.
‘You’re despicable. You’re a dirty revolting slob. How dare you treat me like that! How dare you lay your slimy hands on me! You make me want to vomit,’ Jennifer sobbed, rushing out of the room. She felt dirty. Bile rose in her throat and she just made the bathroom in time. She retched miserably. Afterwards, she sat on the edge of the bath, shaking. She could hear Gillian and Bryan shouting at each other.
‘You’re pathetic,’ she could hear Gillian yelling. ‘Thinking a lovely young girl like that would be interested in you, you vain bastard. Go back to that slut Baldwin, she’s just as vulgar as you are. Her taste is where you should be, in the gutter.’
‘Shut the fuck up, you,’ Bryan yelled back. ‘You’re no fucking angel.’
Listening to them shouting obscenities at each other, Jennifer knew she wasn’t going to spend another minute under their roof. Adrenalin coursed through her. She packed her case swiftly, throwing her clothes in any old way. She got her passport out of the drawer, and her pesetas. Then she slipped out of her room quietly and walked towards the kitchen. At least she didn’t have to pass the lounge, where she could hear Gillian and Bryan still arguing bitterly. She let herself out the back door. It was dark out, and there was a small side gate she could use which meant she wouldn’t have to walk down the illuminated drive.
As soon as she was out of the grounds, she half ran down the hill towards town. She knew where Conchita lived, she was sure the kindly housekeeper would put her up for the night until she decided what she was going to do.
Conchita was horrified to see her standing outside her apartment with her case. In a great flurry, she ushered her into the living-room.
‘You must have a brandy,’ she insisted, pouring Jennifer a stiff drink. ‘Tell me what happened.’
As best she could, in Spanish, Jennifer told her about Bryan and his shocking behaviour. Conchita let out a string of curses, gesticulating wildly.
‘You must stay here, of course.’ She hugged Jennifer tightly. Conchita was nothing if not motherly, Jennifer thought gratefully.
The following morning, Conchita left for work, having promised that neither she nor Estella would divulge Jennifer’s whereabouts. Jennifer lay in bed. It was strange not to have to get up and feed the children and plan their day. She stretched luxuriously.
No way was she going back to that villa. She’d had enough of Bryan Curtis and his sleazy behaviour. Let him look after his children for the rest of the month. Since he’d arrived they’d been as bold as ever in their pathetic search for attention. She couldn’t face another minute with that family.
‘They’re going crazy,’ Conchita reported gleefully that evening. She was enjoying the intrigue immensely. ‘They asked me if I knew where you were. I said no. They rang Charlotte and of course she didn’t know. The kids were
running wild. He . . .’ Conchita said it with disdain, ‘was shouting at her to do something with them. She tells him to fuck off, it is his own fault you left. I tell you, Jennifer, they are not happy people.’
Jennifer sighed. She didn’t feel too good about leaving Gillian in the lurch, but she couldn’t go back if Bryan was there. ‘I’d better ring Charlotte, she might be worried,’ she said to Conchita.
‘Congratulations. I’d have slapped the dirty bugger in the chops if I’d had the chance,’ Charlotte said vehemently on hearing the news. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Jennifer said. ‘Conchita said I can stay as long as I like but I don’t like putting her out. Maybe I should get a flight home.’
‘Don’t do anything hasty,’ Charlotte instructed. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
Jennifer put the phone down and went out and sat on Conchita’s small balcony. The sun was setting, tinting the sky with great swathes of pink and purple and gold. It was breathtaking. The waters of the bay were glassy, mirroring the colours of the sky. Crickets chirruped. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine. Jennifer knew she didn’t want to go home.
The following afternoon, Charlotte phoned.
‘Meet me in Manolo’s Bar in half an hour,’ she instructed. Jennifer did as she was told. She found Charlotte sitting at a table under the awning. At her feet lay her suitcase. ‘Here.’ She held out an envelope to Jennifer.
Mystified, Jennifer took it and opened it. It contained an airline ticket to Malaga Airport.
