Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I think Ash might quite fancy me in this dress. Out of the corner of my eye, I keep catching him looking at me and it’s making me feel as though the electrical cables intersecting the cornflower-blue sky are charging my bloodstream as well as the trams. We wander the streets between attractive tiled buildings with wrought-iron balconies and occasionally a tram trundles along, canary yellow against the urban backdrop.
There’s a lot of interesting street art and at one point I pause in front of a black-and-white painting of a weary-looking man with the words Dreams are for those who sleep in beds sketched onto his jumper.
‘That’s heartbreaking,’ Ash murmurs as he comes to a stop beside me.
I was about to get out my phone and take a picture, but his comment stays my hand. I find myself just standing there quietly beside him, appreciating the art, before moving on.
‘Do you regret not having a camera?’ I ask curiously as we wander through a massive plaza.
The sparkling harbour is on one side and the others are bordered by grand ochre-coloured buildings above arched sandstone walkways.
‘Sometimes,’ he admits.
‘I bet you feel more connected to your experiences without one, though.’
‘Definitely. Although that sounds a bit pretentious, so I tend to keep it to myself.’ He throws me a grin before returning his gaze to the stone archway looming ahead of us.
‘Did you go to university?’ I ask, keen to get to know him better.
He nods. ‘Cardiff.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Same as you: twenty-one. I’ve just graduated.’
‘Me too.’
He moves closer to me to avoid a group of tourists and his arm presses against mine. All the blood in my body rushes to our point of contact and my skin still feels warm as we come out onto a black-and-white cobblestone backstreet and he makes room between us again.
‘What did you do?’ I ask.
‘Physics and astronomy.’
‘Oh, wow.’ I love the thought of him studying the stars.
‘What about you?’
‘Furniture design.’
‘Really?’ he asks with interest. ‘My family has a furniture workshop.’
‘No way. Mine too.’
‘Ours is only small,’ he says hastily, which makes me think that we’re talking about very different family businesses. Knap Sofas is already pretty big, but my parents are intent on building an empire.
‘Where did you go to uni?’ he asks.
‘Central Saint Martins.’
‘Whoa, seriously?’
I glance at him to see that his eyebrows are raised.
‘Yes, why?’
‘My friend was desperate to go there, but she couldn’t even get an interview. She’s bright as fuck, so you must be really talented.’
‘Is this the same friend you go shopping with?’ I ask curiously.
‘Yeah, Beca. I’ve only been shopping with her once,’ he clarifies. ‘Never again.’
I smile at the look on his face. ‘Have you known each other long?’
‘All our lives. Our parents are friends,’ he explains.
‘Have you ever gone out?’
‘Dated?’ He shakes his head. ‘No. Much to our mothers’ dismay,’ he adds aridly. ‘Hey, this is the design museum,’ he realises, glancing at the building we’re about to walk past. ‘Do you want to go?’
‘Not really. Not unless you do?’
‘No, I was thinking about you.’
‘Let’s stick to the plan.’
It’s kind of him to offer, but traipsing around a design museum – even a blissfully air-conditioned one – is the last thing I want to do. It feels like a small rebellion against my parents to walk straight past it.
It’s not every day that you get to see an eleventh-century Moorish castle in the middle of a big city, but it’s too hot to properly enjoy it as we walk from tower to tower along the castle walls. Eventually I take my crumpled black dress out of my bag and drape it around my shoulders, an action that prompts Ash to place his new cap on top of my head with an amiable, ‘You need it more than I do.’
‘You have to put some of this on, though,’ I insist, handing him my factor 50 before adjusting the size of his cap to fit. We’ve paused under an umbrella pine. ‘I love these trees,’ I say. ‘I’d kill to have one in a garden someday. Or maybe a few. I adore pine nuts,’ I add with a smile, glancing at him to see that he’s put his sunglasses on top of his head while he applies sunscreen to his face.
I get a small shock at seeing his light brown eyes again after so long. They’re incredibly clear.
‘Is this where pine nuts come from?’ he asks with interest, staring up at the branches.
‘All pine trees produce pine nuts. But only around twenty species grow them big enough to bother with harvesting.’
‘How the fuck do you know that?’ he asks with a baffled laugh.
‘I googled it once. I don’t know why.’
‘Where are you planning to live when you go back home?’ he asks.
‘Where I’ve always lived – with my parents.’
‘You didn’t move out when you went to university?’
I shake my head, noticing a small spot of sunscreen that he hasn’t rubbed in properly. ‘It was easier to commute.’
I act on impulse as I reach up and smooth my thumb over his brow. His eyes flare wide as he stares down at me. His hair is falling forward, caressing his high cheekbones. He’s so good-looking.
‘I’m starting to regret not going to the air-conditioned museum,’ I say awkwardly as I back up and fan my face.
‘We could go there now?’
‘I’d rather head to a park,’ I reply hopefully.
‘Happy to follow your lead.’
The Botanical Garden is closer, but as soon as I see the name Jardim da Estrela on my phone map, I’m sold. Estrela means ‘star’, Stella does too, and Ash studied astronomy, so it feels like fate.
