We find an ‘Estato Agento’. Becky and I are cracking each other up with simply adding Os to things. Much to the annoyance of the boys.
‘Not a difficult language to pick up,’ Becky cackles. I join in.
‘Oh my God. Shut up!’ yells Mike.
It only makes us giggle like schoolgirls even more. I can tell Mike is wondering what he has let himself in for. Perhaps a nursery would have been a more appropriate venture?
We arrange three properties to view tomorrow and as our flight isn’t until 10pm on Sunday, we have three to see then too. We have dinner out and a few drinks in a Taverna.
‘Taverno,’ Becky whispers, and giggles mischievously to me. It’s a warm evening, despite the locals being wrapped up in jumpers and coats. It’s only March but feels like mid-summer to us.
‘What is that?’ Becky points to a flying insect buzzing around near her head. ‘Is it a … mosquito?’ she raises an eyebrow at Mike. I stifle a smile. He can’t tell her off for adding a ‘O’ to something that should have one anyway.
‘Too early for them, I’d say at a guess,’ Mike sulks.
‘Bore,’ Becky pokes her tongue out at him.
We head along the beach to a few bars. Everywhere we turn, free sickly drinks are thrust into our hands and British accents enquire:
‘Y’all right love? Fancy a free cocktail?’
Mike shudders: ‘This is so what I do not want for our place,’ he says vehemently.
‘No, tacky,’ I agree, watching a Scouse girl shove her cleavage in some bloke’s face. Turns out, there was a shot of tequila in there. She wouldn’t even look at him back home. We jump in a taxi and ask the driver to take us somewhere quiet. He laughs, a little too hard actually.
‘Ahh, you is all so old,’ he smiles.
We find a nice wine bar on the sea front. Peace. The soothing sounds of the waves crashing on the beach eclipses the very distant thud, thud of bass coming from the clubs further along the coast.
‘Now, somewhere like this, would be perfect,’ Nick indicates our surroundings, and we all take in a panoramic view. ‘Classy, not over-priced and most importantly, away from that lot,’ He points along the beach to a sea of flashing, florescent lighting.
‘You are looking to rent place?’ The bar tender has been eavesdropping on our conversation since we arrived.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘somewhere like this, but with a kitchen and preferably some living accommodation too.’
‘I have brother on other side of island. I call.’ He disappears behind the bar and begins chatting animatedly in Spanish. He returns five minutes later and introduces himself as George, the owner of the bar. He has arranged for us to see his brother’s place on the other side of the island tomorrow. Living quarters upstairs, large kitchen, and a bar and dining area. Quiet, with only a few hotels nearby, but rarely anyone under twenty-five – unless they’ve booked without realising it’s so far from the main drag.
‘Like here,’ George tells us. Right enough, as we look around, there are mainly people in the thirty to fifty age bracket.
The next morning we are up early for breakfast. We pile into our hire car and Mike drives us to the first viewing. It has taken us over an hour, as Becky is navigating and has been holding the map upside down for the first twenty minutes. She then complains that it’s all in Spanish. After a bit of a fracas between Becky and Mike, Nick takes over the directions. I don’t bother offering – would probably do a worse job than Becky and am prone to barf when I read anything on any kind of transport. I don’t wan
t to make Mike’s foul mood any worse.
It’s a pretty disappointing lot. The first two are complete dives. It would take a good month of refurbishing and decorating before they were even halfway ready to move in to. Something we have neither the time nor the money to do. The third is so far off the beaten track that we wouldn’t have any trade. In the back yard there are two goats tied up. The smell did not help matters. We head on to George’s brother’s place.
It’s gorgeous!
Right on the edge of a low cliff, the waves crash on to the rocks below us. The garden is large and shaded with huge parasols and overlooks the Atlantic. The décor is perfect, shades of deep blue, terracotta and sunshine yellow. It’s everything I imagined. I walk into the kitchen and run my hand along the marble work surface. This will cost a bomb, but it’s perfect. We won’t have to touch a single thing.
