It took some time before the room became noticeably cooler, but then I felt myself perk up a little. I picked up my phone and fired off messages to Saoirse and Cleo, as well as to my mum. In all of them I apologised for moaning about the heat, hoped they were keeping well and reminded them that I’d be back home soon.
I could hardly believe that I was nearing the end of my stay. The time had flown by, helped by my sudden interest in home renovation and gardening. Helped too by my friendship with Rosa Johnson and my relationship with her former boyfriend, Pep. I exhaled slowly. I hadn’t heard from Pep since Sunday lunch but he had to come to do the pool soon. I smiled to myself as I remembered him playing footsie with me under the table. I loved his openness and his sunny nature. I loved how he made love to me. I loved how he made me feel.
And yet I was going to go home and leave him behind. As I’d told Max Hollander, no matter how much fun I had with him, Pep was just a paragraph in the story of my life. I know not everyone would believe me. Women are supposed to fall in love with the men they sleep with. I usually do.
My phone buzzed and I picked it up.
The text was from Max himself.
Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, he wrote. This is just a quick message to say thanks again for meeting me and thanks again for your hospitality too. I realise it was difficult for you and I’m sorry if I seemed a bit high-handed about it all. I guess I was struggling with everything a bit. I loved my brother, I wanted him to be perfect and he wasn’t. I’m sorry he hurt you. I hope everything goes really well for you in the future. Thanks again. M.
PS, he added. Love to Banquo.
I read the message again.
Max had already thanked me and apologised to me before he’d left Spain. He hadn’t needed to do it again. But he seemed to be a man who wanted to make everything all right. Our parting had been stilted and awkward after the easy familiarity we’d seemed to share earlier. It could be that he wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to cause any hassle in the lives of the McIntyre/Hollander families, despite everything I’d said. Or perhaps, I thought, as I read the last few words again, perhaps he was just being nice.
Didn’t realise you were a cat person, I typed, even as I remembered that he’d scratched Banquo behind the ears, and that the cat, clearly happy to share his affections, had let him. I haven’t seen him in the last couple of days. I’m beginning to think he’s gone back to his original owner. Though someone (or something) has been eating his food.
I hope he’s OK. Max’s reply came quickly. I like to think someone is looking after you in the haunted house. Even if it’s just a guard cat.
Don’t say ‘just’ a guard cat, I sent back. He likes to think of himself as the one in charge. I attached a photo of him I’d taken the previous week, stretched out beneath the table with his paws covering his eyes, totally relaxed.
Max sent back a string of laughing-face emojis.
I’m not great with emojis. I don’t know what most of them mean. So I just sent a smiley-face one back.
I put the phone back on the table and went outside again. The air was still furnace hot. I returned to the air conditioning and picked up my phone. There were no further messages. Max clearly considered our conversation to be over. I picked up my iPad and opened my book. But I fell asleep before I’d got to the end of the chapter.
Not surprisingly, I got no sympathy from Saoirse or Cleo about the heatwave – they both messaged me to say it was cloudy and cold in Dublin and that I was lucky to be away. It suddenly struck me that most of us seem to be conditioned to focus on our irritations and misfortunes, rather than the good things that happen. Perhaps, at heart, we want to moan because we prefer to think that life is better for other people.
I’d thought that way for a long time. Not just when I’d found out about the tragedy that had befallen Brad and Alessandra, and not just when I realised how much he’d lied to me, but since childhood – when I believed that being the drunken mistake marked me out from my brother and sister as less wanted than either of them. And when I thought that not being creative made me less worthy of my mother’s love. But I’d been wrong. Max Hollander had shown me that although I mightn’t be an actress or a musician or a poet, I was creative all the same. And Mum, when she’d phoned, had been genuinely concerned about me. I’d heard it in her voice and realised that her trying to push me towards some kind of spirituality wasn’t simply her attempt to gloss over a problem, but her very real way of trying to help. Just because it wasn’t my way didn’t mean it didn’t matter. And just because I hadn’t actually balanced my chakras or found my third eye, or whatever it was, it didn’t mean that taking time out to review my life hadn’t actually been a useful thing to do.
Bottom line, I was going to be a more thankful person in the future.
When Pep arrived to do the pool, he immediately started to grumble about the weather and I agreed that it was hot and uncomfortable but I didn’t moan. But when he put his arms around me and began to kiss me, I wriggled away.
‘Is too hot for you?’ he asked.
It actually was too hot for sex, but that wasn’t the reason. I’d known that this moment would come and I hadn’t planned it for now, but I realised that the time was right.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘You’ve been the best thing that has happened to me since I came here, but I can’t do this any more.’
‘What?’ He stared at me.
‘I’ve loved spending time with you. I’ve loved making love to you. But we’re not a couple, Pep. We never will be.’
‘You are breaking up with me?’ His expression was one of astonishment.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Is because of your Irish lover?’
‘I don’t have an Irish lover.’
‘The man in the very pink shirt? He is not your lover?’
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Don’t be silly, Pep. He’s a friend.’