The garden is a green oasis in the middle of the city, countless trees and beds bursting with flowers. We wander past fountains and statues and a pond full of carp before settling on the grass in the shade of a jacaranda tree.
‘This is the most walking I’ve done in a single day,’ I say as I take off Ash’s cap and my white trainers, desperate to let my skin breathe.
‘Yeah, I reckon we’ve earned a few drinks tonight,’ Ash replies.
‘Are you still up for the Chinese bar?’
‘Absolutely. I’m intrigued.’
He’s wearing his shirt with the top two buttons undone and the hot breeze is causing the fabric around his neck to flap, revealing occasional glimpses of golden collarbone.
I shiver and pull a spare hair tie off my wrist. I feel the weight of his eyes on me as I fashion my hair up into a high ponytail.
‘Ooh, I know what we need.’ I remember the pastéis de nata .
‘Fuck yeah,’ Ash says when I get them out of my bag and offer him one.
I moan as my teeth sink into the flaky pastry and vanilla custard dusted with cinnamon.
Ash’s eyes dart away, pink high on his cheeks.
‘Christ, that’s good,’ he says when he takes a bite of his own.
‘Unbelievable,’ I agree with my mouth full.
He laughs and it’s catching. If I don’t swallow, I might choke.
‘So, furniture design, hey? You’re going into the family business?’ he asks warmly.
My smile drops right off my face. ‘Yep.’
He frowns. ‘You don’t seem that thrilled about it.’
‘I’m not,’ I confess, then shake my head. ‘No, that’s unfair. It’s a really good job and I know it’s a cool career, but—’
‘Your heart’s not in it.’ He’s hit the nail on the head.
‘I take it there’s no pressure on you to join the family business?’ I assume not, going by his course choice.
‘Nah. But I have an older brother who’s taking the heat off.’ He clears his throat. ‘So what would you rather be doing instead?’
I let out a brittle laugh and give him my honest answer. ‘Gardening.’
‘Why is that funny?’ He sounds confused.
‘It’s not,’ I reply seriously. ‘I just grew up knowing that my parents would never allow it. My career path has been set in stone ever since I can remember.’
He looks alarmed. ‘But it’s your life.’
I shrug and dust pastry off my hands. He leans forward and plucks my sunglasses right off my face.
‘What the hell?’ I blink at the sunlight as he sits them on top of my head.
‘I need to see your eyes for this conversation,’ he says, taking his off too and throwing them to one side. ‘That’s taking parent-pleasing too far, Ellie.’
I experience a fierce thrill at hearing him say my name while looking at me directly.
‘You don’t know my parents,’ I murmur, holding eye contact.
His pupils dilate as he stares back at me. Then his expression softens. ‘What do you like about gardening?’
Some of the tension eases from my shoulders. ‘Everything. I love being outdoors, surrounded by nature. The smells, the sounds. I feel so at peace.’ I drink in our surroundings as I say this. ‘And I love the cyclical nature of gardening, watching plants you’ve tended come back year after year. I’d give anything to work for the National Trust or English Heritage,’ I add wistfully.
‘What about a private estate?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘I don’t really agree with all that.’
‘All what?’
‘All these massive mansions being passed down from eldest son to eldest son for hundreds of years. Those places should be opened up for everyone to enjoy.’
‘But plenty of private estates are open to the public,’ he points out, pulling up a blade of grass.
‘Yeah, only to line some posh twat’s pockets, though. They’re not doing it out of the kindness of their heart.’
‘Those old properties cost a bomb to maintain. It’s still in the public’s best interest to preserve them for future generations.’
‘If the owners cared about the public interest, they’d donate them to charity. Sorry, but you won’t convince me on this. This sort of thing is a hangover from a class system which does more harm than good.’
‘Fair enough, but I don’t think you should cut off your nose to spite your face. I know someone who’s a head gardener at a private estate and he loves his job.’
‘Why are we talking about this as though there’s any chance of it happening? I’m going to be designing sofas for a living.’ His brow creases with sympathy as I slip my sunglasses back on. ‘Now I really need a drink,’ I say significantly.
‘Ooh, I want one of those!’ I cry like a small child, pointing at a wooden stall selling real pineapples filled with pina colada. ‘I’ll get it,’ I say as Ash digs into his pocket. ‘Do you want one too? Go on, it would look perfect with your Hawaiian shirt!’
He laughs and shakes his head. ‘I’ll get a beer.’
‘Spoilsport!’ I call after him as he breaks off towards the beer hut.
We’re in the Bairro Alto district, at the top of one of Lisbon’s famous seven hills. It’s cooler than earlier and this street market looked lively as we were passing on our way to the Chinese bar, so we thought we’d have a drink in the sunshine.
The air is filled with the sound of trickling water from a fountain and guitar music from a fado musician playing nearby as Ash and I go to check out the view.
I make a big show of knocking my giant spiky fruit cup against his small beer glass before taking a sip of my pina colada through the straw. He laughs as my eyes widen.
‘Your eyes are ridiculous,’ he says with amusement. ‘They’re so big and blue. How can anyone ever say no to you when you look at them like that?’