Mike and Nick get down to business with George‘s brother, Roberto. Becky and I take an interest, but it’s blatantly obvious we are dealing with a man’s man here.
Any questions from me, such as about the passing trade, nearby resorts and annual turnovers, are met with a steely glare. I am then coolly ignored. Yet when Nick or Mike reiterate my enquiries, Roberto (Becky wants to take it based solely on his name ending in an O. Business woman, she ain’t) beams at them as if they were so clever to think of it. At one point he pinches Nick’s cheek and says:
‘Good boy! Nothing will get past you. But your waitress, she ask too much that is none of her business.’ He shakes his head at Nick as a warning. I’m biding my time.
The summer figures for the past two years have been great, but before that it was a dive. Roberto had taken it over, redecorated and turned it around with his speciality paella and Spanish-themed nights. He now felt he was too old for a busy restaurant and wanted to work only part time in one of his quieter places. He was happy to let the premises and living area upstairs so he could continue making money on rent for his retirement fund.
There are two nearby resorts and private villas along the sea front; a good combination of business from tourism and ex-pats in the surrounding area. Between the two, the restaurant was pretty much packed out for breakfast, lunch and dinner times. It certainly was filling up quickly as we sat. Roberto was so confident that we would do well that he was willing to offer us the lease for six months, instead of one year. It would go quiet after September, but there was also a big Christmas and New Year crowd. He generally closed the place down in October and November, January and February. We would, however, have to continue to pay rent for these times – open or closed – if we decided to continue with the lease. He seemed very fair and honest for a misogynistic old git.
Then the good bit. Nick and Mike turned to me. Roberto looks confused.
‘What do you think, Lucy? Can you see us being happy here?
‘Why you ask her?’ Roberto shrugs.
‘Lucy is the major shareholder in the business and will be investing three times my amount. The others will be working as staff members. The profit sharing will be between Lucy and me. One third to me, two thirds to Lucy,’ explains Mike.
Realising that he has just dissed the deciding factor, Roberto smiles at me uncertainly and asks what I think of his restaurant? Ah, so now he cares about my opinion.
I look around and sigh deeply.
‘Well, it is very nice, good décor, prime location. And I am impressed with your turnover and negotiation over the rental agreement, Roberto.’
He looks at me curiously. Like I’m a creature he’s never seen before. Not used to women talking and him actually listening, I’m sure.
‘We do have three other places to see.’ I look around at the others. They are pleading with me with their eyes.
‘What do you guys think?’ Nodding furiously, the lot of them.
I hold my hand out to Roberto.
‘OK, Roberto, I think we have a deal.’
He beams proudly. I sign a cheque for three months rent and a deposit and we head out into the sunshine.
‘Great! We now have the rest of Saturday and Sunday all to ourselves,’ announces Becky, linking arms with Mike and Nick.
We have a great evening of tapas and wine. In a frivolous moment, we take a cab back out to Roberto’s to see what the night-time shift is like. Very atmospheric, very busy. Doesn’t get much better than that. We sit in a quiet corner and I have a sudden attack of panic about not being able to
cope with the kitchen side of things. What do I really know about catering? I voice my concerns to the others, who insist I will cope, no problem. I will have waitresses, kitchen staff and a dishwasher. I won’t actually be doing the job of five people in there, like I would be if I were hosting a dinner party at home. Bolstered by the surge of wine and adrenaline in my bloodstream, I decide that it‘ll be fine – and start looking forward to the challenge. If I have any problems, we can always hire a chef and I can take on the commis role. This has been my dream for years. I can do it.