‘Costa del Sol, here we come,’ Charlotte grinned.
‘What?’ Jennifer couldn’t believe her ears, or her eyes.
‘We’re going. The flight is at nine tonight. I’ve spoken to a friend of mine there, we can stay in her apartment until we get a place of our own. Are you coming or not?’
‘What about Stella and the kids?’
‘What about them?’ Charlotte snorted. ‘I’ve had enough of being treated like dirt. I’m going, Jennifer, even if you’re not.’
Jennifer felt a frisson of excitement. She wasn’t usually a very impulsive person but there was something exciting about the idea of heading off to a new city. She had more than enough money to keep her going. She might as well have adventures like this now, before she ended up like Brenda, desk-bound and in a rut in the County Council.
‘I’m coming too,’ she announced. ‘How much do I owe you for the ticket?’
‘We can fix that up later. Do you think I could come and spend what’s left of the afternoon in Conchita’s? In case they send out a posse.’
‘Of course, come on,’ Jennifer said hastily. ‘Conchita won’t mind, I’m sure.’
‘You must stay with my cousin Raphael. He owns apartments near Fuengirola. I will give you a letter to give to him. And then I won’t have to worry. I will know you are in safe hands,’ Conchita declared when she heard of the plan.
‘Thanks for everything, Conchita.’ Jennifer hugged the plump, kind-hearted woman. She’d grown fond of her.
There was much kissing and gesticulating and blessings bestowed when the taxi came to collect them and Jennifer waved until they were out of sight. She felt sad leaving Santa Juan, it was a lovely little town.
She phoned Gillian from the airport. She felt it was the least she could do.
‘Please come back. Bryan was drunk. It won’t happen again,’ Gillian pleaded. Jennifer felt torn. She knew that the other woman had genuinely depended on her. It had been fine when they were there on their own. But the thought of seeing Bryan Curtis again made her feel nauseous.
‘I’m sorry, Gillian, I can’t,’ she said contritely.
‘Please, Jennifer.’ The familiar breathless voice floated down the line. In the background, a harsh loud voice slurred.
‘Tell that stuck-up little virgin to go to hell. She’s not setting foot under my roof again.’ It was Bryan, obviously drunk.
‘Goodbye, Gillian,’ Jennifer said gently and hung up. She felt sorry for the woman. The decision had been made for her. Bryan evidently had no desire to see her again. The feeling was mutual, Jennifer scowled. She was well out of it.
‘Come on, our flight’s been called.’ Charlotte rushed over to her.
Twenty-five minutes later they were heading north towards Malaga, and the lights of Majorca were disappearing into the inky night.
The first thing she was going to do when she got settled was to call Ronan in New York to give him her new address. After that, she’d call her family. Jennifer peered out into the pitch-black sky. It was only a short flight to the mainland. Would they get a job easily? Would Conchita’s cousin have an apartment free? Edificio Rosa sounded like a nice name for the building. They had barely levelled out after fifteen minutes of flight when Jennifer felt the plane begin its descent towards Malaga Airport. Excitement and apprehension created little knots in her stomach as the plane lost height steadily.
Charlotte winked at her. ‘Free at last,’ she laughed. ‘Things can only get better.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jennifer agreed. If she didn’t like the Costa del Sol, she didn’t have to stay there. She could always go home. But if she liked it, she might stay a month, or six months. She was as free as a bird, she thought happily, she might as well make the most of it. Beneath her she could see the long curve of Spain’s southern coast, its lights twinkling in the darkness. Excitement overtook her. She was dying to see what was in store for them.
Chapter Fifty
Jennifer was almost sick with excitement as she saw the bus from Madrid, dusty and grimy, pull into the terminus. It was nearly a year since she’d seen Ronan and she couldn’t wait to fling herself into his arms and hug the daylights out of him. She’d been living for this moment since last November when he’d phoned her and told her he’d come and spend two weeks in Spain with her.
