‘Let’s be accurate.’ He couldn’t bring himself to talk in the plural. ‘Youdon’t have anywhere to live right now.’
‘Is that an invitation to move in?’
He wanted to keep her away from Emily. ‘Go and stay with your parents. I’ll pay for the ticket.’
‘You’ll pay for more than that if you don’t want me to tell Emily what happened.’ She sat forward, prodding a finger towardshim. ‘We’re quite good mates. Maybe I should tell her anyway!’ Fran pushed herself off the stool, tucking the chair back under the bar. ‘I’ll be off now then. Let you come up with a more sensible offer than just paying for me to get out of your way.’
Mark picked up his discarded beer and gulped it down. His stomach felt like someone had tied it in knots. For the last year, he’d been fighting a multi-headed monster. Each time he swatted away one disaster, it was replaced by another more dangerous one. Oh for the days when he was nervous about the hot food licence! Why was he worrying about the taxman when he might have fathered a child outside his marriage? He couldn’t take his wealth with him, Villa Anna wasn’t mortgaged, what did they need all that money for? He certainly didn’t want to live like that bunch he’d met at Tina and John’s barbeque, stressing about their golf handicaps and landing slots for their PJs. And Alex thought inheritance should be taxed at 100%.
Was this adventure doomed from the start? Was he going to end up penniless, divorced, estranged from one child, and helping to raise another with a comparative stranger? Effing Paul, this was all his fault. None of this would’ve happened if that man hadn’t fired him. Mark balled a fist and pummelled the palm of his other hand with it. That effing man was going to cost Mark his whole life. He could feel the tight bearhug of rage constricting his chest. No wonder Emily always got angry whenever Paul’s name came up; when he sacked Mark, effing Paul destroyed her life too.
Thirty-four
With British schools on holiday for May half-term week, Villa Anna was full. Mark wanted to concentrate on his guests, but his thoughts were stuck in the time-warp of his Fran drama. How bad was it? A drunken one-night stand, given the circumstances, his wife might forgive him for. But fathering an illegitimate child changed everything.
It wasn’t just his relationship with Emily that was troubling him. Since his mother’s funeral, Alex and Mark often spoke, Mark offering advice on his son’s new business venture, Alex calling to update his father on sales forecasts. That would all grind to a halt faster than an underperforming Premier League manager’s contract if Fran’s claim was true.
Seeking something, anything, to divert his thoughts, Mark went outside. For a while, he gazed over at the piece of rustic land, wondering if there was a deal to be done with Tommy. That plot wasn’t wide enough to build more than a hut and maintain a 5-metre-wide gap between the new house and its boundaries. If he could only free himself from the straitjacket of Fran’s claim, he’d tackle Tommy about it.
A football landed at Mark’s feet. He aimed and kicked it back with a satisfying thwack, watching two pairs of feet churn the pool as two boys swam towards the prize, dousing him in cold water. They reached the ball simultaneously, both shoutingmineand hooting with laughter.
Mark called out, ‘Oi, your parents are trying to have an afternoon snooze.’
One child pushed the ball under the water, and sat on it, his body bobbing up and down as he fought to keep the ball under control. From underneath a parasol a sleepy female voice mumbled, ‘You suspend all rights to a holiday snooze when they reach that age.’
Was it a coincidence that Mark was being reminded of the responsibilities of parenting a young child? That was a joke. Mark was hardly involved in bringing up Alex. Would he be better at the job second time around?
‘They’re having fun,’ replied Mark, walking towards the voice. ‘Have you decided what to do about dinner tonight?’
The mother, a mousey-haired woman in a black all-in-one swimsuit, propped herself upright on one elbow. ‘Is there an Italian restaurant nearby? Nothing smart, all we want is somewhere that serves pizza for the boys.’
Mark had a fleeting memory of a past family holiday on the Amalfi coast. A two-week break in a stunning villa set in an olive grove with breath-taking views out over the cliffs. The family had been there two nights before Mark was hauled back to London, but he’d managed to get back for the last few days. He glanced across at the children in his pool, one still balanced on the football, using his hands to churn the water around him. The ball escaped from under the boy and shot out over the side of the pool, scooting across the grass. Alex must have been about the same age. Mark remembered his son raving about the pizzas his father had missed, claiming to have eaten a different topping each night.
‘My son was hooked on pizza at that age. There’s a rather decent Italian in the centre of Almancil. I can draw you a map if you like?’
Alex and Jess stood hand in hand watching the waves explode onto the beach then roar up the sand towards them. They had driven an hour north of Lisbon to the seaside town of Nazare – surfers paradise! They were only in Portugal for the weekend, Alex couldn’t afford to be away from his business any longer. Alex was mesmerized by those waves. Imagine tackling one, he thought, the crest looming taller than two double-decker buses stacked on top of each other. He clenched his toes, pictured his muscles straining to control the board as he steered through the tunnel of water, battling to ride the beast before it could claim him, spinning him in an embrace he may not survive. It was an exhilarating thought.
‘Bit scary, don’t you think?’ said Jess.
He felt her hand gripping his tighter and glanced sideways at her. ‘Watch me have a go?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’
‘Come on, it’s a bit like giving a dog a big juicy bone to sniff then putting it in the fridge for later!’
‘Alex, I love you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.’
‘I love you too, every part of you, and if you love me, you have to love all of me. I’m a surfer at heart, so you must let me take that risk.’
He watched her chewing her lip. Alex took both her hands in his. ‘I’d love to live out here,’ he said, his eyes dancing with excitement. ‘Let’s do it. It’s only an hour from Lisbon. We could live halfway; you’d easily get a job if you learnt the language. One of the big international firms would get you a work sponsored visa, and I’m sure I can find work somehow. Dad says he knows a great lawyer.’
‘It’s not difficult to learn Portuguese if you already speak Spanish, I guess, but move overseas and live together? That’s kind of bold?’ She paused. ‘Your mum would love it.’
Alex thought about it. He didn’t think it would only be hismother who’d be pleased. Since he’d ratted on his mother, he and his father spoke regularly; he was a great sounding board for business ideas. Alex squeezed Jess’s hands. ‘I don’t just mean live together; I mean get married.’
He watched his girlfriend swallow, then her face broke into a smile, and he kissed her, drawing her close. Slowly, gently, she pushed his face away, cradling it in her hands. She let go of him and stepped away.
Was she about to say no?
