by Jenny Oliver
Ava could just see a man through the window, tired and stressed, sucking a final drag on the stub of a cigarette, shake his head. ‘I got nothing spare.’
‘Oh come on, Marcus, you must have something?’
‘Nothing, Gabriela. Sold out.’
‘You want me to tell your mother you gave me no fish?’
He flicked his cigarette away and sighed. ‘I got an octopus, that’s it. But it’s for the hotel up the road.’
‘Is it big?’ Gabriela asked.
He nodded.
‘Cut me off a few tentacles, tell them it was in a fight.’
Marcus couldn’t hide a smile. Ava watched him get down from the driver’s seat, his movements slow and tired from overwork, and go round the back of his van, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe he was doing this. Then with a knife from his pocket he lopped off two giant tentacles and brought them over to the open window.
‘You tell my mother I gave you the octopus,’ he said, his tone looking for confirmation.
Gabriela snatched the tentacles. ‘I’ll tell her you gave me two tentacles. Under duress,’ she said, and shut the window.
Moving the camera to one side, Max made a face at Ava. ‘Urgh, octopus. Yuck.’
‘Max,’ Rory cut him off. ‘Don’t be rude.’
Ava caught Max’s eye and winked, mouthing ‘Yuck’ back at him.
‘Ava!’ Rory snapped at her.
‘Sorry, Rory,’ Ava said, going back to her pile of potatoes, faux-chastened, making Max laugh and Rory sigh.
Gabriela deposited the tentacles on a chopping board next to Flora. ‘You,’ she said to Flora, ‘I don’t know what you’ve been doing for the last year or so, but now you can do some bloody work. Get that pan down, get a paella going. Rosa will help you.’
Flora raised her brows. ‘I know how to make a paella, Gabriela.’
‘You know how to make nothing,’ said Gabriela, crossing her hands with finality. ‘Zilch. All his fancy stuff he did, all the piling on top of each other, all the bloody truffles and burning hay, that’s not cooking. You think you know more than Rosa? A woman who’s been making paella for more than seventy years? Since she was standing on a stool in her mother’s kitchen. You think you know more than her? You think you know more than me? Who do you think worked here before you lot came along? It was us. We worked here. We cooked here. None of you ask for our advice because you all know better. You all know everything. But this place has been here longer than any of you. You go. It survives.’
Flora looked away.
Gabriela nodded, battle won. ‘As I said,’ she continued, all powerful, ‘you know nothing. None of you.’
CHAPTER 19
They cooked and they cooked some more, the kitchen reaching the same inferno temperatures as the sizzling pavement outside, Gabriela shouting orders, taking a seat when she got too tired, standing only to inspect the paella, a small teaspoon slurped through cigarette-lined lips.
Garlic hissed, chicken fried, crabs fizzed and stock popped in bubbles on the stove, while under the grill tortilla gently browned and green peppers spat in the pan.
Max had propped the camera up on a giant tin of olives and was playing pinball with Emilio, who’d arrived with his sister and her gang of friends, the two boys desperately trying to impress the gangly butterscotch-tanned girls chewing their lemonade straws and feigning disinterest, watching music videos on their phones.
Ava had spent what felt like hours peeling potatoes and vegetables and was taking a break for a glass of water, leaning against the kitchen door, watching the kids circling each other, while Gabriela lined up her next task.
She straightened up when she saw Tom saunter in, just as Gabriela hollered, ‘Ava, come here! There’s washing up to do. Ava!’
Tom paused when he heard the shouting and came to stand next to her, peering through the door, intrigued to see what was going on.
Ava whispered, ‘You have to save me,’ through ventriloquist teeth.
‘I have to what?’ He was confused.
‘Get me out of here,’ she muttered, before shouting, ‘Coming!’ to Gabriela.
Tom cottoned on as Gabriela bashed the kitchen surface with her wooden spoon. ‘Quickly, quickly, quickly!’ she shouted at Ava.
