Chapter Nineteen
After work the next day, I meet Mum at Biblioteca Almeida Garrett to return our library books and have a picnic in the lush gardens.
It’s shady and quiet and has that reverence that bookish locations have.
It’s one of the more peaceful spots in Porto, and I enjoy our monthly sprawl on rugs to pick at cheese while we read our new borrows.
Mum is running late, not unusual, but convenient because it gives me time to flick through the various newspapers to see if there’s been any reports of a missing man, and I’ve set up Google Alerts too but so far zilch.
The newspapers aren’t much better either.
Seems like everyone is alive and well. I try not to get too disheartened.
An hour later my flustered mother arrives.
I’ve already checked out my new books and lay sprawled on a rug in our usual spot in the Jardim dos Sentimentos.
Not just because I adore the whimsical name, the garden of feelings, but because it’s where peacocks strut and I love gazing at their cobalt-blue and gold tails.
Mum’s wearing her work uniform, but her hair is a mess as if she’s been caught in the wind.
Her expression is harassed like she’s fed up having been caught in rush hour delays.
She falls on the rug beside me. ‘Sorry I’m late, querida. What a day.’
‘Mum, it’s fine, don’t worry. You’re here now. Do you want me to return your books while you rest?’ Mum’s on her feet all day, working hard in a physical job, trying to get back on track in a financial sense. It’s why we moved in together in Porto. To reset, while we reestablished ourselves.
With a long sigh, she clasps her head. ‘Oh, I forgot to bring them. I was in such a rush this morning.’
‘You did get a late start. Who were you talking to so early this morning?’ Mum’s roster changes, sometimes she does night shifts, sometimes split shifts, so I put her sudden scatteredness down to her ever-changing schedule.
‘This morning? No one.’
Should I be worried how forgetful she’s becoming? I wish she’d take on less shifts and let me contribute more financially. ‘I heard you on the phone. Laughing. Was it about Ida’s wedding?’ That tedious commitment looms in my future.
‘Ah, yes! Ida’s wedding. They’re all very excited. Now shall we take a walk around the gardens first or would you prefer to settle in and read?’
‘I’ve already walked the gardens.’ One of us had to stick to the schedule and it’s obvious Mum’s ankles are playing up by how swollen they are. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’
She gives me an eager nod. I pour us each a glass and am shocked when she guzzles it down like water. ‘Parched,’ she sputters. ‘Pour me another, Viviane, please.’
‘Another?’ I say, incredulous. Mum’s a lightweight when it comes to wine; coupled with the sunshine, she’ll be asleep in the gardens and that’s not ideal.
Is this the slippery slope to dependency?
She’s been a little off lately, understandable when the woman’s life has been shaken up and put back together upside down.
She waggles her glass, and dutiful daughter I am, I refill it for her.
She plonks her glass on the rug and reties her hair. ‘I need to share something with—’
A man skulks past. A flash of blue catches my eye. It’s him. The Man in the Blue Beret. He’s doing his best to hide behind a palm frond while sliding his eyeballs in my direction. What on earth? Where is my sidekick when I need him?
‘Mother, don’t move a muscle, and whatever you do, don’t talk …
’ I grab her by the shoulders and use her as a shield, hiding behind her to peep at him.
Peacocks strut, blocking my view. One of the beautiful specimens fans its plumage, and yes, while very stunning, I don’t have time to ogle a bird right now.
There’s a long sigh as if she’s disappointed. ‘Now, now, don’t be like that, darling. It’s important. You see, I’ve met this—’
‘Mother, I just need to …’ Her words become white noise as I do my best to keep myself concealed behind her sitting form as she prattles on.
The Man in the Blue Beret is doing the very same thing behind the safety of a tree trunk.
Could he be Lucinda’s husband? And is he staking us out, her new friends?
Perhaps he’s the jealous sort and the reason she’s a homebody is because he forces her to be!
Detective Amber Quill never mentions what an adrenaline rush this kind of carry-on is! An oversight I can forgive but won’t forget. I can barely hear my own thoughts over the drumming of my heart, let alone whatever my mother is flapping her jaws about. She’d give Tiago a run for his money.
‘And so with your blessing …’ Poor mother is animated, gesticulating; being very Portuguese in this moment when I really need her to be still.
‘Yes, yes, you have my blessing.’ About what, who would know.
Probably her hat choice for cousin Ida’s wedding.
Mother’s hat choices have been hit and miss in the past, but I don’t have time right now to give her advice about colour combinations.
It’s not the end of the world if she wears a hat that doesn’t suit her skin tone.
The Man in the Blue Beret pokes a pin-striped suited arm out – from this angle it’s rather comical, like he’s hugging the tree.
I squint to see what he’s doing, surely he’s not a tree-hugging hippy type, but Mother is a huge distraction as she wrings her hands and moves incessantly.
Oh! He’s taking a photo! An illicit photo that I most certainly did not consent to.
That is one step too far even if he is a bad guy. And if so, I’ll take my chances.
‘Excuse me!’ I yell at the top of my voice, scattering the peacocks and shocking my mum into silence. ‘I did not authorise this!’ I keep my hands splayed across my face to prevent him capturing a shot of me.
He darts away as I debate whether to give chase. I’m not really the running type. Detective Amber Quill would be up in a flash, she’s quite the scampering sort – muddy fields, flooded ponds, that kind of thing – but I’m not much into sprinting unless I’m being chased.
Mum twists and turns, trying to see who I’m yelling at. ‘Querida, what is it? What did he do?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Sorry, Mum, I’ve got to dash off. Will you be OK to get home?’ What if he follows her? She’s not connected to any of this though, and he didn’t even see her face, her back was towards him.
‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Didn’t you listen to what I just told you?’ A frown mars her brow.
‘Of course. The pink hat. So chic.’ I’m doing my level best to keep Mum from worrying and make sure The Man in the Blue Beret isn’t coming back with a telescopic lens.
‘The pink … what?’
‘Sorry to leave in a rush.’ I gather up my library books. ‘Bye, Mum. Text me when you get safely home.’
‘But …’
‘Bye.’ I dash a few steps away then spin on my heel and say, ‘Don’t drink all that wine and fall asleep in the sun.’
A guilty blush creeps up her neck. ‘Promise.’
I kiss her goodbye then call Tiago. But, of course, he doesn’t answer.
What kind of partner in crime doesn’t answer in the middle of a case? Shouldn’t his phone be glued to his hand? He’s a tech bro!
I leave a message on voicemail. ‘Tiago, we have a code red!’ Can all codes be red? I suppose they scream the most urgency. ‘Call me back as soon as you get this.’
There’s no time to waste. I need to find Tiago.
How to work out where he lives, though? I’m reminded he took the Electro that day, which suggests he lives in the Foz area.
I go to his social media accounts, which are unsurprisingly not set to private.
On Instagram it’s mostly filled with photos of food, he is Portuguese after all. I scroll down his feed.
There it is, a rather intimidating villa with a wrought iron sign that reads Barracazinha da Praia, The Little Beach Shack. A humble brag, because there is nothing little about it.
It takes me three seconds to search the villa’s name and find the address. For someone in tech he’s not very safety aware. Carrying my books, which are much heavier than all these worries weighing me down, I make my way to the Electro stop and work out just how to get there.