Chapter 28
Violet
The venue Juan had chosen for our meeting was one of the busiest in Pollen?a, and I had to practically fight my way through a throng of drinkers in order to reach him.
‘I arrived early,’ he said, when I asked how he’d managed to secure us a space, and patted the cushion beside him. U Gallet was cave-like inside, with mottled stone walls, candles in jars on the tables, and a long, underlit bar. Juan had taken the liberty of ordering us a bottle of Tempranillo, and he poured some out as I shrugged off my cardigan. I’d felt bad for sneaking out of the house without telling Luke where I was going, though he and Eliza had sloped off upstairs with his laptop as soon as we were done eating, saying something about watching a film. I hadn’t needed to worry about what to tell Henry, because having hung around long enough to politely sample our actually very successful paella, he’d made his excuses and headed off into the night.
‘Gra?ias,’ I said to Juan, as he clinked his glass against mine. My fingers were clammy, and the stem of the glass slipped as I went to take a sip, splashing blood-red droplets of wine against my bare thigh.
‘Ach.’ Juan licked a finger and dabbed at the spillage. There had been a time, not all that long ago, when I’d have thought nothing of such a gesture, but tonight his casual pawing of me was discomforting.
‘How are you?’ he asked, as I readjusted my position to put a few extra inches between us.
‘Fine,’ I lied, putting down my glass. ‘Why did you want to see me? Is it about Henry? Did you find out the name of the woman he’s seeing?’
The corners of Juan’s mouth drooped. ‘Can we not have a drink first? We are old friends after all.’
I took three large gulps of wine in quick succession. ‘See,’ I said. ‘Drinking.’
Juan chuckled good-naturedly. ‘Always with the jokes,’ he observed. ‘You are still as funny as I remember.’
‘And you’re still just as pleased with yourself.’
‘Oof!’ He put a hand to his chest as if I’d struck him. ‘You are angry with me.’
He hadn’t posed it as a question, but it was obvious he was expecting an answer.
‘I’m not angry,’ I said, mellowing a little as the wine began to take effect. ‘At least, not with you, not any more.’
‘Ah,’ he said, grin widening, ‘now, I think we are getting to the egg of the pudding. You are not angry with me, which means that you must be angry with—’
‘Nobody,’ I said, before he could say Henry’s name. ‘Except myself, perhaps.’
He put a hand on my arm, and I moved it away, not looking at him. The wine was going down too easily, and though I knew it was foolish to keep drinking, and that turning to alcohol in times of stress was becoming a concerning habit of mine, I said nothing when Juan topped up my glass. A young Spanish couple were trying to cram themselves into a vacated seat beside me, but there was barely room for one person, let alone two.
‘Watch it,’ I snapped, as the girl trod down hard on my sandalled foot; her apology drowned out by the bellow of her drunken boyfriend.
‘Remind me why you chose this place again,’ I grumbled, but Juan merely laughed.
‘It reminds me of being young,’ he said. ‘Do you remember when we all used to come here together, Tomas playing with his toy cars and Luke with the colouring-in books?’
I smiled faintly. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘Not so long.’
‘Our boys are men now – Tomas is a father himself.’
‘And Ana is an abuela,’ he replied, sounding gleeful.
‘How is Ana?’ I asked.
Juan pulled a ‘who cares’ face.
‘Don’t you see her any more?’
‘Not so much – she is in Palma, always with her friends. On the days that I go to visit Tomas and his family, she stays away from the house.’
‘That must make you sad?’ I pressed.
Juan reached for his wine and took a far more modest sip than the ones I’d been throwing back.
‘Am I unhappy that my marriage is ended? Sí. Do I think that it could have been saved? No. Ana is better without me – we are both happier.’
‘And you have no regrets? You wouldn’t go back if you could, do everything differently?’
He shrugged. ‘Some, perhaps. But altogether, no. You cannot change what has already happened, you can only try to learn from the foolish decisions you make.’
‘Amen to that,’ I drawled, raising my glass.
Juan got up to visit the bathroom, and afterwards I watched as he sauntered over to the bar, not mingling with the crowd of tourists but propping himself at the service end, where he leaned across and spoke genially to the bartender.
‘Vi-o-let!’ he shouted, so loudly that I cringed. ‘Are you hungry?’
I shook my head, mouthing a clear ‘no’ across the room. I’d eaten more than enough of the paella to keep me full for days, if not weeks.
Juan returned to the table with two full shot glasses in hand.
‘What are these?’ I took one and sniffed it.
‘Tequila,’ he announced. ‘So we can pretend that we are young again.’
‘I refuse to drink to that,’ I said, then made him laugh by tipping the lot down my throat. I knew it was reckless, that I was beginning to feel less inhibited by the second, but there was also something irresistible about being bad for once. Juan always had been a person who could tempt that side out in me.
