Chapter 7
Violet
If it had been up to me, we would have eaten dinner at the house. There were plenty of ingredients in the cupboards, and bottles of locally made wine in the rack – but Luke had been adamant, and I knew better than to refuse him.
Henry had not returned from going to view the house with Juan and Tomas, and I dithered over whether or not to send him a message, telling him where the three of us would be. In the end, I concluded that it would probably be better if he didn’t know. Henry had not forgiven me, that much had become abundantly clear during the short time we’d spent in each other’s company, and the thought of making small talk with him in as intimate a setting as a restaurant was disquieting. I was more than a touch perturbed, therefore, to find him waiting for us when we arrived, still clad in the same tatty overalls and paint-splattered T-shirt he’d been wearing that afternoon.
‘Hello,’ I said, in a clipped, formal voice that I’d never used around him before.
He managed a low grunt of reply, before standing up from the table to greet Luke and Eliza. Indecision over what to wear had led me to panic-choose a shapeless sack of a dress the same shade of brown as the underside of a mushroom, while Eliza, in contrast, looked radiant in an abstract patterned jumpsuit, her chin-length bob teased into feathery curls.
‘What a beautiful place,’ she said, sliding deftly into the seat opposite mine. We had come to Bar Nou, a traditional Spanish taverna tucked away along a backstreet not far from Pollen?a’s main square, Pla?a Major, and been given a table outside. It was a little after eight p.m., and a low-slung sun was busy dropping sunflower petals of light across the rooftops. The air around us hummed with sounds; the clinking of glasses and the tinkle of laughter, while through the open window above us floated a tantalising scent of grilled fish, olive oil, and fresh basil. I hadn’t eaten a thing since before my flight that morning, and the two gin and tonics I’d consumed up at the house had left me feeling hollow and edgy.
‘We should have called ahead and ordered paella,’ I said, as a waiter strode past us with an enormous sizzling pan of the stuff. ‘One without any prawns, of course.’
‘Are you allergic to shellfish?’ Eliza enquired. ‘My cousin is – she accidentally ate some crabmeat once and her tongue swelled up to about five times its normal size.’
I felt Henry’s gaze on me. ‘Nobody’s allergic,’ I said. ‘It’s just that Luke dislikes them.’
My son looked up from his menu. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you— Well, you used to.’
Eliza shot a glance towards Henry. Was she seeking an ally in case this disagreement turned sour? I didn’t want to butt heads with Luke but was confused by his flat-out denial. For so long, and with such dedicated effort, I had made it my priority to learn all his likes and dislikes right down to the most incremental things, and suddenly here he was, essentially deadheading what I’d thought was a perennial truth.
‘It’s fine if you don’t like them,’ I went on, ignoring Henry’s sigh of frustration.
Luke rearranged himself in his seat; his legs had grown so long that I could see the knobble of his knees above the edge of the table.
‘I used to hate them,’ he said tersely, ‘but that was years ago, when I was a stupid kid.’
‘You’ve never been stupid,’ I exclaimed, and again, Eliza and Henry exchanged a look. They were against me, the three of them, the newcomer to our dysfunctional unit having chosen her side of the fence.
A waitress appeared then to take our order, and by the time glasses of wine and water had been poured, a basket of bread deposited, and tiny ramekins of olives offered around, the tense atmosphere at the table had eased somewhat. Having decided to play it safe by saying as little as possible throughout the remainder of the meal, I lapsed into silence and listened as Eliza held court, chatting away about her and Luke’s university friends, which of them was dating the others and the various scandals that had occurred during the past academic year. Neither Henry nor I had ever made it to university – him because he’d never wanted to, and me because Luke had come along before I got the chance.
‘It’s so cool that Luke’s in a proper house,’ Eliza remarked, stabbing her fork into an asparagus spear that was drenched in butter and crackly with salt. ‘Trying to get any reading done in Halls is impossible – I think I’d be failing if I hadn’t been able to stay with him most of the time.’
‘We were lucky to find that place,’ said Henry, who’d chosen padrón peppers as a starter and was using his hands in place of cutlery. ‘A builder mate of mine put me on to it, organised a decent rate.’
Eliza nodded sagely, going on to talk at length about the unfair student loan system, and how terrifying a prospect it was to be thousands of pounds in debt before you’d even started out in your career. One of the smartest things Henry and I had done – though the burden of it had fallen mostly on his shoulders – was build a savings pot for if and when our son attended university. Luke had only needed a partial loan to cover tuition and wouldn’t have to concern himself with the funding of either rent or utility bills. It was all taken care of by the bank of Dad and, to a far lesser extent, Mum – although I had been the one to furnish the place, treat him to new clothes, bedding, and kitchen utensils, as well as a MacBook Pro. Having complained that his mobile phone bill was eating into his allowance, I had taken over the direct debit for that, too, telling myself it wouldn’t be forever, and that his needs took priority.
The decision had been simple to make, the means by which to honour it trickier to navigate.
‘I suppose it’s good practice,’ Eliza allowed, though she sounded unconvinced. ‘My parents are very much of the “you’re an adult now, so it’s about time you learnt how to manage your money” opinion – at least Dad is.’
‘I like your dad,’ put in Luke, who was shredding a slice of bread. I watched as he rolled small morsels of the dough into balls and tossed them down for the sparrows, a congregation of which had gathered around his seat. ‘I think he’s a good laugh.’
‘You only think that because the two of you like geeking out together,’ Eliza teased. ‘My dad loves the arts,’ she explained. ‘I might look like an artist, what with this hair –’ she fiddled with her flamingo-pink locks – ‘but really I’m a scientist – or trying to be.’
