26
‘I can’t believe it’s only a week until we fly home.’
Theo squints against the light as he smiles at me in sympathy. We’re sitting in his bed drinking strong black coffee, and as always the blinds are drawn so the sun can light up the room. He likes to be woken this way, as I have discovered.
‘I know,’ he says, moving his arm so I can nestle up against his shoulder. ‘But we have to finish editing the film. I am excited to package it together now, as I’m sure you are too?’
‘Of course.’ I wriggle my bottom and turn to face him, but he’s looking away in search of his book. Since finding that battered paperback here in the villa, Theo’s barely put it down. This is the fifth time I’ve stayed over here now, and our secret is well and truly out. Since confessing all to Tom, I’ve stopped being so careful around Theo while we’re out filming, and it didn’t take Claudette long to notice. While she hasn’t actually come out and said anything, her scorn has felt almost palpable at times, and I’d be lying if I said she hadn’t hurt my feelings.
I can tell that Tom still isn’t thrilled about the situation, either, but at least we’re back to being proper friends again. It’s been nice hanging out with him in the evenings while Theo is editing, even if he would rather be with Nancy. Whatever happened between those two is definitely over now, because my sister is spending all of her time with Ignacio. He’s over at the apartment pretty much every day now, along with Carlos, but I have no idea if he’s actually staying the night, because I’m always down here at the villa.
‘Shall I tell you another story?’ Theo asks now, and I agree happily. Being read to is such a nice thing, and I could listen to his voice all day.
Theo clears his throat. ‘As you are aware, Mojácar has a Moorish history, and was once inhabited by Arabs.’
‘I do know that,’ I beam, but he hushes me.
‘During those times, and indeed until the beginning of this century, there was no such thing as dating in Mojácar. If you wanted to ask a girl out, there was a rather complicated way of going about it.’
‘Oh?’ I enquire, running my fingers through the nest of hair on his chest.
‘The old custom I’m talking about is called “club inside, club outside” – shall I tell you the Spanish?’
‘Go on, then, I might learn something.’
Theo glances at me over the top of the book. ‘Cheeky,’ he says, but he’s smiling. ‘The translation is porra adentro, porra afuera, and it involved the entire family of a young couple. You see, the Arabs did not really believe in courtship, or even getting to know the person you would end up marrying. Instead, when a young man’s parents had selected the girl they thought would make a suitable match for their son, the father would walk up to her family’s house and bang loudly on the door with a club, before shouting “porra adentro – club inside”, and would then throw the club into the hallway.’
I feel my brow furrow up at his words. ‘What?’
Theo grins. ‘I know, but listen. This club throwing was considered a proposal of marriage, so if the girl’s family accepted, they would leave the club on the floor and preparations would be made.’
‘What if they weren’t keen?’ I want to know.
‘Well, in that case the girl’s father would pick up the club and bang it on the inside of the door, before yelling, “Porra afuera” and throwing it back through the window into the street.’
‘That is so bizarre,’ I tell him, and Theo nods, shutting the book and regarding me with amusement as he sips his rapidly cooling coffee.
‘You know what is an even better story?’ I whisper.
‘Go on.’
‘It’s one where a very handsome and clever Greek director lets his lowly researcher go with him to film in Turre today …’
Theo frowns at me. ‘Hannah,’ he begins, shifting himself away. ‘We’ve been over this already.’
‘It’s not fair,’ I moan, hating how teenage I sound. ‘Claudette and Tom get to go, but not me. I can help, I’ve been reading up about the place.’
‘There isn’t enough room in the car,’ he says, finishing his coffee. ‘And anyway, you will only distract me.’
I must have pouted at this, because the next second he’s pinned me down on the mattress and is kissing my neck and my face over and over until I squirm with delight.
‘You are a very naughty girl, making me feel guilty,’ he murmurs, his teeth closing around the soft part of my ear.
‘Sorry,’ I breathe, not meaning it one bit.
Just when I think he’s going to move his mouth around until it covers mine, Theo bends his head instead and blows a huge raspberry in my armpit.
‘Get off me!’ I shriek, half-heartedly wriggling underneath him, but I can sense that I’ve lost his attention as he looks past me towards the clock on the bedside table.
‘I have to get up,’ he groans, levering himself off me and rolling away. I have to fight the temptation to clamber on his back and pull him down on to the sheets, and instead settle for admiring his toned bottom as he strolls around the room fetching his clothes.
‘You should spend the day with Nancy,’ he tells me as he heads to the bathroom, shutting the door before I can reply. To Theo, my sister is family and that should be enough to bond the two of us – but of course he has no idea how complicated things are. While we’ve been perfectly civil to each other over the past week, there haven’t been any occasions where the two of us have been alone. As far as I can tell, she’s no longer ill or crying for no reason, so I don’t feel too guilty about spending time away from her.