‘But Ava, I thought we had a lesson?’ Tom said, looking at his watch, feigning puzzlement as he frowned at her to question why she’d double-booked.
‘Oh my God, of course we do!’ Ava sighed with mock forgetfulness.
Gabriela’s face screwed up. ‘What lesson?’
‘Paddleboarding.’ Tom grinned.
Ava’s face fell.
Little Max looked over from the pinball machine. ‘Oh man, jealous.’
Ava was tempted to tell him to go instead of her – the last thing she wanted to do was make a complete idiot of herself on a giant surfboard in front of Thomas King – but then she glanced at the mountain of filthy washing up.
‘Coming?’ Tom asked, beckoning her with a nod of his head as he started to stroll out of the café.
Ava winced but then caught Gabriela watching and turned it into a weird grimacing smile. Gabriela’s eyes narrowed as she realised this was lies, but seeing it wasn’t wholly to Ava’s advantage her face softened and she trotted back to her stool with a gleeful ‘You have fun!’
Outside the weather was glorious. No sign of the howling gale that Max had predicted.
‘You get your stuff, I’ll meet you over there.’ Tom pointed to the shallows near the pontoon.
Ava shaded her eyes from the sun and peered over to the racks of paddleboards. ‘We don’t have to actually do this. I just needed to get out of there – so thanks for the excuse.’
‘Oh, we’re doing it.’ Tom laughed.
‘But I don’t really want to do it.’
‘You’ll love it.’
‘I don’t think I will. I’m not really a watersports person.’
Tom thought for a moment. Behind him the beach was in full swing. Ava decided she would sneak to a sun lounger out of sight and read her book for an hour or two.
‘OK,’ he said in the end.
She felt the inner glow of victory.
‘I’ll just go back in and get my coffee.’ He started to walk past her.
‘No, you can’t do that. You can’t go in there. We’re meant to be paddleboarding.’
‘But we’re not paddleboarding.’ He shrugged like it was one or the other.
Ava’s victory was short-lived. She groaned like a teenager. ‘OK, OK. I’ll go and get changed.’
Tom grinned with winner’s delight.
Ten minutes later, choppy little waves had started to pick up on the water, the crests glistening like diamonds, as Ava shuffled reluctantly through the sand to where Tom was already waiting, top off, bronzed torso on show, next to two giant paddleboards lying on the sand.
She half-listened as he went through the instructions, her concentration mainly focused on all the people watching on the beach, and how she was going to get on this thing and paddle and stay upright, all while dressed only in a swimming costume, without it being completely mortifying.
The little waves lapped giggling against her feet.
‘OK, ready?’ Tom asked.
She nodded. She had no idea what she was meant to be doing. She picked up the board and immediately put it down again. ‘It’s really heavy.’
‘It’s not heavy,’ he scoffed.
She picked it up again, glanced back to the café and saw Max and all his little friends had come outside, some of the boys kicking a football, the girls still on their phones. Max was pointing towards Ava and her lesson and one of the boys looked over and wolf-whistled. The girls sniggered.
‘Concentrate,’ Tom said.
‘I am concentrating!’
He raised a brow to imply she wasn’t at all, picked up his own board and paddle and walked into the water. Ava struggled after him, making faces behind his back. He turned and caught her and she
grinned childishly down at the sea.
‘You’re so mature,’ he said, sardonic.
‘Look, OK, I’m doing something I don’t want to do in the slightest in front of a whole beach of people who have nothing else to do but watch me make a complete idiot of myself. Please, just let me do what I have to do to get through it.’
Tom stared at her for a second or two, then, holding his board steady with one hand like a pro, came back to give her a hand. ‘Let me help you.’
‘No. I’m fine,’ Ava said, just as the wind caught the edge of her board and it smacked her in the face.
Tom winced.
She heard one of the teenagers crack up. It wasn’t necessarily at her but it felt like it. It felt like the whole beach was enrapt, books and sudokus discarded.
She stood very still. Breathed in through her nose. The little waves pushed and pulled at her like excited children. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Yes. Some help would be greatly appreciated, thank you.’