If anyone had told her that she would spend a year away from home working on the Costa del Sol, she’d have said they were mad. But that was exactly what she’d done, Jennifer thought happily, watching the bus manoeuvre into position. After the flight out of Majorca, as she and Charlotte called it, they had got jobs in an English-owned restaurant and bar called the Cock & Bull. Jennifer loved it. It was hectically busy, but the tips were good and she was having the time of her life. She enjoyed dealing with the customers, mostly English and Irish tourists. Her social life was frantic. She’d really come out of her shell and was enjoying the feeling of being completely independent for the first time in her life.
Ronan had written to her a month after she’d arrived on the mainland, to tell her that he was dropping out of Bolton Street Tech and was staying in America to study computers. Jennifer decided there and then that she was going to stay in Spain for a year. She’d got her exam results, three honours and passes in the rest of her subjects. Nothing spectacular like Paula’s five honours. She didn’t want to go home and join the civil service or the Corporation. Jennifer just didn’t want to go home if Ronan wasn’t going to be there.
Naturally, her parents were not pleased by her decision. Stern phone calls were made by Jim and Kit, who told her to come home and get a proper job. Or go and study for another year, like Paula was going to. She wasn’t to be acting like some sort of hippie, Jim declared. It was much easier for Jennifer to be firm from a distance. She told her mother that she was now fluent in Spanish, and that a French waiter was teaching her French. She’d be as fluent as Paula would ever be after her language courses.
‘I’ll just stay a year,’ she promised. ‘And then we’ll see.’
‘We’ll see nothing,’ growled her father. ‘You just get yourself home before Christmas, Miss, and settle down. I’ve a good mind to go down to that head nun of yours and eat the face off her for putting ideas in your head.’
Her father’s disapproval only increased her resolve to stay. She couldn’t be bothered going home to a load of hassle about getting a job. She was making good money in Spain, her languages were improving a h
undred-fold. She had no-one telling her what to do. Go home! Not on your life! Jennifer told Ronan in one of her letters.
You stick to your guns and I’ll stick to mine, he’d written encouragingly. They wrote to each other twice a week and phoned each other once a month. When he’d suggested coming for a holiday the following summer, Jennifer was delighted. No way now was she going home. Not even for Christmas. If she went home for Christmas, she knew her father would not be in favour of her going back to Spain. If she insisted on going there’d be a huge row. Jennifer didn’t want that. So, when December came, she phoned home to say that the restaurant and bar would be open Christmas Day, for all their British customers who wintered on the Costa. She couldn’t get time off.
Her father wouldn’t speak to her on the phone for a month after that. Kit was more understanding. Brenda told her she was being selfish. Paula called her a lucky sucker and Beth told her on no account was she to come home, the weather was terrible and everyone had colds and flu.
The winter months had been pleasant enough on the south coast of Spain. The intense heat of the summer gave way to balmy warmth although at times it lashed rain. There were some ferocious storms with fork and sheet lightning, the likes of which Jennifer had never seen before. Mostly though, the weather was fine and, because they didn’t have to work the long hours they’d had to during high season, Charlotte and Jennifer were able to spend some time travelling the 300 mile coast that stretched from Almeria down to Gibraltar. They sampled the sophisticated elegance of Marbella and Puerto Banus, gazing with unadulterated envy at the huge yachts in the marinas. They window-shopped in the expensive boutiques which sold only the most exclusive labels. Jennifer enjoyed sightseeing in the jetsetter’s paradise but she really loved the pretty, unspoilt Andalusian villages with their whitewashed haciendas and villas set amidst beautiful orange groves.
She wrote and described every excursion to Ronan. Soon she’d be able to bring him to those places herself, Jennifer thought happily as the bus finally drew to a halt. Discreetly she sprayed some Apple Blossom on her neck and wrists. She felt a little shy now that it was time to see Ronan. It had been a scorcher of a day, but as the sun started to dip in the sky a light breeze had blown up. Jennifer was relieved. The last thing she wanted was for Ronan to see her all hot and bothered and sweaty.
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