‘Remind me of your subject,’ I said, though I couldn’t recall Luke ever telling me. The fact that he had a girlfriend at all wasn’t something he’d announced, more something I’d gleaned from a series of casual name-drops, made by him during calls home. Our catch-ups had gone down from nightly to twice or occasionally only once a week, but I still kept my phone within answering distance at all times. If Luke were to ring and not be able to reach me, it could spark any number of crises.
Eliza had finished her asparagus and put her knife and fork together before replying.
‘I’m studying psychology and child psychology,’ she said. ‘It’s a combined course.’
In all likelihood, we had probably read a lot of the same books, though I couldn’t say as much in front of Luke. Instead, I smiled, and asked her if she was enjoying it.
‘Very much so,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s fascinating. And as much as I joke about my parents, it’s down to them that I’m doing this course. We’ve always been close, you see. Me and my brothers were encouraged to talk about our issues with the family, and so I got used to understanding how all their brains worked, as well as my own. I’m no expert, by any means, but I’m definitely enjoying learning more.’
‘She’s acing it,’ said Luke, sliding a hand over Eliza’s. It was strange to see him being so openly tactile, but it was rapidly becoming less so. He’d overcome a lot to get to this point and deserved the affection of a person not bound by blood to offer it. I noticed that Henry, too, had registered their closeness and tried to remember when he’d last laced his fingers through mine – or touched me at all, for that matter. There had been a time when we could hardly bear to be parted, he the solid pergola around which I’d wrapped my vines, whereas now I imagined he’d rather tether himself to a charging bull than come into contact with me.
Excusing myself, I ventured inside to the bathroom, where I splashed cold water across my face and stood for a few minutes with my head resting against the vanity mirror. It was cool in the small space, the air-conditioning unit rattling out a chill from its perch below the ceiling, and I could hear the muffled shouts of a busy kitchen coming through the wall. My reflection stared back at me morosely, dark shadows like ink smudges below eyes heavy-lidded with fatigue. I tugged at my skin, pulling taut the faint lines that seemed to multiply on a daily basis, lamenting as I did so all the hours that I’d spent with my chin tilted up towards the sun, oblivious of its damage. Heartbreak had played an additional role in my ravaging – misery and regret draining my colour, robbing me of sleep, and etching deep crevasses around my sullen lips.
I had no right to feel sorry for myself, not when I considered all that Henry had gone through – what he was still enduring, how he must feel when he looked into the mirror and was confronted with such horrific scars. I had no right at all.
Back at the table, the main courses had arrived.
‘You didn’t need to wait for me,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t want your food to go cold.’
‘Not much chance of that in this heat,’ said Eliza, who was fanning her face with the drinks menu. Someone had topped up my glass, and I sipped the wine gratefully. The street had grown busier in the time I’d been indoors, the running tap of tourists seemingly content to bump along in a chattering stream.
Henry stretched his hands behind his head and cracked his knuckles.
‘How was the house?’ I asked, and for a moment he looked confused.
‘Oh, you mean Tomas’s place? A bloody mess. The roof struts are rotten and much of the external stucco has fissures. We’re going to need to demolish whole sections.’
‘We?’ I echoed, and he threw me a disparaging look.
‘Juan says he’ll help out, but I can’t see that happening, even if he and Tomas are trying to keep costs to a minimum. Unfortunately for them, the house doesn’t have a stash of black money under the floorboards – it doesn’t have much floor left to speak of, truth be told.’
‘Black money?’ queried Eliza, pausing in the process of deboning her bream.
Henry pushed some rice around with his fork. ‘It’s when you buy a house for, say, one hundred thousand euros, but the seller declares less on the deed, marking it down as eighty thousand. They then essentially skim off the difference, usually in a lump sum of cash, and avoid paying as much tax.’
‘And this happens a lot?’
‘Let’s just say, some of the richest people in Mallorca have accumulated a lot of their wealth through black money.’
‘Including Abuelo,’ put in Luke. ‘My grandfather,’ he explained to Eliza. ‘He’s a bit of a property mogul.’
‘A bit of’ was putting it mildly.
‘Oh, so it was it him who gave you the house?’ she exclaimed. ‘Luke told me you got it as a gift for your eighteenth birthday, but I assumed he must be joking.’
‘True story.’ Henry shrugged. ‘Of course, it was worth barely anything then – it was practically a building site – but now...’ He let out a low whistle.
‘How much?’ Eliza sat forwards in her seat. ‘Are we talking hundreds of thousands?’
‘Try over a million,’ Luke said breezily, and Eliza stared from him back to Henry.
‘No way?’
‘Perhaps even one-point-five, if someone both foolish and rich wanted it enough,’ Henry said. ‘And in my experience, rich people often are quite stupid.’
The conversation was making me uncomfortable.
‘Can we stop discussing money, please? It’s just so... crass.’
All three looked round at me in surprise.
‘Crass?’ Henry repeated.
‘Yes, crass – and boastful. Not everyone has the good enough fortune to be given a house, Henry. Some people are never given anything; they have to work for it.’
He looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Are you saying I haven’t had to work for what we— what I have? Is that what you’re claiming? Well, that’s typical coming from you.’
I took a furious sip of wine. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know full well,’ he seethed.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ muttered Luke, which silenced us immediately.
‘I’ll go.’ Henry’s hand was already reaching into his overalls pocket for his wallet.
‘No, I will,’ I said, snatching my bag off the back of the chair and digging out my debit card. Placing it firmly down on the table, I recited the pin number, telling them the meal was ‘my treat and no arguments’.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Eliza, but I waved her away.
‘You stay,’ I said, offering her a tight smile. ‘I’d rather be on my own.’
It wasn’t true, not even close, but it was exactly what I deserved.