Chapter Sixteen
We head back to London the next day and prepare to hand in our notices to jobs and landlords. Well, except for me, who has already done the spectacular job notice bit. We have two weeks ‘til we move. The boys may have to do a month’s notice, but they are confident they can wangle it down to two weeks. Our rent begins the second week in April at Roberto’s. Becky has only to give one week’s notice as she temps for an office agency. So, we will head out a week before the boys to clean, shop for our own personal touches and get a feel for the place. I start a course on food hygiene and enroll on a week-long catering class next week. I am already quite a confident cook, but I want to add a few skills before we go. Every night I cook for all four of us. Different dishes that I think would be great on our menu. Almost everything is met with enthusiasm. We have decided to do a mixture of traditional British food and a few Spanish specialities, such as paella and tortilla. Chuck in a bit of Mexican (still kind of Spanish) and Italian, as pasta is definitely my forte. We have printed up fifty glossy menus. All things I can cook confidently, and we will add a different daily special, starter and main.
The night of our leaving party comes around. We are having it at home, so I can show off our menu and have feedback from friends. I have spent all day in the kitchen and have prepared four of our dishes for friends to try.
Everyone is very enthusiastic about the menu and we have a bittersweet night; sad to be leaving London and all our friends, but very excited about the future. It’s unbelievable how quickly things have turned around for Becky and me since Christmas.
‘Can you believe it was only a few months ago that we were both single, hated our jobs and where we live, moaning about the weather and how crap London is?’ she asks.
It’s not that London is crap, of course. A very fun place to live if the truth be known. The downside is that, by the time you have paid your rent, council tax and bills (Water! In England you pay for water. That was a shock to me. Never heard the like) you really don’t have a lot of cash left with which to enjoy London. Friends from back home think we live a very glamorous lifestyle of non-stop shows, clubs and fancy restaurants. The reality is that, the week before pay day, Becky and I rummage through the dregs of our purses together and head to our local supermarket to stretch our funds as far as possible on ‘Buy One Get One Free’ items. I do find what has happened in the past few months very hard to believe. I’m taking a huge risk pooling finances, but I trust Mike. He was willing to invest in all of us with the money he had, expecting little in return. We would have really struggled without Maisie’s inheritance. I’m not sure Roberto would have taken us seriously if we didn’t have as much money as we do.
Saturday arrives. Becky and I head to the airport with Nick and Mike. Becky is worried about coping with me on the flight without back-up. I will try to be brave this time, as it isn’t fair to put all that on her. My mobile rings. Amy‘s name flashes up on caller I.D.
‘Hi Lucy,’ she says uncomfortably, ‘I need to talk to you about something before you go. Emily and I weren’t going to tell you, but Jill said we should. Look, we’ve all been really ill. Taking it in turns to throw up all night. We’re thinking it’s something we ate.’ Pause. ‘It must have been at yours. We all had lunch at different places. I think we have food poisoning!’
I have an attack of the horrors. This can’t be. How can I possibly run a kitchen if I can’t even cook four dishes for my friends without half killing them?
‘Oh my God,’ I bluster, ‘are you serious? I am so sorry. I was very careful and I passed my
course with a hundred percent…’
‘Joke!’ laughs Amy. ‘Becks just texted me and asked me to take your mind off the flight. Did it work? Did it?’
‘Yes, you absolute cow! Valuable lesson learned in how things could be worse – now bugger off,’ I laugh.
‘OK, but just wanted to say thanks for an amazing night. I’m sure you’ll all do very well. We’ll be over to see you in June. Make sure you keep in touch, now.’
‘Will do. Miss you all lots already.’
I hang up. Becky laughingly asks if I hate her?
‘Yes’, I announce, ‘but since I have to live and work with you, I suppose I will have to forgive and forget.’ After the food poisoning shock, I am surprisingly good on the flight. Of course, two double vodkas helped.
