She heard the letter-flap clatter back into place, and, tucking the cloth under her arm, she twitched back the corner of the curtain to find Mary descending the steps. If there is a next time, she thought, Mark is doing the changeover. He got them into this mess. It was his idea to run this London letting business, so he could get involved at the sharp end.
Eleven
May 3rd
Ellis bank balance: (£7,023.17) overdrawn.
90-Day Rule Tally: Emily: 11 Mark: 0
The crickets woke Mark at six. He prised the dogs out of their baskets, slid open the terrace door, nudged their backsides down to the lower terrace, and stood listening to the soft hum of the pool pump and the gentle hiss of the trickle irrigation system. Mark fastened his dressing gown around his waist against the chill and jogged out onto the lawn, thinking that Emily and the highly irritating Miguel were right: Villa Anna should be turned upside down. The utility room should be in the basement with the kitchen next door, both on the same level as the pool. Looking backwards, visualising a kitchen extension opening onto the terrace and a refurbished pool, his eyes were drawn to a corner of the garden, close to Tommy’s fence. Smoke!
He sniffed, breathing in the sharp tang of pine trees, but no acrid burning smell. He sprinted over to the fire, the damp springy grass cold underfoot. There were no flames. The smoke was rising from a mound of garden debris, only now he was closer, it looked more like steam. From what? Was this a compost heap? Could it catch fire? And who the hell put it there? It wouldn’t have been Emily. She mowed the lawn with a mulch mower leaving the grass clippings to fertilize the lawn.Was Tommy dumping his rubbish on their side of the fence? He glowered at the still shuttered windows of his neighbour’s house.
Mark ran off his temper, pounding the cart tracks of the golf course, watching the maintenance team shaving fairways on monster-sized mowers and smoothing sand traps with giant rakes. Was Tommy responsible for the fire hazard? He pulled out his water bottle and took a few glugs, then sprinted back home.
A white open-backed truck was parked outside Tommy’s house. He could hear a lawnmower strumming, and two Portuguese voices shouting at each other above the noise. Mark walked over to the oleander hedge, separating his drive from Tommy’s garden, and peeped through. He couldn’t see the mower, but he could see someone, in the corner of the garden, heaving plastic tubs of lawn clippings over the fence and into Mark’s garden. He felt his chest tighten as he stalked to Tommy’s gate, wrenching it open.
‘Oi!’ he yelled. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Stop that right now. You can’t hurl your rubbish into my garden!’
The strumming sound stopped.
The man by the fence turned to face Mark, a puzzled expression on his weather-beaten face. ‘Que?’
‘Where’s Tommy?’ shouted Mark.
‘Tommy’s out,’ said a female voice, ‘but what’s the problem?’ Toni sauntered towards him, a tube of sun lotion in one hand, the fingers of the other massaging a white streak of cream into her forehead.
‘Our garden isn’t the local tip.’
Her face creased into a smile, and Toni gave a short laugh. She waved the tube of lotion at her fence. ‘Oh, that’s the compost heap, not rubbish.’
‘We may share a borehole, but I haven’t signed up to a shared compost heap. It’s a fire hazard.’
‘It’s not a fire hazard,’ she clucked, ‘and it’s always been there. No one’s ever had a problem before.’
‘Ihave a problem with it, andIlive here now, so it’s got to move,’ Mark snapped.
‘Could we talk about this?’
‘No. It’s not up for discussion, and I’ve a board meeting to prepare for.’ He turned around and walked back inside.
While his fellow directors went out for lunch, Mark stood with the front door wedged between his legs. He squinted at the third layer of the sticky lock. It was like cracking a safe. His screwdriver had removed the first layer; using Emily’sWusthofparing knife – the tip now broken – he undid the second; and now here was a third set of screws. These ones were miniscule, the size used to keep his mother’s glasses intact. How was he going to undo them? Mark rubbed a finger over the tiny screws, and they wavered under his touch.
His phone rang.
‘Mum. Still raining in Essex?’
There was a cackle of laughter. ‘I don’t mind the rain, boyo, good for the garden. How are you? I’ve got Emily coming to stay tonight. It’ll be lovely to see her, but when am I going to see you?’
He sank onto the front step, closing his unprotected eyes against the midday sun. ‘Soon, I’m coming back soon. I’ll message you the dates. Thanks for putting Emily up. The London house is crawling with builders, so she can’t stay there. Anyway, she wants to see you.’
‘She’s always welcome. You all are whenever you can spare the time. So, what are you doing out there today?’
Mark’s eyes fell on the discarded knife. What would his mother say if she knew he was trying to fix a door lock? ‘Oh, just taking a break from a board meeting. How about you?’
His mother jabbered on. Mark closed his eyes and allowed her voice to massage his mood as she talked of her tomatoseedlings, harvesting her first salad crops, and potting on her early brassicas. ‘And have you sorted out this work-life balance thingamabob?’ she asked.
‘Getting there, Mum. Hey, listen, must get on, talk soon, and tell Emily I’ll pick her up in the morning.’
