Chapter 9 #2
Praia da Adraga is one of CJ’s favourite places in Portugal, but to explain why would be to try and unpick the exact reasons why nobody can take their eyes off Paul Mescal in any given movie, or explain what Milky Way bars taste like.
It’s a feeling, a calmness and a comfort and a thrill, all at once.
For CJ the feeling of Praia da Adraga is one of breathing deep.
The yellow sandy beach is soft underfoot, the waves crashing and intense, unapologetic in their drama.
There’s a power to them, a rawness, and CJ finds it entertainment enough to simply sit and watch them in admiration, their raw energy speaking to some part of her deepest being, like she gets it, raging out in nature that way is a vibe.
CJ is the manager of CoLab, that is true.
What CJ is not, however, is an entertainment director of any sort, so whilst she is here to oversee everyone being OK, safe, to hand out directions or advice on where to explore, she is categorically not here to see who wants to play beach volleyball or frisbee, or scoop up any of the less socially able ones of the group with a side chat or introduction to the others.
That is all Luis, and so CJ happily drags her beach chair off towards the water and gets stuck in to a bit of eyes-open meditation in the form of simply looking, thoughts turning to dust and floating away in pieces, just a moment or two to herself, to be.
‘It’s so beautiful here.’
It’s Ash, a picture of good health in mid-thigh linen shorts and bare feet, her hair whipping around her make-up-free face from the wind. ‘I definitely wouldn’t have made it out here on my own. Wouldn’t have thought to.’
CJ remembers how she’s supposed to make an effort with her, to disprove any theories about, what was it? Oh yes. Her ‘energy’ being ‘shitty’. Barf. But … a truce is a truce.
‘Yeah,’ says CJ. ‘I find it very peaceful. Soothing, or whatever.’
‘You come often?’
CJ shrugs. ‘Not really. I like it when I do, though. My kid prefers the busier beaches, likes the shops that sell the cheap buckets and spades, plenty of other kids to play with.’ CJ hopes her tone betrays the end of the conversation. She doesn’t want to chat.
‘Oh, I didn’t know you were a mother,’ Ash says, not taking the hint.
‘Why would you?’
It slips out before CJ can self-monitor her attitude. Surprise, surprise.
‘True,’ replies Ash, and if she’s wounded she doesn’t show it. ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘enjoy.’
She’s gone before CJ can pull the conversation back, which is going to have to be OK.
Not every interaction can be all-singing and all-dancing, right?
If somebody wants to be left alone, that should be OK.
Urgh. Ash’s overthinking is contagious. It’s one thing to be civil to her, but CJ doesn’t want to be her friend or anything.
CJ picks up her phone from her bag, idly scrolls through her news app.
She prides herself on being off social media.
When it first came about, when everyone started getting Facebook and then Twitter, she sniffed around for a few weeks before her accounts died out.
She just didn’t have a lot she wanted to say.
And then these past ten years, since being in Lisbon, she has had no desire to connect with the people of her past, to create a brand for herself to sell them.
Her life is pretty perfect, but she’s always had the sense that it feels that way because it’s hers, it’s not for public consumption.
That’s why she has such an allergic reaction to the people chronicling every last thing at CoLab, on their travels: why not just be present?
Who are the photos really for? And over her dead body will she put Jorge online – she read about a woman whose kid had his whole identity stolen, found this whole account of his fictional life but using all the real photos she’d uploaded herself.
All this to say CJ doesn’t have social media apps, but she does spend a lot of time on the news app, and not always to read the broadsheets.
Her guilty habit, guilty secret, is that she ends up finding out about online discourse through silly websites that share viral content – but since she’s not on the website itself she can pretend she’s not really dumbing herself down.
She’s been known to spend a while on cat videos and dog videos and donkey rescue videos, and somehow, in this moment, she ends up on an article called ‘The Twenty Most Romantic Proposals That Will Restore Your Faith in Love’.
It’s mostly a collection of men doing surprise flash mobs to surprised women, and a couple of Love Actually-coded sign-holding proposals too.
She’s hate-scrolling, really, which means it serves her right when one of the featured videos is of her ex.
‘What …?’ she says, when the penny drops that it is him. She blinks a couple of times, squints, as if that will help.
She was with Sam for five years, and she broke up with him to leave for Portugal.
In the last years of her dad’s life, CJ had felt more adrift than ever.
Unmoored. Outwardly so sure of herself but on the inside screaming for more.
Her relationship with Sam hadn’t been a healthy one.
He was jealous, she was withholding. She wanted to be told he’d never leave; he’d go out with the boys and not come home all weekend.
And then her dad died and the inheritance came and suddenly she had choices.
Sam had gone berserk. Trashed his flat, put all her stuff in bin bags and thrown them out of the window onto the street, the whole big show.
But he never said he loved her, never asked if he could come too.
And CJ couldn’t blame him, because she hadn’t really loved him either.
They were just two unhappy people, holding on to each other in order to not be unhappy alone.
CJ watches the video. Sam is at some sort of party, lots of people on the dance floor until a record scratch from the DJ makes everybody freeze.
All the guests look confused, and at the exact same moment clear out, leaving Sam behind with a pretty blonde with bangs.
A Bruno Mars song starts and Sam begins a choreographed dance, much to the girl’s delight.
By the end everyone is whooping and hollering and he’s pulled out a ring and she has said yes and then they hug and the video is over.
Wow. In a way, good for him? But also, god, something changed him for the better.
Sam was never that happy with CJ, never that romantic or upbeat.
CJ locks her phone and puts it away, stares out at the sea.
She never wanted that from Sam, but it sits funny in her gut that she’s seen him that way.
The timestamp under the video was six years ago, so it wasn’t recent.
He could have been married and divorced and married again by now, or kept it going strong and have a bevy of kids.
Huh. Huh, huh, huh. Strange how things work out, how we become different versions of ourselves as we grow older, and depending on who we are with.
CJ looks across to Luis, organising his plastic boxes of supplies.
It was nice that they talked earlier, properly talked.
Luis sees her as she is, accepts her, and that is no mean feat.
To be accepted is to be loved. The thought shocks her.
Outside of Jorge and her cousins, Luis is the only person in her life who has made a decision to accept CJ, to love her.
She’s never thought of it like that before.
She watches as he spots Ash across the sand, waving to her to make her laugh.
She hates the jealousy it invokes, can’t stand the prickle of heat that flares in her neck.
Ash is an interloper, and Ash does not understand what Luis and CJ mean to one another.
They might have settled on a truce, but, CJ thinks to herself, that doesn’t mean she won’t still fight for what is rightfully hers, however unconventional it might seem to anybody else.