The Longest Holiday (13 page)

‘Are these Leo and Alejandro?’ I point at the boys.

‘Yes. Leo told you about Alejandro?’ Jorge asks with surprise.

‘Not much. Only that he was his brother and that he died eight years ago.’

‘Aah, okay.’

What else is there to tell? I have a feeling quite a lot. ‘What happened?’ I ask Jorge.

‘Drug overdose,’ he replies and I inhale quickly. ‘Leo doesn’t often talk about his family,’ he advises me. ‘There’s a bathroom two doors down. Use anything you need, make yourself at home, and come down for a bite to eat when you’re ready.’

‘Thank you!’ I call after him.

I don’t know what to do once he’s left. I settle for making up the bed with fresh sheets, and fold the bedspread and put it on a chair. I have a look in the wardrobe and drawers; they’re empty, but a pleasantly musty smell wafts out, as though, over the years, perfume has ingrained itself into the wood. I wonder what Leo’s mother was like.

Finally I pluck up the courage to go downstairs. I hear the clatter of knives and forks coming from a room off the living room. I follow the sound and pause nervously at the doorway. Jorge, Carmen, Eric and Javier are seated around a large eight-seat dining table. There is still no sign of Leo, and I’m strangely relieved not to have to face him yet, even though I won’t relax until his reaction is out of the way.

Carmen is asking Javier about his travels. She’s more animated and happy than I’ve ever seen her, but she tenses when she becomes aware of my presence and I sense that she doesn’t have many female friends.

‘Come in, sit down!’ Jorge gestures to me. Javier gives me a small smile, Eric nods his acknowledgement, and Carmen pretends I don’t exist.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, pulling up a chair next to Jorge.

In the middle of the table is a large platter of rice with chicken pieces. My stomach twinges with hunger.

‘Arroz con pollo?’ Jorge asks me, taking my plate in one hand and a large serving spoon in the other.

‘Yes, please. It smells delicious.’

‘It’s Carmen’s speciality,’ he tells me as he fills my plate and places it in front of me. I notice Carmen still at this revelation, but she pretends not to be paying attention.

I load up my fork with the colourful rice and a small chunk of chicken and pop it into my mouth. It tastes divine – I can identify spices like cumin and oregano, plus red pepper, garlic and something tangy.

‘Mmm,’ I say, looking up to see Carmen watching me. She shifts in her seat and looks away, but I smile to myself when I realise she was waiting for my response. ‘This is amazing. What’s in it?’ I ask her directly.

She reels off a list of ingredients, including, to my surprise, beer.

‘Beer?’ I ask.

‘I can give you the recipe if you like,’ she says offhandedly.

‘I would love that.’

Out of the corner of my eye I see Jorge trying to suppress a smile. Eric dives in for seconds.

‘Save some for Leo,’ Carmen snaps at him. He begrudgingly spoons some rice from his plate back onto the platter.

I try to act casual. ‘When do you think Leo will be back?’

‘Who knows with Leonardo?’ Carmen replies shirtily. ‘He hasn’t been around much at all this weekend.’

‘Oh?’

‘He always goes AWOL on the anniversary of his mother’s death,’ Jorge explains quietly, and Carmen’s sharp look in his direction doesn’t go unnoticed.

Jorge’s revelation makes me feel uneasy. He goes AWOL? Where? Doing what?

‘But he always comes back,’ Jorge adds, for my benefit, I think. He can probably see my mind ticking over. ‘Shame he refused to come to Miami this weekend. It would have taken his mind off things.’

‘Eat before it gets cold,’ Carmen interjects. That’s enough of the family history for now.

After dinner, I help Carmen clear the table. The kitchen is in even more of a state than it was the other night, the pots and pans she’d used for cooking adding to the mess. I falter in my steps, hardly knowing where to start.

‘I’ve been very busy at work,’ she informs me, stopping short of saying ‘sorry about the mess’.

‘What do you do?’ I ask tentatively as I try to clear some space on the countertop.

‘Mostly waiting on tables, but I also work in a gift shop during the holiday season.’ She piles her plates on top of an already precariously stacked pile. ‘What about you?’

‘I head up a children’s charity in London.’

‘Oh.’ Even she has the grace to look marginally impressed.

