Chapter 24
Violet
I made it back to The Orange House less than an hour later to find Henry ensconced in the kitchen, a large sandwich in his hands and a mess all over the worktop.
‘Hello,’ he said, through a mouthful, as I bundled packets of ham and cheese and half a tomato back into the fridge. Then, ‘I was going to do that.’
‘No time,’ I said, wiping a cloth over the surface I’d just cleared before rinsing it out under the tap. ‘Are you done with that?’ I swiped the mug from beside him before he could answer and tipped the dregs of his coffee into the sink.
‘Where’s the fire?’ he asked, more bemused than annoyed.
I didn’t answer, instead heading out through the open back door to the nearest flower bed, where I snatched up a handful of wild berry echinacea. Back in the kitchen, I fetched a vase from one of the cupboards, added water, hurriedly arranged the flowers, then took it out and placed it on a low table near the bottom of the stairs.
Henry followed me out, still holding his sandwich.
‘What are you . . . What’s going on?’
‘Is your bed made?’
‘Eh?’ He gawped at me.
‘The bed, in the spare room, is it made?’
‘No, but—’
I left Henry mid-sentence, racing up the stairs two at a time, tidying first his room before venturing, albeit more reluctantly, into Luke’s lair. I needn’t have worried, however, because aside from a rolled-up pair of socks under the chest of drawers, there was little out of place. Luke was notoriously slovenly, so I had Eliza to thank. The master bedroom was immaculately clean, cushions arranged just so, and shutters open to show off the view of the mountains. Having given the en suite a cursory glance, I hurried back out on to the landing and straight into Henry.
‘There’s mustard on your T-shirt,’ I told him, and he frowned.
‘So?’
‘I’m just saying.’
‘Is the king on his way over for a cream tea?’
‘What? No.’
‘You’re behaving as though he might be.’
‘I just want the place to look nice.’
‘Where’s Luke?’ he asked, one hand propped on the banister.
‘I left him in Alcúdia with Eliza.’
‘Is he OK?’
‘He’s fine. Not happy, apparently, but definitely not doing drugs, so that’s something.’
‘You’re doing that thing where you talk in riddles,’ he said.
‘I need to get past.’
I tried to go around him, but Henry wasn’t budging. On the wall behind him there was a framed photo of us, taken when Luke was around six. We were on Antonio’s old boat, the smaller one he’d used mainly for fishing, and Luke looked solemn in his lifejacket, bottom lip protruding. He’d still yet to master the art of smiling for the camera.
‘We need to talk,’ Henry said, his tone switching down a gear.
‘About your dad?’ I replied, doing my best not to let my frustration show. ‘Did you speak to him? Is he all right?’
‘No, and yes, and I’m not sure, but I think so.’
‘Right, yes, good,’ I murmured, my mind on other, more pressing matters. Aim for three o’clock was what I’d told Malcolm and Mags – but what was the time now? Henry wasn’t wearing a watch and I’d left my phone downstairs, but there was a clock in our bedroom.
‘Where are you going now?’ he called, as I retreated along the corridor.
Ten to three. I still had to check the downstairs loo.
‘Violet, for pity’s sake.’
He was in the doorway, blocking my exit, hands raised as if about to reach for me. I became suddenly aware of the bed – our bed – looming large only metres away. When I woke in the night, I often reached out in the hope he’d be there, my subconscious still trapped in the version of my life I hadn’t burned to the ground.
Taking a few steps backwards, I pressed my hand to my chest, felt the pounding of my heart, too hard, too frantic, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
‘I really don’t have time to talk right now,’ I said in a small voice.
‘There’s always time to—’ he began, only to be interrupted by a loud knocking.
They were early. Having moved aside to let me pass, Henry fell into step behind me as I raced towards the front door.
‘Hello,’ I said cheerfully, ushering our potential buyers inside. ‘This is my... Henry. Henry, this is Malcolm and Mags. They’re looking for a house in Pollen?a and, well, we’re looking to sell one.’
Malcolm offered his hand and gave a stoic Henry’s a vigorous shake. ‘We’ve only seen the front and we’re huge fans already,’ he said.
Mags, who was wearing a very new-looking sun hat complete with green gingham bow, went one step further than her husband by greeting me with a hug.
‘The citrus trees, the wrought-iron fences, that turret,’ she enthused. ‘It’s all magical.’
