Five
April 12th
Ellis bank balance: ￡39,237.98
The sun was burning Alex’s back. He was lying face down, his chin resting a little uncomfortably on the metal edge of the lounger. Below him, there was a book on the grass, a can of Pepsi Max beside it. A shadow fell across the pages. He reached for his drink, took a few glugs, and read on.
‘Busy day?’ his father asked in a clipped tone.
‘Dad, I only got here yesterday,’ he muttered into the sunbed.
‘Which is why I didn’t say anything until today. Your mother could do with some help.’
Alex craned his neck, squinting up at his father who was dressed in pressed chinos and long-sleeved shirt, a scowl distorting his face. He pushed himself upright and sat with his legs straddling the uncomfortable lounger. ‘With what? It’s over thirty degrees – too hot to walk the dogs, and she never wants help with anything else in London.’
‘But we aren’t in London. Why don’t you go and ask, instead of lounging around by the pool as if you’re on an all-inclusive five-star holiday?’
Alex huffed, finished his drink, crushing the can in his fist, and stomped up the steps. Something weird was going on. If Dad was taking a sabbatical, why was he holed up in that shed of a study dressed like he was attending a meeting? This place made Alex’s Uni house look tempting: the furniture belonged on a bonfire, the taps leaked, his room smelled. What were they doing out here without a housekeeper, and why had they rented out the Croyde house when Alex had been living there?
His mother was standing at the top of the stairs. ‘I’m just popping to the local supermarket,’ she said. ‘Fancy joining me?’
He shook his head. ‘Dad told me to help. Should I walk the dogs?’
She tilted her head to one side, reached out, and stroked his hair away from his face. ‘I think it’s a bit hot. Why not chill out and enjoy the sunshine?’
He spread his hands. ‘That’s what I was doing! Until Mr Angry saw me. He makes me feel like a chaperoned Victorian debutante, snipping at me to do something useful. Why doesn’t he chill? He could start by putting on a pair of shorts.’
‘Your father in a pair of shorts while he’s working – we are talking about the same man, are we, Alex? Right, I’m off. Try not to come to blows while I’m out.’
Alex walked past her through the sliding door, lobbing the flattened can towards the kitchen bin. It clattered against the lid, skittled across the floor, and landed by the fridge. Alex scuttled past his father’s study to his bedroom. It was hot and stuffy. He flicked on the air conditioner and flopped face down on the bed, scrolling through his messages. He’d give it another day and if things didn’t settle, he’d head off up the coast and find some decent surf. That shouldn’t be too challenging in Portugal.
The door was flung open, hitting the wall with a crash. Alex dropped his phone.
‘Turn the bloody aircon off!’ shouted his father. ‘I’ve told you it eats electricity.’
Alex took in his father’s flushed face, nostrils snorting breath like a hissing kettle, his eyes tight angry dots. Whenever he summoned a picture of dad, this was how he looked. He recalled an episode when he was seventeen and home for the weekend with two mates from school. His mother was out, his father in the office with a “tottering big deal” and he and his friends were listening to music, drinking a few beers. There was no warning knock. His bedroom door flew open, and his father stormed in spitting with rage. All three teenagers had scrambled upright and stood to attention, Alex’s insides shrivelling as his father lectured them about manners and privilege and doing something worthwhile with their time. Was he about to get a repeat performance?
Alex reached for the air conditioning remote control and jabbed at the off button. He pushed himself off the bed and picked up his rucksack. ‘Think I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.’
Outside he sat down beside his mother, long legs splayed, his hands resting on the rucksack.
‘You must find a way to rub along with your father,’ said his mother, ‘or you’ll have to find somewhere else to live.’
He tried to dispel the sulkiness in his voice. ‘Why can’t I live in Devon?’
She moved closer, saying gently but firmly, ‘Our lives have all been affected by your father’s decision to take this sabbatical.’
Alex waggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Sabbatical? I don’t buy it.’ He stood up. ‘Can you lend me some dosh?’
She screwed up her face. ‘It’s not a loan though, is it? It never is. I will give you what I’ve got, but it’s not much.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said, reaching over and giving her a hug.
Gently she pushed herself free. ‘Alex, you need to think about getting yourself a job.’
Alex hitchhiked his way along the coast to Sagres, found a room, and settled into a comfortable routine. He struck a deal with a surf instructor: wetsuit and surfboard for the day in exchange for two hours teaching tourists.
He would always have fond memories of Sagres, and especially the day he waded out of the chilly water, the sun hot on his face, and noticed the young woman sitting halfway up the beach. She was hugging her knees to her chest, the sea breeze whipping her long fair hair round her face.
‘You’re quite good at that, aren’t you?’ she called out, gathering her hair between her hands and pinning it to one side.
Alex dug his surfboard into the sand and flopped onto the beach beside her. ‘I’ve had a bit of practice. Do you surf?’
She flashed him a smile. She had brown eyes, and a little snub nose covered in freckles that made him want to bend over and kiss it.
‘Too cold for me.’
‘You on holiday?’ he asked.
‘Sort of. I didn’t take much time off last year, so I’m using it before I lose it. I’m cleaning some rental flats to pay for my keep.’
‘Fancy a drink tonight?’
She released her hair, and laughed as it caught in her mouth, spitting out strands. ‘Sure.’ She introduced herself as Jess.
That night, Alex and Jess walked to the lighthouse on Cape St. Vincent. Jess had brought a simple picnic – filled rolls, a punnet of strawberries – Alex a few beers. Jess spread a beach wrap on the grass, and they sat with the whitewashed building to one side, listening to the waves lap and crash against the cliff. He talked about his mother, the new house in Portugal and, in exchange, learned she lived in Barnstaple in Devon where she was an accountant. He told her Devon was his favourite place and that, until recently, he’d been living there himself, in Croyde.
Jess pushed a lettuce leaf back into her sandwich, took a small bite, staring ahead as she chewed. He examined the side of her face, the soft downy hairs below her ears blown flat in the onshore wind.
‘I suppose your parents are out here on the NHR tax scheme,’ she said.
‘The what?’ He laughed, propping himself upright on an elbow.
She faced him, wrinkling her nose. ‘It’s a scheme that allows people to avoid paying tax.’
‘They’d better not be,’ he muttered, popping a strawberry into his mouth.
‘Don’t be so pious. All my clients minimize their tax bill. I don’t mind if it’s legal and above board.’
‘I do. They’re loaded, they should pay up.’ He took a bite from his roll.
She tapped his arm playfully. ‘You surprise me. What do you do, apart from surf, or are you still studying?’
‘I graduated last year. Just working out what to do. I didn’t take a gap year.’
‘So, you’re living here with your tax-dodging folks?’
He laughed. ‘Not sure where I’m living really. And they’d better not be dodging tax. I guess I’ll stay here in Sagres for a bit. I can’t go back to Croyde, they’ve rented the house for the season.’
Jess shook her head. ‘That’s not right.’
‘Correct. It was my home.’ He finished his beer and crushed the can in his hand enjoying the crackling sound.
‘No, I mean they shouldn’t just rent for the season, it should be all year. There are too many locals who can’t find anywhere to live because, come Easter, they get turned out.’
‘So, you really care that I’m homeless,’ he teased.
The brown eyes shone his way. ‘Sorry, you got a full blast of Jess the councillor there.’
His eyes widened at her. ‘You’re a local councillor?’
‘I am.’ She sat upright and crossed her legs. ‘For the Labour party. You’ll be a tory toff, I guess.’
He sat upright himself; he wanted to get to know this woman. ‘You guess wrong.’