This drink isn’t carbonated, but it may as well be from the way my stomach has just exploded with tiny bubbles.
‘Stella used to call them my superpower,’ I confide. ‘When we were at sixth-form college, she’d dare me to stare at random guys in bars and would count aloud to see how long I could last before chickening out,’ I recall fondly.
The nights we had … The nights we’ll never have again.
My eyes weren’t my superpower. Stella was.
I take another sip of my drink, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Ash is still smiling at me, which is a good distraction.
He shakes his head, neither of us severing the connection.
‘I don’t understand how you’ve been lonely,’ he says out of the blue, and all the bubbles in my stomach go flat. ‘Sorry,’ he says quickly, seeing the look on my face. ‘It’s just that you’re so funny and warm.’
Well, that’s nice. ‘Before I met you, I was kind of withdrawn,’ I admit. ‘I didn’t really feel like being friendly to strangers.’
‘What changed?’ he asks.
Apart from you being so lovely? ‘I made the decision to quit travelling. Knowing I only had two more days to get through lightened me up.’
His brow furrows. ‘Are you dead set on going home?’ he asks. ‘I mean, could you still change your mind?’
I shrug. ‘I guess I still could, yeah. I only told my parents I was considering it, so nothing’s set in stone. But I’d have to seriously psyche myself up to be more sociable.’
‘I can’t imagine you being antisocial. I could talk to you for hours.’
My insides light up. I realise we have been talking for hours. In a way, being with him has felt as natural as being with Stella. I’m taken aback as that sinks in.
Breaking eye contact, I tuck my prickly pineapple under my arm then wince, thinking better of it.
‘Do you want another one?’ he asks, chuckling as I place it at my feet.
‘Nah, I’ll save it for the Chinese bar.’ I prop my elbows on the railing beside him, our arms just touching as we take in the view of the colourful buildings and the glinting ocean in the distance. I feel like I’m floating, here with him, above the city.
A little while later, we’re staring across the road at the tiny bar Stella recommended, which is sandwiched between Barbour International and a high-end antiques shop. Embroidered net curtains hang at the two windows, the paintwork is peeling and patchy and the canopy stretching across the front is sagging in the middle. Whether by design or unintentional, it lends it the architectural flavour of a traditional Chinese pavilion, which is apt for the name of the bar: Pavilh?o Chinês.
‘Um,’ I say.
Ash casts me a grin, totally unfazed by the shabby outward appearance of the place.
Inside my bag, my phone begins to buzz. I pull it out and my stomach drops at the sight of the caller ID: Dad.
‘It’s my dad,’ I murmur. ‘I have to take this.’
‘Shall I see you inside?’
I nod. ‘I won’t be long.’
He sets off across the road and I answer the call, trying to inject cheerfulness into my voice.
‘Hi, Dad.’
He doesn’t answer, but I can hear him talking to someone. ‘It’s fine.’
‘No. Send it back,’ I hear my mum retort.
They sound like they’re in a busy restaurant.
‘Excuse me!’ Dad calls.
‘Dad!’ I say into the receiver.
‘Eleanor?’ Dad booms in my ear, making me wince.
‘Hi.’
‘Ah, you’re there.’
‘The wine is not chilled,’ I hear my mum saying haughtily, probably to some poor waiter.
‘All set for tomorrow?’ Dad asks me.
‘Yes. What time’s your flight again?’
‘Around ten, I think.’
‘Ten fifteen,’ I hear Mum correct him.
‘I’m not getting there until the evening, so will you text me the address?’
‘What time’s your train coming in?’ he asks.
‘Six thirty or something like that. I’ll jump in a cab.’
‘No, Alison will arrange a car for you.’ That’s my parents’ no-nonsense PA. ‘Text her your details.’
He never lowers his voice when he’s speaking on the phone in public – it’s mortifying when you’re with him, and even now I’m embarrassed about what the other diners must be thinking.
‘Tell her about the flight,’ Mum prompts.
‘Oh, she’s booked your return flight too,’ Dad says.
My face heats. ‘But I told you I hadn’t made up my mind.’
For several long moments, as dread envelops my insides, all I can hear is the restaurant noise.
‘Has she got a problem with it? I knew she would,’ my mum comments saltily.
‘Well, it’s done now,’ Dad snaps, his hackles rising. He gets defensive when anyone points out anything close to resembling a mistake. ‘Check your email for confirmation. Alison managed to get you on the same flight as us, so make sure you thank her.’
My skin feels hot and prickly. ‘I will,’ I force myself to say.
‘You’re welcome,’ Dad replies acerbically. ‘See you tomorrow.’
The line goes dead.
I stand there on the pavement for a minute, some of the last words Stella said to me ringing in my ears. ‘Stop being such a people pleaser – it’s frustrating!’
My fingers shake as I type out a text to her, fighting back tears: I really wish you were here right now .
It doesn’t come close to saying all the things I want to say, but there’s no time to get caught up in another monologue. I force myself to take a couple of calming breaths before setting off towards the bar on the other side of the road.