‘I thought you said not a friend,’ said Pep. ‘I thought you said acquaintance.’
I sighed.
‘Friend, acquaintance, it’s all the same.’
‘I think you are trying to confuse me,’ he complained. ‘You said it was different before. And I do not think he looks at you like a friend.’
‘How he looks at me isn’t important.’
‘No?’ Pep snorted. ‘He wants you in his bed. That much is very clear.’
‘Pep—’
‘But why would he not?’ asked Pep. ‘You are good in bed. One of the best I have ever had.’
I was unaccountably flattered by his remarks and I couldn’t help smiling.
‘You laugh at me,’ he said, his tone injured.
‘Not at all,’ I assured him. ‘I was just pleased you liked being in bed with me.’
‘Of course I do,’ he said. ‘And I would like to be in bed with you again. There is no need to break up, Juno. You are staying here for some more weeks, no? We should be together all that time.’
‘We were great together,’ I said. ‘I loved every minute of it. But things have changed.’
‘What things?’
‘I don’t really know,’ I admitted. ‘It just feels different, that’s all.’
‘So if not your Irish man, who?’ asked Pep.
‘Nobody,’ I said. ‘I just want time to myself.’
‘But that is a waste!’ he cried. ‘You are far too . . . far too sexy to be on your own!’
This time I laughed. He sounded truly upset on my behalf.
‘We were never going to be forever—’ I began.
‘I know that,’ he interrupted me. ‘All I say is that while you are here we should do things that make us both happy.’
‘You won’t be broken-hearted when I go back to Ireland?’
‘I will miss you,’ said Pep. ‘For some time my heart will be broken. Maybe even a long time because I have love for you, Juno Ryan. But then I return to college, and there, perhaps . . .’
‘And there you’ll
find lots of other girls,’ I finished for him.
‘None like you.’
‘But maybe someone long-term for you.’
‘I told you before, I am too young for relationship,’ he said. ‘I do not understand why everyone thinks it must be forever. Why they cannot enjoy the moment. Always we want something more. But it is not necessary to think of the future to enjoy the present.’
His English had definitely improved if he could hold a philosophical conversation with me now.
I told him that, and he grinned. ‘So, we will go now to bed?’
‘It’s changed for me,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why. I’m sorry.’
‘One more time?’
I still fancied him. How could I not? He was a Greek god, after all. And even if my attitude towards sleeping with him had shifted, I was allowed to change my mind, wasn’t I? But I wouldn’t.
‘Over is over,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, Pep.’
‘You are strong woman, Juno,’ he said.
I couldn’t help smiling. Max had called me strong too. Maybe, despite everything, I really was.
Pep picked up the hose.
‘I will go now,’ he said.
‘See you soon.’
‘Hasta luego.’
He still gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving.
Chapter 29
It was a relief when the heatwave finally passed and the temperature dropped to more comfortable levels. I hoped it would mean that Banquo would return to the house. I was missing him and, quite honestly, worried about him. I still left the kitchen window open, but although I checked the recycling box every morning he was never there. The house seemed very empty without his presence, and occasionally my earlier sensation of being watched returned. I knew it was because of being totally on my own – even though Banquo’s appearances had been solely on his terms, he had been companionable.
I didn’t like to think that something might have happened to him, but I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that he’d run out beneath one of the cars that raced up and down the narrow road that led to Beniflor. Or that he’d been caught himself by one of the invisible nocturnal animals that might be eating his food. I didn’t know if there were foxes in the neighbourhood, but I supposed there could be.
Concern about Banquo remained at the back of my mind as I took advantage of the relatively cooler temperatures and definitely cooler breeze to sweep up the dried bougainvillea and hibiscus blossoms on the terrace, and clear the purple carpet of petals from the sundial beneath the jacaranda tree. I was so engrossed that it took a moment before I realised the landline was ringing. Part of the reason why it didn’t penetrate my consciousness, at first, was the fact that it had never rung before. It was an old-fashioned bell sound, like the phone in my parents’ house.
I dropped the bag containing the dried flowers and sprinted back to the house, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t hang up before I got to answer it.
‘Villa Naranja,’ I gasped as I lifted the receiver.
‘Juno? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Who’s speaking?’ I recognised the voice but couldn’t place it.
‘It is me, Ana Perez.’
‘Oh, Ana. Of course. How are you?’
‘I am well, thank you,’ she said. ‘I hope you did not find it too uncomfortable during the heatwave?’
‘It was pretty steamy,’ I admitted. ‘But it’s grand now.’
‘Grand?’
‘Good,’ I amended. ‘Fine.’
‘I am happy to hear it,’ she said. ‘I am ringing because I am coming to the house later this evening. I have someone who is thinking of buying it. Is it OK with you?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘That’s great news, Ana.’ But my heart sank a little at the idea of the Villa Naranja ending up in a stranger’s hands. I was a stranger myself, I knew. But I felt as though a part of me would always be here.
‘It is good news,’ she agreed. ‘This is the first person in a long time who wishes to see it.’
‘Do you want me to go out?’ I asked.