Tom’s mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. ‘Right.’ He held the board steady so she could clamber on, flapping around, it felt to Ava, like a whale. She wobbled herself up to kneeling as she heard Max whoop and clap and shout, ‘Go, Aunty Ava!’
‘That’s not helping,’ Ava said, nodding back towards the shore and the whooping.
Tom handed her the paddle. ‘It’s OK, just stay kneeling like that for the moment and we’ll get ourselves round the headland out of sight.’
Ava nodded, feeling better now she was actually on the board. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Tom replied, as if through unnecessary herculean effort they’d finally reached an understanding.
Now that Ava was tentatively paddling, Max got bored, the show over, and turned his attention to the football as a couple of English kids from the beach asked if they could join in the game.
Ava felt herself start to relax.
Tom was shouting instructions.
She listened this time and found herself actually moving quicker. Realised it was more successful if she put herself in his hands rather than try and do it stubbornly on her own. She breathed out, shook her hair out of her face, wobbled, gripped the paddle.
‘Relax!’ he shouted.
She forced herself to relax and it was easier again.
They reached the headland. ‘Ready to stand?’ he asked.
She shook her head.
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘No, I want to stay kneeling.’
He brought his board close to hers. ‘Ava, I promise, you’ll be fine.’ His big blue eyes were fixed on her.
She wanted to shake her head. But she also knew it would be better to trust him. That she wanted to trust him.
He nodded, as if coaxing her into agreement. She nodded back, mute, tense.
He touched her arm. ‘You have to relax.’
Touching her arm was not helping. Her whole body popped at the contact.
‘So you place the paddle horizontal here, below your hands, and jump to your feet.’
Ava laughed. ‘That easy?’ she said, glancing at him, eyes catching, looking away quick, suddenly shy.
‘That easy.’
So she took a deep breath and she jumped. And she wobbled, and her mouth made funny noises that she had no control over, and she tensed and she wobbled and she clenched her stomach muscles and thanked the lord for all her Pilates, and then finally she was steady and she laughed. ‘I did it!’ she shouted. ‘I did it! I’m standing!’
Tom glided up beside her. ‘See, I told you you’d be fine.’
Ava nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling a sense of pride massively out of proportion with her achievement, and at the same time suddenly more aware of Thomas King – flattered by his kindness, wanting to stay under his scrutiny, craving more of his one-to-one attention as he paddled ahead, golden tanned, muscles rippling. She shook herself for being ridiculous, for succumbing to a teenage crush, which in turn made her lose her footing, then her balance, and topple straight into the sea.
She came up spluttering.
‘What happened?’ Tom was looking back, confused.
‘Nothing,’ she shouted. ‘Nothing, I just . . .’ She paused, couldn’t think of an excuse quick enough. ‘Nothing,’ she repeated, climbing back on with no trouble at all because her attention was now on something else; internally chastising herself for being such a cliché. For fancying the movie star.
‘OK, come on then.’ Tom beckoned for her to get moving.
They paddled the headland one in front of the other. Tom deliberately keeping the pace slow, pausing to check on her and shout more instructions. Ava’s entire focus on getting it right to keep her mind from straying on to other thoughts.
And without realising, suddenly she was gliding along beautifully and she didn’t have to stop herself from thinking about anything because she was completely consumed by the magic of the water, of the coastline, the fish jumping, the bright horizon and the giant glowing orb of the sun.
She felt completely calm. Her mind silent.
And her whole body was smiling. As though for those few minutes she was free.
CHAPTER 20
Ava strolled into the café, high on life. Giggling and chatting, reliving paddleboarding moments that she’d loved, Tom nodding in agreement.
‘And I’d thought it would be really boring,’ she said, chucking her towel over a chair. ‘But it isn’t, is it? It’s magical. I know it sounds stupid but it actually is—’ She stopped short when she reached the door of the kitchen. ‘Blimey Rory, is that a bandana?’ she asked, with more than a hint of surprise.