‘My colleague is handling things right now,’ I add with embarrassment, unable to use the word ‘assistant’, which is technically correct. God bless Becky. I’ll call her tomorrow. What’s the time? I look at my wrist, forgetting that I haven’t worn a watch for the last two weeks. Well, it’s Sunday night, which means it must be Monday morning by now in the UK. My flight is due to land in a couple of hours. My mood turns dark as I remember Matthew will be waiting at the airport to collect me. I go to the sink with the intention of filling it with hot water and starting the washing-up, but it’s full of dishes and there’s nowhere to put them.

‘Leave it,’ Carmen snaps, and I already know she’s not someone to be trifled with. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ she adds more complacently.

I make a silent plan to beat her to it. I have nothing else to do tomorrow and I have to make myself useful somehow.

I try to stifle a yawn, but it’s impossible. I don’t know why I’m so tired, considering I slept in the car.

‘Would anyone be offended if I called it a night?’ I ask.

‘No,’ she replies.

‘I’m so tired,’ I add for good measure.

‘I hope we don’t keep you up,’ she says, but I’m not sure she means it. I still don’t get any indication that she cares about my feelings one iota. But maybe that will change with time. I want it to change. I hate animosity.

‘You won’t. I’ll be out like a light.’

I pop my head around the door to say goodnight to Jorge, Javier and Eric, and then climb the stairs to ‘my’ bedroom. I wonder where Leo sleeps. I feel on edge as I think about him, but soon I’m not thinking of anything as I fall into a deep, deep sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I come to, feeling strangely disorientated. Something has woken me up, but what? I lift my head sleepily. There, in the doorway, is a dark figure. He’s breathing heavily – I can see his chest rising and falling from here – but I can’t tell if he’s angry, freaked-out or something else.

I find my voice. ‘Leo?’

‘Go back to sleep,’ he mutters in a low voice, pulling the door shut and stomping down the corridor and up the stairs.

Easier said than done, my friend. Easier said than done.

Miraculously, I do manage to doze off again, but the house is silent when I wake. I sit up in bed and survey my surroundings. Dawn spills beneath the blinds – it must be early morning and I’m relieved to have some time to get my head together before I have to face anyone. I had to go to sleep wearing nothing but a T-shirt last night. I must call the airport today and ask about my suitcase. I remember Leo appearing at my doorway during the night and it makes me feel uneasy. He went upstairs. I guess that’s where his room is. I wonder if I should go and talk to him. No. He’ll probably be out cold; anyway, I still feel nervous about the idea of facing him, let alone going into his room.

I climb out of bed and pull on my clothes. I’ll go shopping this morning for a couple of things to get me by. Thank goodness for hand luggage – at least I have my purse and passport. I can manage without everything else.

I study my reflection in the mirror and wipe the sleep from my eyes. I run my hands through my light-blonde hair and, when that doesn’t work, try to muss it up a bit. If it’s going to look just-slept-in, it may as well look stylishly just-slept-in. I sigh and go out of the door and tread quietly down the stairs. To my surprise, Jorge is sitting at the dining-room table, drinking a coffee and reading the newspaper.

‘Hi!’ he exclaims with a bright smile. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ I don’t mention Leo’s appearance in my doorway. ‘Is it early?’ I ask him with confusion. Are there no clocks in this house?

‘Seven thirty,’ he tells me. ‘I’m working today.’

Oh yeah, he’s a dive instructor. They start early.

‘Another course?’ I ask, pulling up a chair.

‘Fresh recruits,’ he replies jovially. ‘What about you? Have you got any plans?’

I take a deep breath. ‘I probably just need to focus on switching my phone back on.’

He offers me a compassionate smile.

‘I’ll also call the airport and try to sort out my bags.’ I hesitate. ‘Do you think Carmen would kill me if I tidied up a bit?’

‘Are you kidding? She hates housework more than anything.’

‘Oh, good,’ I say with relief.

Jorge folds up his paper and downs the last of his drink before standing up. ‘Help yourself to coffee,’ he tells me. ‘I’ve got to get off.’

‘Okay.’ Pause. ‘Is … Leo working with you today?’

‘No.’ He gives a curt shake of his head. ‘Not until tomorrow. Today we’re in the pool.’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’

He tuts. ‘You forget so quickly.’

‘I don’t want to forget. I might have to go for another dive sometime.’

‘Absolutely,’ he agrees wholeheartedly. ‘You’ve come to the right place.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, and mean it more than he can ever know.

‘You’re welcome.’ He makes to leave.

