Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Ash and I agreed to meet at nine for our laundrette run, but at nine thirty the next morning I’m still at reception, with no sign of him. I’m more gutted than I thought I would be, given that I’d prepared myself for disappointment. I knew he’d have no trouble finding someone else to hang out with.
I stare down at my book, feeling miserable. It’s taking monumental willpower not to open it. I want to read the last chapter of the last book Stella lent me tomorrow evening, on my final train journey to the Algarve to meet up with my parents. I thought it would be a symbolic way of rounding off the trip I’d looked forward to with my best friend for years.
Bracing myself against the sudden tightness in my chest, I check my watch. I feel weirdly sick at the thought of not seeing Ash again, but I’m just wasting time now. Doing laundry is already going to eat into too much of my day.
I really don’t want to deal with the shitty comments that I know will come if I meet up with my parents with a bag full of dirty washing, but am I being stupid? Is it worth sacrificing some of my last hours in Lisbon?
To hell with it. I get to my feet just as Ash tears into the lobby.
‘You’re still here,’ he gasps, staring at me with wide, panicked eyes.
My heart flips at the sight of him. He’s clean-shaven, but his hair is a hot mess.
‘I’m so sorry, I don’t have an alarm,’ he quickly explains. ‘I’ve been waking up early, but I couldn’t sleep last night and— Fuck, I’m sorry I’m late.’
‘It’s okay,’ I reply with a grin. ‘I was just about to leave. I’ve decided not to bother with laundry.’
He nods. ‘Can you give me a sec to brush my teeth? I’ve literally rolled out of bed. I showered last night so I’ll be fast. If … I mean, only if you don’t mind me coming with you …’
I shake my head, the knots in my stomach loosening at the sound of his sweet hesitancy.
‘I’ll see you out the front.’
‘I feel so guilty about this,’ I admit with a laugh after the waiter has delivered our drinks and left us to it.
‘I know, but sometimes a person just really needs a spaghetti carbonara,’ Ash replies with a grin, referencing the sudden craving I experienced when we walked past this place.
We’re having lunch at an Italian restaurant on the outer perimeter of the Time Out Market, under big umbrellas in the sunshine.
‘Anyway, we’ve got Portuguese cuisine covered with the pastéis de nata ,’ Ash points out, nodding at the paper bag full of custard tarts that’s sitting on the table between us before staring at the colourful outdoor market across the road.
‘See anything you like?’ I ask after a moment.
‘I should probably get a new shirt,’ he replies drily, giving the armpit of yesterday’s apricot T-shirt a quick sniff.
‘I dare you to go Hawaiian.’
He flashes me a grin.
‘Maybe I should buy a new dress,’ I muse aloud as I feel sweat trickle down my back.
‘I really am sorry for oversleeping,’ Ash apologises again as he sits forward and props his elbows on the table. ‘Thanks for waiting for me.’
‘It’s okay,’ I brush him off.
Two guys dressed in bright red, green, yellow and black striped tracksuits bound by outside the restaurant, banging tambourines and shouting. We watch as one starts playing music from a portable stereo before stepping off the pavement to hold back the steady stream of foot traffic while the other backflips along the road.
‘Whoa!’ Ash says as I sit up straighter, clapping along with the bystanders who’ve gathered.
‘Brazilians. Capoeira ,’ explains our server as he places bowls of pasta in front of us.
‘They’re amazing,’ I say as the street performer walks past on his hands, kicking his legs over his head in a fluid movement.
We all go wild at the finale, which sees the same guy taking a running jump and backflipping right over his companion’s head.
As an upturned cap does the rounds, I empty my purse of coins while Ash digs into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out a five-euro note. The street performers move on and we get stuck into our food, but a couple of minutes later, an old lady shuffles by on the pavement. She comes to a stop at our table and holds out her hand to me.
‘I’m so sorry.’ My face warms as I shake my head, realising I have no more change.
She stares at me, her weathered face blank. Ash pulls out another fiver and she takes it from him without a word and hobbles away.
‘I feel terrible, but I only have twenty-euro notes left,’ I explain awkwardly as Ash picks up his Coke and takes a sip. Before I can think better of it, I quip, ‘For that money, I’d want to see a backflip.’
Ash splutters his drink while I clap my hand over my mouth. Then he cracks up, laughing at my horror.
‘I can’t believe I said that,’ I squeak through my fingers. ‘It’s the sort of thing my mum would say and mean it.’
He chuckles, then sees my face. ‘Wait, really?’ he asks with surprise.
‘She’s a bit of a snob,’ I reply, twirling my spaghetti carbonara around my fork.
‘A bit’ is putting it mildly.
‘Do you get on?’ he asks as he pushes his plate aside. He’s made short work of his cacio e pepe .
I shrug. ‘As long as I do what I’m told.’
His eyes are hidden behind square aviators, so I have no idea what he’s thinking as he cocks his head to one side. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-one, but I’ll probably still be like this when I’m thirty. I’m the ultimate people pleaser when it comes to my parents.’
‘Maybe a couple of months away from them will help.’
‘I’m seeing them tomorrow evening.’
His eyebrows jump up above the rim of his sunglasses. ‘Where?’
‘In the Algarve, near Albufeira. They’ve rented a villa for the week.’
‘And then you’ll be on your way again?’
I shake my head, my lips downturned. ‘I’m flying home with them.’ I force another forkful of spaghetti into my mouth, but suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.
‘Haven’t you only been away for, like, three weeks?’
‘Less than. I’m supposed to have another month or so, but … I don’t know. I don’t think I’m cut out for interrailing.’ I push my bowl away.
