‘All these massive mansions being passed down from eldest son to eldest son for hundreds of years. Those places should be opened up for everyone to enjoy.’
‘But plenty of private estatesareopen to the public,’ he points out, pulling up a blade of grass.
‘Yeah, only to line some posh twat’s pockets, though. They’re not doing it out of the kindness of their heart.’
‘Those old properties cost a bomb to maintain. It’s still in the public’s best interest to preserve them for future generations.’
‘If the owners cared about the public interest, they’d donate them to charity. Sorry, but you won’t convince me on this. This sort of thing is a hangover from a class system which does more harm than good.’
‘Fair enough, but I don’t think you should cut off your nose to spite your face. I know someone who’s a head gardener at a private estate and he loves his job.’
‘Why are we talking about this as though there’s any chance of it happening? I’m going to be designing sofas for a living.’ His brow creases with sympathy as I slip my sunglasses back on. ‘Now Ireallyneed a drink,’ I say significantly.
‘Ooh, I want one of those!’ I cry like a small child, pointing at a wooden stall selling real pineapples filled with piña colada. ‘I’ll get it,’ I say as Ash digs into his pocket. ‘Do you want one too? Go on, it would look perfect with your Hawaiian shirt!’
He laughs and shakes his head. ‘I’ll get a beer.’
‘Spoilsport!’ I call after him as he breaks off towards the beer hut.
We’re in the Bairro Alto district, at the top of one of Lisbon’s famous seven hills. It’s cooler than earlier and this street market looked lively as we were passing on our way to the Chinese bar, so we thought we’d have a drink in the sunshine.
The air is filled with the sound of trickling water from a fountain and guitar music from a fado musician playing nearby as Ash and I go to check out the view.
I make a big show of knocking my giant spiky fruit cup against his small beer glass before taking a sip of my piña colada through the straw. He laughs as my eyes widen.
‘Your eyes are ridiculous,’ he says with amusement. ‘They’resobig and blue. How can anyone ever say no to you when you look at them like that?’
This drink isn’t carbonated, but it may as well be from the way my stomach has just exploded with tiny bubbles.
‘Stella used to call them my superpower,’ I confide. ‘When we were at sixth-form college, she’d dare me to stare at random guys in bars and would count aloud to see how long I could last before chickening out,’ I recall fondly.
The nights we had … The nights we’ll never have again.
My eyes weren’t my superpower. Stella was.
I take another sip of my drink, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Ash is still smiling at me, which is a good distraction.
He shakes his head, neither of us severing the connection.
‘I don’t understand how you’ve been lonely,’ he says out of the blue, and all the bubbles in my stomach go flat. ‘Sorry,’ he says quickly, seeing the look on my face. ‘It’s just that you’re so funny and warm.’
Well, that’s nice.‘Before I met you, I was kind of withdrawn,’ I admit. ‘I didn’t really feel like being friendly to strangers.’
‘What changed?’ he asks.
Apart from you being so lovely?‘I made the decision to quit travelling. Knowing I only had two more days to get through lightened me up.’
His brow furrows. ‘Are you dead set on going home?’ he asks. ‘I mean, could you still change your mind?’
I shrug. ‘I guess I still could, yeah. I only told my parents I was considering it, so nothing’s set in stone. But I’d have to seriously psyche myself up to be more sociable.’
‘I can’t imagine you being antisocial. I could talk to you for hours.’
My insides light up. I realise wehavebeen talking for hours. In a way, being with him has felt as natural as being with Stella. I’m taken aback as that sinks in.
Breaking eye contact, I tuck my prickly pineapple under my arm then wince, thinking better of it.
‘Do you want another one?’ he asks, chuckling as I place it at my feet.