‘You were right,’ I told him, leaning back against the wall as the barman put a plateful of assorted cheeses, meats, olives, and breadsticks down on the table in front of us. ‘It’s actually quite nice to feel young again, even if I will regret it in the morning.’
Juan plucked a grape from its stalk, and after a moment, I opened my mouth, letting him feed it to me.
‘I think perhaps that you and I, we got old too quickly.’
‘Having children will do that to you,’ I replied. ‘The day Luke was born, I aged at least fifteen years – how about you?’
‘With Tomas? Twenty,’ he proclaimed with mock solemnity. ‘But do you ever imagine what your life would be like if you never had a child?’
‘Of course,’ I said, as he peeled off a slice of chorizo. ‘I asked Henry that question once, but he refused to answer, said it was unhealthy to dwell on impossibility.’
Juan rolled his eyes. ‘If everybody thought this way, nobody would play in the lottery.’
‘True!’
‘And many books and movies would not exist.’
I affected a shudder. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Maybe it is for the best that you and Henry...’ He mimed snapping something in two.
‘Why?’ I said testily. ‘Because he’s a realist and I behave like an ostrich?’
For a moment, Juan looked confused, and I was forced to explain what I meant about burying my head in the sand. The moment he got it, he responded by laughing, but I found that I no longer could. We’d cycled back around to me being angry with myself, and my mood had soured accordingly.
‘Henry is not the only man in the world,’ Juan said, with slow emphasis. ‘There are other men; a different choice for you.’
His hand settled on my knee, and I stared down at it, the noise of the bar a low hum that seemed to reverberate in the air around us. Queasiness churned in my stomach.
‘Did you find out?’ I asked. ‘Who she is – the woman I saw with Henry.’
Juan gave a nod. ‘Sí. I know.’
I drew in a short, sharp breath. ‘And?’
His hand was still on my knee, hot fingers pressing against my flesh. I stretched my leg further beneath the table, releasing myself from his grasp. Juan made a ‘pfft’ sound and moved his hand to the plate of food. I watched as he picked up a cube of Manchego that was dribbling in oil, not caring that I’d offended him.
‘So, who is she?’
I tapped my foot against the floor, my frustration mounting as he took what I perceived to be an inordinately long time to finish the rest of the cheese. Only when the platter was empty save for a single, curved pepper, and Juan had dabbed a napkin to the corners of his mouth, did he finally deign to reply.
‘Her name is Bo.’
‘Bo? What kind of a name is Bo?’
‘She is working at La Residencia, the big hotel in—’
‘Deià, yes. I know where La Residencia is. I had my wedding there, remember?’
Juan raised an eyebrow.
‘How did they meet? Is it serious? What does she do there? What is she like?’
He leaned away from me. ‘She is there only a few months, organising events and things like this, but I don’t know how she and Henry were introduced.’
I was about to launch into a second rant when I noticed someone waving at me from across the bar. It was Mags, I realised with a lurch, coming towards me with Malcolm not far behind.
‘I need to go,’ I said, standing up and clambering over Juan. ‘Right now, I need to get out of here.’
The candle on the table was knocked flying, and the woman who’d trod on my foot shrieked as hot wax splattered across her legs. Keeping my head down, I ducked around the crowd, keeping half an eye on Mags and Malcolm to make sure I wasn’t about to collide with them, before squeezing my way through to the bar. Juan had followed me, and I heard him protest loudly as I asked for the bill.
‘Just let me,’ I said, pressing my credit card against the machine. There were two short beeps, and the word ‘declined’ flashed up on the screen.
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ I whined, as my heart plummeted down to my ankles. ‘Let me try again.’
After a second failure, Juan reached over and used his own card, reassuring me not to worry as he ushered me towards the door. Hearing someone, presumably Mags, call my name, I grabbed his hand and towed him out into the street, urging him to hurry.
The night air was fresher than the fuggy warmth of U Gallet, and lights blazed at every window we passed. Instead of going back towards The Orange House, I dragged Juan towards the main square, taking each cobbled lane at a run. It was so ridiculous, we were so ridiculous, that I was overcome by a helpless desire to laugh, eventually coming to a breathless stop in a narrow alleyway stacked with plant pots. Juan leant against the opposite wall, far less puffed out than me. The hot sting of humiliation prevented me from meeting his eye, even when he reached across to cup my cheek.
‘You are beautiful, Zorra,’ he said, and when I didn’t immediately pull away, he stepped closer. Zorra was the Spanish word for ‘vixen’; only once before had he referred to me by that name.
‘Don’t,’ I said, but either he didn’t hear me, or he chose not to listen. At the precise moment it dawned on me that he was going to try and kiss me, and before I had time to react, a shadow fell across us and two people came into view at the end of the alley. One of them was a woman with long dark hair, impossibly slim legs, and a furious expression.
The other one was Henry.