She considered this for a moment, but then said it might be better if I stayed. It would make the house more of a home, she said, to have me there. I wasn’t sure about that – in Dublin I doubt very much that prospective buyers want to meet the sellers, but maybe it was different here.
‘I will be there at about seven o’clock,’ said Ana.
‘I’ll make sure everything is tidy,’ I promised. ‘I’m doing the garden, anyhow.’
‘You do not need to do anything,’ protested Ana. ‘I am sure it is already because of you that this man wishes to see the house. He liked the photos you sent me that I put on the website.’
‘I’ll tidy up anyway,’ I said. ‘And I’ll see you later.’
‘Hasta luego,’ she said, and hung up.
There really wasn’t much tidying to do, but I swept out the rooms, mopped the floors and plumped up the cushions. I made sure that all of my stuff was put away, and then I picked some of the oranges from the trees and put them in bowls in the dining room and living room. It all looked very A Place in the Sun when I’d finished. Except for the print on the wall, which was hanging at an angle again. I’d replaced the hook when I’d painted the wall, but when I tried to straighten the picture this time, the string snapped. Maybe the heat had dried it out, I thought, as I caught the picture before it fell on to the floor.
I remembered I’d seen a large ball of twine or cord in the shed where the Perez family stored their tools and outdoor furniture. Leaving the picture on the sofa, I went to investigate.
It took a minute or so for my eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior of the shed after the bright sunshine of the day. As I stood there I was conscious, once again, of that feeling of being watched. But this time it seemed more real, more visceral. Because I was being watched. By a familiar pair of amber-flecked eyes.
‘Banquo,’ I said. ‘What on earth are you doing in here – oh!’
The exclamation was because I’d made another realisation. And it was the realisation that I’d totally misnamed Banquo. If I’d wanted a Shakespearean character, then Ophelia would have been a better name for the cat. Because Banquo was nursing half a dozen kittens and was clearly a mum, not a dad.
‘How the hell didn’t I cop on?’ I demanded as he – she – watched me studiously. ‘I’m a health professional, for heaven’s sake. I should have realised you were pregnant, not fat! I should’ve noticed your feminine attributes.’ But, I consoled myself, even without her pregnancy Banquo was a very chunky cat. As a human, she would have been considered bootylicious. And she’d never rolled over on her back or let me rub her stomach. So I couldn’t entirely blame myself. All the same, I felt very, very stupid.
No wonder she’d been eating all around her, I thought, as she looked at me intently. She’d been eating for seven. And she’d disappeared not because of the heatwave, but to have her babies in peace. Clearly, they were only a few days old. Their eyes were still firmly closed and their ears flat to their heads.
‘I won’t go near your family,’ I told her. ‘Don’t worry.’
I could see the big ball of twine that I wanted, and I took two slow steps to get it. Banquo’s stare followed me the whole time.
‘I don’t know much about kittens,’ I said softly. ‘But I’m pretty sure I should just leave you to it until they’re a bit bigger. I’ll bring you food, though, so you don’t have to leave them.’
I exited the shed, left the twine in the kitchen and returned to the new mother with the food bowl, which I’d filled. She didn’t move as I put it within easy reach.
‘I’ll check on you later,’ I said as I closed the door gently behind me.
Ana arrived at exactly seven o’clock with the potential house purchasers. By then I’d re-hung the picture and refilled Ophelia’s bowl twice. I’d had to rename her, it would’ve been weird not to. It was only for my benefit, of course. Like all cats, she didn’t bot
her to answer to any name.
‘This is Señor and Señora Carreño,’ Ana said as I walked out to greet them
‘Mucho gusto.’ Pep had taught me how to say that. The couple smiled at me and fired off a volley of words in return. I gave Ana a helpless look.
‘They are delighted to meet you,’ she paraphrased.
The Carreños were a couple in their late fifties, I guessed. He was tall and somewhat patrician, while she was shorter and more homely. But they were looking around the garden with delight and seemed eager to get on with the tour of the house. I stayed sitting on the patio while Ana escorted them, and was still there when she reappeared about twenty minutes later.
‘They are looking around by themselves,’ she said. ‘But they seem very interested.’
‘That’s great news.’ I smiled, and then asked if she knew much about them.
‘They’re from Valencia,’ she replied. ‘He’s taking early retirement from his job on a local council, and she’s doing the same. They won some money on the lottery,’ she added, ‘and they’ve always wanted to live in the country.’
‘But they’re not from Beniflor,’ I said.
‘There’s no chance of anyone from Beniflor buying the Villa Naranja,’ Ana told me. ‘It’s sad, but that’s life.’
The Carreños reappeared about ten minutes later and set off around the garden again.
‘Do they know about looking after oranges?’ I asked.
‘I doubt it,’ said Ana. ‘But Paco Ramos is the farmer who harvests them now and I’m sure he can come to an arrangement with them.’
I nodded and then catapulted out of my chair as they made their way towards the shed.
‘You can’t go in there!’ I caught Señor Carreño by the arm. ‘There’s a new mother with her babies.’
The Hideaway Page 27