We land and take a taxi out to the restaurant. It has been closed for the past week, awaiting our arrival. Roberto and his staff have cleaned until it gleams. We start by making a list of all we need to do, starting by finding a list of suppliers. Roberto has thoughtfully left us a list of the people he uses, and says to contact him for anything we need to have imported. He has lots of contacts and is proving to be a great help. He also had offered to sell us tables, chairs, crockery, glasses – basically any kitchen equipment we want – at a very reasonable price. We said we would take them. Everything seemed in good condition last time we were here, and we can always replace things as we go along. Becky has made up fliers for our launch on her laptop. We decided on buffet style for the party. Let them try a little bit of everything in the hope they’ll love it all and come back regularly. We plan to stand on the beach and hand out the fliers over the next few days. We settle into our accommodation upstairs and set about making it homely. It’s only a two-bedroom flat, but we are all so used to sharing that I’m sure there will be no problem.
The next day we are up bright and early to visit the suppliers. We arrange the deliveries for the day before opening and head down to the beach to promote our launch night. It is already absolutely sweltering in the April sun. Many people body swerve us, insisting that they are not interested in a time-share. I’m not surprised. I’d do exactly the same. It takes some convincing to get people to take one. Five Euros off their meal if they bring the flier on the night and a sound promise that it won’t turn into a surprise time-share meeting. Luckily, we won’t be suffering from this heat in the restaurant, as it has air conditioning. By 6pm Becky and I are practically walking blisters and so we head off to a ‘Taverno’ for tea. As we clink glasses and toast our new venture, neither of us can quite hide our excitement.
‘Mike has been talking about us getting married,’ squeaks Becky.
‘Bloody hell! It’s only been a few months,’ I reply, incredulously.
‘I know, I know,’ she replies, ‘but you can’t deny things have moved really fast for us all. It just feels… well, right, I suppose.’
‘Well go for it,’ I reply. ‘Good for you! I mean, OK it’s fast, but then so is all this.’ I indicate our surroundings. ‘I just hope Nick doesn’t go getting any funny ideas. I’m not ready for all that yet. So, Bob? Is he firmly in the past, where he belongs then?’ I ask.
‘I would say so,’ Becky shrugs. ‘I’m hardly likely to bump into him out here now, am I?’
‘Becks, you need to be sure you are completely over him before you make that kind of commitment with Mike,’ I anxiously explain. ‘It’s not fair on him if you feel you are “settling” for what he can give you.’
‘Luce, chill! Of course I love Mike, he’s adorable and gorgeous. What girl wouldn’t want to be with him?’
I watch Becky suspiciously. I’m not convinced she does want marriage and kids with Mike. She loves him, definitely, but he’s not Bob. God knows what she saw in Bob, but each to their own.
Becky interrupts my thoughts.
‘Stop scowling,�
�� she scolds. ‘You’ll make your wrinkles worse.’
The day of the boy’s arrival is upon us. Becky is beside herself with excitement. I am looking forward to seeing Nick, but seem strangely detached in this relationship. I have no idea why. Probably, it’s nothing more sinister than the fact that he has been unlucky enough to come along at the tail end of a bunch of losers. I’m kind of over men. Same kind of thing with kids. Well, not all of them, obviously. I know lots of lovely little ankle-biters, but the last lot certainly poisoned any remaining maternal instincts I possessed. I could practically feel my ovaries shrivel to raisins every time I came into contact with one of them. I expect I’d be desperate for my own by now if I hadn’t spent years looking after other people’s kids. I think back to my last week as a nanny, and shudder. What possessed me? I would have been deliriously happy cleaning toilets compared to that. Funny how we do things we hate on a daily basis just to prevent a change to our routine. I was constantly running around in those days. I was late for everything, and not once actually my fault. The second last day, I had to apologise to Katie’s teacher for my tardiness, the third time that week. I swear Georgie repeatedly chose that precise moment to fill his pants. I dashed into school, tipping the buggy dangerously round a sharp bend and through a muddy puddle. Mrs Gray towered over a bored-looking Katie, looking tiny in her hat, coat and scarf.
Crappily Ever After Page 15