‘It is indeed, Ava, it is indeed,’ her brother said, hands moving from pan to pan, flipping peppers, sliding croquettes into the oven, burning his hand, running it under water for a second, then back to his pot of bubbling stock. Hips moving like there was a place in the Strictly finals up for grabs.
Ava stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smiling in amazement at the scene in front of her. Flora was on fire, tea towel tucked into her waistband, sauce down her dress, hair pulled high in a messy knot on top of her head, sweat on her brow and a smile on her lips.
‘You’ve got el duende,’ Ava laughed, as Tom reached over to sample a chunk of marinating octopus.
From her seat in the corner, Gabriela made a grumbling noise as if to say this was not yet el duende, but she didn’t say it out loud, kind enough to spare the enthusiastic cooks.
‘Tell you what, Ava,’ Rory said, without looking up, ‘instead of standing there commenting, you could make yourself useful and go out and see what you can find in the garden.’
‘Yes, Chef!’ she said, with a sniggering salute.
Flora handed her a cardboard box. Tom sauntered along behind.
Outside, the promised wind was starting to pick up, gusts taunting the feeble vegetables, unsettling the leaves of the fruit trees.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Ava, holding her hair back from her forehead as the weather wreaked havoc with her curls. ‘It was calm a minute ago.’
‘It’s the heat,’ Tom shouted over another big gust, a peach falling from the tree beside him. ‘Messes with the weather. Think of my poor vines.’
‘You and your bloody vines,’ Ava laughed. ‘Shouldn’t you be up there battening them down?’
Tom bent down and picked the peach off the ground. ‘Not a lot I can do, there are trees planted as windbreaks, so . . .’ He shrugged, taking a bite of the peach. ‘They’ll be OK.’
Ava walked past him with her cardboard box to the lemon tree at the back. ‘It’s quite sweet really,’ she said, ‘they’re like your children.’
‘Less demanding,’ he said drily, chucking a couple of peaches into the box as she went past.
The wind rattled the ancient wooden fence. The fat waxy leaves of the lemon tree knocked together like nervous clapping.
‘You have a daughter, don’t you?’ Ava asked, as casually as she could, but the m
oment she said it she regretted it. It felt like prying rather than conversation, simply because she’d learnt it from Google. She was annoyed with herself, felt like Gabriela and co. trawling for gossip rather than continuing the relaxed chat. So she turned, holding her hair back from her face and said, ‘Forget I asked. You don’t have to talk about it.’
Tom paused as he took another bite of the peach, chewing slowly as he watched her, brows furrowed.
Ava knew she’d overplayed it. Why couldn’t she have just left it? Pretended that it was as it was, simple conversation, they’d been getting on so well. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Taunting gusts of wind pushed at her face and body, tugging at her clothes. She felt caught on the back foot, halfway to becoming Tom’s friend but still hampered by the glamour of fame. Muddled by the moments out on the water that now seemed a million miles from reality.
‘I do have a daughter,’ Tom said. ‘Lola. Do you want to see a picture?’
The simplicity of the gesture cut through all her internal panic. She paused. ‘OK. Yes.’
Tom reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He passed over a photo booth picture of a teenage girl, black hair pulled into a ponytail, huge wide smile, eyes slicked with heavy black kohl.
‘Very pretty,’ Ava said, clutching the photo tight as it flapped in the breeze.
‘Smart too,’ he said, looking at the picture over her shoulder. ‘And very demanding,’ he added, in reference to the earlier alignment with the grapes.
The wind seemed to wrap them together in blustery spirals. Ava was suddenly super aware of how close he was. She could smell the soap and the aftershave and the heat. ‘Do you see her a lot?’ she asked, trying really hard to stay focused on the picture.
‘More now I live here. I’m not her mother’s favourite person and neither is she mine,’ he said, taking another bite of peach, seemingly immune to their proximity and the weather. ‘But she’s sixteen now and at college in Barcelona so she’s more her own person – decides who she wants to see and no court’s going to stop her.’