I have no desire to get up, but the idea of still being here at the villa when Claudette and Tom arrive makes me uncomfortable, and by the time Theo is back from the shower – looking sexy as hell with droplets of water all over his tanned chest – I’m dressed and ready to leave.
‘I like this,’ he says, picking up the hem of my red sundress and rubbing the cotton between his fingers. ‘Why do you never wear dresses like this in England?’
‘Because it’s cold,’ I reply. ‘And because I love my jeans.’
‘I like this new Hannah,’ he states. ‘She is more womanly than the old Hannah.’
I know he means it as a compliment, but for some reason his words sting a bit.
‘Be good today,’ he tells me when I don’t reply, dropping a kiss on my shoulder then patting me on the bottom as I turn to go. He says that to me all the time, but I have no idea what he thinks I might be getting up to in his absence. It’s not as if I’m working my way through the men of Mojácar when his back is turned.
I make my way along the main road at an aimless pace, reluctant to head back to the apartment but not tempted by the bank of shops on the corner by the roundabout. It’s getting hotter with every passing day, and the heat is so intense this morning that I feel as if I can see it vibrating in the air around me. A persistent wind is bothering the very tops of the palm trees and chasing dirt in circles around my ankles. Theo persuaded me to accompany him on a late-night swim before we retired to bed, and my hair feels hard and knotted from the dried-in traces of salt. It’s funny to think that I used to spend so long painstakingly applying my make-up every morning back in London, just in case he deigned to look in my direction at the office, and now he’s seen me laid bare and washed clean. I feel so much closer to him now, but more wary of him at the same time. Neither of us has broached the subject of what will happen when this trip is over and we have to go back to normality, and I know why I haven’t. The mental image of Theo in my tatty bedroom in the big shared house in Acton just doesn’t work. More than that, it’s actually laughable. What would he make of my stuffed toy collection and wall of drunken photos? I’d need a month and a two-grand IKEA gift card to get that place looking anywhere near good enough to let Theo into it – and even then, he’d have to run the gauntlet of my housemates.
No, we’ll just have to stay at his. He must have a gloriously modern bachelor pad just crying out for some female energy. I wonder if he’ll take me out to dinner at one of those swanky places along the Thames? Or up the Shard? He probably has membership at a club with a swimming pool on the roof – the sort of places Tom and I used to say we’d rather die than be seen at. But that was before. I’m seeing an older man now, so I need to be sophisticated. Perhaps I should start wearing pencil skirts and stilettos? Then again, I’d definitely be taller than Theo in heels, and I wouldn’t want to make him feel emasculated …
I’ve been strolling along while mulling all this over and suddenly realise that I’m only five minutes away from the beach bar where Carlos works. There’s a low white-stone wall up ahead that has baked to a crisp in the sun, and the top of it always reminds me of the lemon meringue pie my mum used to make when I was little. I feel a bit guilty because I’ve been ducking her messages for days now, unable to face all her questions about Nancy. The only person I have answered calls from is Rachel, but even she seems distracted. Now that the initial excitement about Theo and me getting it on has passed, she isn’t as keen to discuss him, and keeps turning the conversation around to the subject of Paul, who can apparently do no wrong.
Camila greets me at the bar with two kisses and a warm smile, and I’m gratified to see that Carlos has got the morning off. What I want is a few undisturbed hours in the sunshine – time to switch off and relax. We’ve been working such long days; I think I’ve earned it. And anyway, I won’t get the chance for much longer. Whenever I think about going home, I feel punched with sorrow. Mojácar feels like more of a home to me now than London. The pace of life suits me, and I love the people. Elaine, especially, has become such a good friend over the past three weeks, but as she has no phone at home and no email address, I’m starting to worry that we’ll quickly lose touch after I’m gone. I must talk to her about it. Perhaps she’d even consider coming back to the UK if she had a friend to visit?
‘Agua sin gas, por favor,’ I tell Camila, returning her smile as she hands me a bottle of still water, but when I hand her some euros to pay for a sunbed, she shakes her head.
‘Nancy is already there,’ she explains, pointing down the beach. Sure enough, I can just see the garish pink of my half-sister’s kaftan underneath one of the bright green umbrellas.
For a good minute, I seriously consider abandoning my plan and sneaking off before she spots me, but then I think about what Theo said this morning. If I can prove to him that I can be mature enough to make nice with Nancy, then maybe he’ll think I’m even more womanly than he does already. It will also mean I can finally call my mum back and tell her what she wants to hear: that Nancy and I are fine and that there’s nothing to worry about.
Taking a deep breath and flicking my sunglasses down over my eyes, I make my way along the makeshift wooden jetty between the sunbeds and come to a halt beside her.