Emily cut him off with a look, then smiled at her guests. ‘Enjoy your breakfast and let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable.’
Once inside, she closed the sliding door, hissing at Mark, ‘You can finish washing up. It’s Sunday, so you can’t be busy.’
Mark stood with his arms crossed. Was he about to defend his actions? It was hard work running a B&B but dragging the unnecessary deadweight of his rudeness was sapping her energy.
‘There was nothing wrong with the mug.’
Unbelievable, thought Emily. Couldn’t he see what he was doing? ‘I don’t care. He’s the guest. If he wants a different mug because he doesn’t like the colour ... give him one. Where have you hidden your client management skills?’
There was a roaring sound, followed by the hum of a leaf blower.
‘Tommy’s early today,’ Emily said. ‘They must be going out for lunch.’
‘I’ll see to this,’ snapped Mark.
She picked up the rubber gloves and shoved them into his hands. ‘Enough!’ she shouted.
On Monday, returning from ferrying Mark to the airport, Emily was waiting for her gates to open. She heard the scrunch of tyres on the driveway and saw, in her mirror, a car pull upbehind her. A couple sat in the front seats. Tourists enquiring about the B&B?
The gate slid open with a squeak. Emily shot through the gap and watched the second car follow. The couple got out. They were dressed in black trousers and white short-sleeved shirts. Emily unfastened her seatbelt. They didn’t look like tourists.
‘Madame, we are here from the council.’
‘What’s this about?’ she asked brightly.
‘Madame, we are here on a serious matter.’
With two couples staying, and Mark away, Emily was frantic. She was stacking dirty breakfast plates in the dishwasher when the gate buzzer sounded. Peeking out, she saw four ladies in tennis kit limbering up, bouncing from foot to foot. She let them in and returned to her chore, her stomach sinking as the girly voices drifted past her. She didn’t have much time for tennis anymore. She rinsed off a plate, focusing on the €20 she was earning from those ladies.
Emily poured herself a glass of water, collected her pink notebook, and propped herself against the kitchen counter, the dishwasher gurgling beside her. She sipped her water. In the distance, she could hear the popping sound of a tennis match. It stopped. Emily heard an angry female voice, then a strident man’s voice. She shot out of the kitchen. Was Mark home already? She’d skin him alive if he was risking her tennis court revenue.
She sprinted to the tennis court. It was crowded. Three ladies were toying with the strings of their rackets while the fourth was jabbing hers at Emily’s B&B guests, who were standing inside the court similarly dressed for tennis.
‘Play later!’ yelled the angry lady.
‘We can’t. We’re going out for lunch.’
‘Well, we’re halfway through a set, and we’ve paid for two hours.’ The woman was standing her ground.
Emily smiled inwardly. €40, not €20.
‘We’re staying here. We should take precedence.’ The man turned and faced Emily. ‘Ah good timing, our hostess ... Can you please get rid of these people? We want to play.’
Emily chewed her lip. Why was she refereeing the use of her own tennis court?Temporarywas becoming a very long and difficult adventure.
With her guests placated by the promise of sole use of the court in the evening, Emily went for a walk. Did she want to carry on with this adventure? She didn’t need to protect Mark’s ego anymore. Mary knew. Had her friend kept Mark’s job loss secret?
Emily dropped in at Martin’s to block out her court for the evening, then walked around the edge of the golf course, sticking to the dappled shade of the overhanging pine trees. Was it time to call time on Mark’s plan? She sat on a fallen tree, toying with her phone, gazing down the rolling fairway towards a lake where ducks and geese were cavorting in the water. In the distance, she could see a dog running alongside a golf buggy, a retractable lead attached to the steering wheel. It drew closer. The driver’s hands were balanced on the wheel, one arm in a sling.
Adapt and survive – Emily had tried. Well try harder, she told herself. Think how hard life must have been for Gwen when Mark’s father ran out on her. Emily must be firmer with Mark, explain why both his actions, and his attempts to shield her from problems, were so destructive.
When she got back to the villa, Mark was unpacking. She sat on the bed. ‘A word please, Mark,’ she said, a hint of warning in her voice.
‘Nice to see you too!’ He laughed, bending to kiss her. She twisted her head aside. ‘What’s up?’
‘While you were away, I had a visit from the council.’
His face drained of colour, and he dropped his washbag.