‘I really mean it,’ I blurt out, making him turn around. He notices my eyes welling up and his face falls. ‘Don’t worry, I’m okay. I’ll be okay,’ I tell him in a hurry. I don’t want him to be late for work. ‘But I just want you to know that I appreciate what you’re doing for me.’

‘You’d do the same for me,’ he says simply.

Well, yes, I would, but how can he be so sure of that?

‘What has happened to you … Well, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’ He pats me on my shoulder and then he’s gone.

I wait until Carmen is out of the house before I start on the housework. She’s working in the gift shop today, she tells me. Javier and Eric are nowhere to be seen, but I don’t imagine they’ll care much what I get up to. Then of course there’s Leo. And there’s no way I can predict how he’ll react.

I start by lifting the dirty dishes out of the sink and placing them in a pile so perilous that even Carmen would be proud of me. I run hot water and clean out the dirty sink first, then look around for washing-up liquid. There’s some in the cupboard under the sink, along with a very old washing-up brush. I decide to buy a new one today, but for now I’ll have to make do. There’s nowhere to put the clean dishes, so to start with I have to dry up and put away as I go along, but soon I clear a space next to the sink where I can let them drain. It’s methodical work and it takes my mind off things. It’s the first time I’ve washed up in weeks, and I find I actually enjoy it. I think of the state our apartment was in when I left it – I could barely drag myself out of bed to get to work, let alone tackle the housework. Matthew did most of it, and so he bloody should. He rendered me incapable of doing anything, I think blackly. I wonder if he’s at the airport yet and I feel a tiny prickle of guilt when I realise I’ve really dropped Marty and Bridget in it. They’ll have to explain. I feel bad for them, but right now I need to put myself first. Nobody else is.

When the dishes are clean and in the cupboards, I wipe over the counters before tackling the cooker. It’s practically sparkling when I’ve finished and I’m properly pleased with myself. I hope Carmen is, too. Funny that I should care what she thinks, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I study the cupboards and realise I could clean them as well, but I decide to save them for another day. I remember the dirty coffee table in the living room. That’s what I’ll tackle next. And I know the living-room floor could do with a mop. Then, with a frown, I notice the dirty kitchen floor and find myself sighing. Nope, I can’t move onto the living room until the kitchen is finished. Where would I find a mop? There isn’t one in the kitchen, but this is a big house. I bet there’s a laundry room here somewhere. I set off out of the room with determination and walk smack bang into Leo.

‘Oh!’ I gasp.

I stare up at him. He’s never looked more intense. I don’t think he’s angry, but he sure as hell doesn’t look happy to see me. He looks almost … hurt. But can that be right?

He takes a step backwards.

‘Sorry,’ I murmur, tearing my eyes away from him. He says nothing, but the immediate awkwardness is broken and he steps around me into the kitchen. He stands there for a moment, surveying the scene.

‘Did you do this?’

I take a deep, shaky breath and nod, even though he’s not looking at me. I add, ‘Yes,’ but it comes out sounding croaky so I clear my throat. ‘I had nothing else to do.’

He goes to the cupboard next to the fridge and gets out an espresso cup, flicking on the kettle.

‘You want one?’ he asks without looking at me.

‘Sure.’

He gets another cup out of the cupboard and reaches for the instant coffee, muttering under his breath as he spoons it out. He likes it strong. He’s wearing his battered blue jeans with a crumpled black T-shirt, which he could have slept in. His hair is messier than normal, partly falling down across his forehead and he has a shadow of stubble across his jaw. He looks dishevelled and hung over, but oh so hot.

‘Sugar?’

I come to with a start. ‘Please. One. Only in coffee.’

He spoons three into his own cup, and I have to bite my tongue from saying anything. ‘Carmen really needs to get a machine,’ he mutters more loudly this time. ‘I hate this instant shit.’

‘There’s a good coffee shop down the road,’ I say hesitantly. ‘Do you want me to go and get you one?’

He glances over his shoulder and looks momentarily amused. ‘I think you’ve done enough work for one morning, don’t you? It’s only ten o’clock.’ He hands over my coffee, his dark eyes flicking up to meet mine.

‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the cup gratefully. I never did make one for myself after Jorge left. ‘What time did you come back last night?’ I find myself asking.

‘I have no idea,’ he says grumpily as he leans back against the counter and slurps from his cup.