‘Come through.’ I flapped a hand in the general direction of the lounge, letting them go in ahead of me. ‘It’s a bit bare in there because I’ve been clearing everything out, but you’ll see that it’s a good size.’
Mags went into ecstasies over the terracotta floor tiles, while Malcolm fired questions at us about wiring, TV aerials, and how good the Wi-Fi signal was.
‘Hoping to install a virtual golf room – can’t neglect the old swing practice.’
Henry answered most enquiries in a short, achingly stiff manner, all the time trying desperately to catch my eye over their heads. I ignored him.
‘We’d need to do a fair bit in here,’ Mags said, when we trooped into the kitchen. ‘All this wood feels slightly oppressive, don’t you think, Malc? Was it like this when you moved in?’
‘It wasn’t much more than a shell when we moved in,’ Henry said. ‘I built all these cabinets.’
Mags turned very pink. ‘Oh, I see. Well, it’s very nice. The blue reminds me of the sea. It’s just not my style, that’s all.’ She tittered. ‘I prefer something a little shinier.’
‘I bet you do,’ muttered Henry.
‘Carpenter by trade, are you?’ enquired Malcolm, noticing Henry’s tatty overalls and heavy boots for presumably the first time.
‘Builder, joiner, restorer, electrician, plumber,’ I told them. ‘Henry can do anything.’
‘Except make things shiny,’ he intoned.
Mags started to giggle nervously. ‘Gosh, I really didn’t mean to offend. It’s just been such an exciting day, meeting Violet completely by chance when we’d almost given up hope, coming here and discovering your incredible home. I mean, how can you bear to part with it? I don’t think I ever could.’
‘That’s a very good question,’ said Henry. ‘Violet, do you want to take this one?’
‘Why don’t I show you the garden?’ I blustered, practically pushing them out of the back door. ‘Help yourself to lemons!’ I trilled, waving as they took the steps down from the upper patio. ‘I’ll make us some refreshments.’
‘What the hell, Violet?’
Henry, I realised, was seething.
‘What?’ I replied, extracting a bottle of white wine from the fridge. There was only enough left for one glass, so I’d have to top them up with sparkling water. ‘We needed a buyer, I found us one.’
‘And invited them here without even asking me?’
‘It all happened really fast. They were keen to see it, and I thought, why not? We’re not exactly inundated with offers.’
‘That’s because it’s not on the market yet.’
My hand shook as I poured the wine. ‘But the advert— I saw it.’
‘I retracted it,’ he said. ‘I thought you knew that.’
‘How could I have?’
‘Vee,’ he went on, choosing to ignore the question, ‘this is mad. We can’t sell La Casa Naranja to people like that.’
‘Shh,’ I hissed. ‘They’ll hear you.’
‘I don’t care.’
I slammed the bottle down on the worktop hard enough to make the glasses ring. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Me?’ he exclaimed. ‘I want us to discuss this properly, like adults.’
‘It’s a bit late for that,’ I snapped, turning my back on him, and ferrying the drinks outside.
Mags was on the patio. ‘Thank you.’ She accepted the watered-down wine and took a sip, recoiling slightly but recovering well. ‘Malc is busy scrutinising your tomato plants.’
‘They come free with the house.’
She smiled. ‘It really is lovely. Can I ask what kind of price you were thinking?’
A big question: one I’d thought about endlessly but had no definitive answer for.
‘We’d have to seek advice on that score,’ I said. ‘But it will be in line with the market.’
‘So, around the two-mill mark?’
Two million euros.
The ground seemed to slant away from me.
‘Like I said, we still need to work out the specific details.’
‘Well, do make sure you let us know ASAP,’ she said breezily. ‘Early birds.’
I wasn’t sure if I relished the idea of this house, nor Henry and I, as worms that Mags and Malcolm hoped to gobble. But then again, if we had to let it go, why not simply sell to the highest bidder and to hell with what came next?
From inside the kitchen, I heard the fridge door open and a hiss as Henry opened a can of beer.
‘Did you have any other questions?’ I asked, as Malcolm trotted up the patio steps.
‘I did want to ask you something,’ said Mags conspiratorially. ‘About your... husband, is he?’ She leaned in, and though I feared what was coming, I did nothing to stop it. The door behind us opened a crack, Henry emerging just as Mags uttered the words: ‘What on earth happened to the poor man’s face?’