He reclines in his chair, regarding me for a long moment, and then turns to look at the market. His jaw is even sharper without his stubble. My eyes track the line of his profile, drifting down his tanned neck to the muscled curve of his shoulder.
He returns his gaze to me and I try to regain my train of thought.
‘That surprises me a little,’ he admits.
‘What?’
‘That you’re not cut out for interrailing.’
‘Why does that surprise you?’
‘You’ve seemed to love exploring today.’
‘It’s not that. I’ve just found it to be a bit isolating.’
‘Isolating?’
‘Lonely.’
It’s embarrassing, but I’d rather he knew the truth. I tuck my hair behind my ears and stare at the market as my cheeks heat.
‘Which colour?’ he asks.
I glance at him and realise that he’s looking at the rail of Hawaiian shirts.
‘Green,’ I reply, grateful for the change of topic.
‘I think you’d rock a crocheted top.’
I laugh. ‘What, the tiny little triangles of see-through fabric?’
‘Why not?’ he asks mildly.
‘I’m not sure I could pull that look off.’
‘I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.’
I snort and he grins.
‘Come on, let’s go have a look,’ he prompts, signalling for the bill.
It’s only a small market – a row of white gazebos with each vendor selling a selection of clothes, jewellery, bags or souvenirs.
‘It’s a little lurid, don’t you think?’ Ash asks dubiously as I hold the green Hawaiian shirt against his chest to determine the fit.
He’s so tall.
I stretch the fabric sideways to see if there’s enough of it.
And broad.
The warmth of his skin soaks right through the cotton. It’s an effort to stay focused.
‘It is a little lurid,’ I agree with a smile, eyeing the clusters of bright orange flowers overlying dark green palm leaves on a lime background. ‘But I like it.’ I grin up at him and he smiles down at me, my blood fizzing as he picks up a dove-grey baseball hat and pops it on top of my head.
‘ You should get the cap.’ I blush as I take it off, docking it on his head instead. ‘Your nose is sunburnt.’
He touches his fingers to the tip. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes. Have you got any sunscreen on?’
‘No.’
I tut and shake my head at him, slapping the Hawaiian shirt against his chest. He laughs and catches it, accidently brushing his hand against my thumb and making my breath hitch.
Ash buys the shirt and cap, then steps from the shade into the sunshine and casually strips off his T-shirt. The sleek muscles on his back ripple as he slides one arm into the sleeve of his new shirt, followed by the other. He turns around and slowly walks back towards me, his gaze downcast as he concentrates on fastening the buttons. The taut ridges of his abdomen disappear, and then the line of dark blond hair travelling from his belly button down his flat stomach.
He’s right in front of me before I realise I’ve been staring.
‘Your turn,’ he says in a deep, low voice that steals the remaining air from my lungs.
We move to the neighbouring stall. Ash slings his T-shirt over his shoulder so he has both hands free to riffle through the racks. He’s wearing the cap.
‘What about this?’ he asks, pulling out a horrible Aztec-print pink and purple vest.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But it would please me to see you in this and you’re a people pleaser, so …’
‘Fuck off,’ I mutter with a laugh.
He chuckles and slides it back onto the rail.
‘I actually do quite like the crocheted tops,’ I muse, fingering an emerald-green one. ‘But I can’t very well go around Lisbon dressed in a holey top and knickers.’
‘Oh, but that would be so fun to see,’ he says playfully, hooking his arm over the end of a rail and smiling at me.
I shove his arm and wish I could let my hand linger. My urge to touch him is strong.
‘No, it has to be a dress to replace the one I have on,’ I state adamantly.
‘What about this?’ He pulls out a lightweight summer dress that is a classic red and dotted all over with tiny white flowers.
‘Ooh,’ I coo appreciatively, my heart rate spiking when our hands brush again. ‘Have you been shopping with girls before?’
‘One of my best friends is a girl,’ he reveals with a shrug.
Interesting. I return my attention to the dress. It’s pretty.
‘Red always makes me think of Annie . You know, the musical? The dressmaker says that blue is her best colour, then she changes her mind and says, “No, red, I think.” But as a kid I didn’t get the subtlety of the pause. I just heard “No red” and then couldn’t figure out why they put red-haired Annie in a red dress. I avoided red for years, not sure what to believe.’
I look up at Ash, note his sweet smile, and suddenly I want to be inside his head again, reading his thoughts.
‘Is there anywhere to try it on?’ I catch the stallholder’s eye and ask the question.
‘You pay for it, take it to the restrooms at the market to try on, and if you don’t like it, I will give you a refund,’ she assures me.
I’m grateful that so many people here speak English.
Ash waits outside the restrooms while I change. I come out to find him by a flower stall, his lime-green shirt standing out against the dark wall he’s leaning against. He looks stupidly cool with his tousled dark gold hair and strong jaw. He’s staring off to the side, but when he turns his head and sees me, he does a tiny double take, like the one he did the first time we met.
‘Whoa. Okay,’ he says, pushing off from the wall and taking a few steps towards me before halting. He has his T-shirt clutched in his hand.
‘Whoa, okay, what?’ I ask self-consciously.
‘I think we can safely say that red is your colour,’ he says slowly.
He lifts his eyes, which have swept the length of my body.
‘Yeah?’ I ask nervously.
‘Mm-hmm.’ He rakes his hand through his hair, and to my surprise, I see that his cheeks have taken on the same hue as the tip of his nose. He pulls his gaze away to stare out of the wide market doors. ‘Where to next?’ he asks weakly.
‘Castle of S?o Jorge?’
He nods. ‘Sounds good.’