And Then There Was You (11 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Standing on the cliff top at Sagres, I took a lungful of oxygen and sighed it out slowly through my lips. Blue was all I could see. The sea was green-blue up close but deepened in colour the further out I looked, and the sky just went on forever, not a single cloud to be seen.

Turning, I watched as my parents huddled together out of the wind. I knew they were confused, but I'd insisted I wouldn't say another thing on the matter when they'd pressed me a week before at the airport...

'But, my love. What about Adam? He's the one you...'

I'd held up my hand and shook my head. 'Mum, not a word. Don't you get it? I don't want to talk about it. Not with you, not with anyone. Just let me have some peace while I figure out what I'm going to do, okay?'

She'd sighed and reluctantly nodded, rubbing my shoulders. 'Whatever you want. You can stay as long as you need to. I've set up the spare bedroom upstairs, alright? It's yours for as long as you need it.'

Unable to stop the tears, I had nodded and she'd hugged me close. It was the first time she'd done that for years; it felt good. Dad, a little lost, had stepped forward and hugged us both. People stared as the three of us, stood there in the middle of Faro airport, holding each other as tears flowed down my cheeks.

'Now, stop those tears, sweetheart,' Mum said, as she pulled away and wiped my cheeks with her handkerchief. 'Come on, George. Grab her bag and let's go. Let's go home. Okay?' she asked, turning to me.

I didn't say a word, I just nodded. We didn't always see eye to eye, but I was so lucky that Joyce and George Baggin were my parents.

That had been a week ago, and after spending a few days in my pyjamas watching daytime television, Dad insisted we get out of the house for a few hours. Trying to include me in life, they insisted I chose where to go.

'Sagres. I want to go to Sagres.'

Heading back towards them and pulling my woolly jumper close to my body, I could barely breathe, the wind was so strong. But it was exhilarating, feeling it biting into my face. My long hair was getting more and more tangled as it whipped about my head, but I just let it. I couldn't care less what I looked like.

Mum grimaced when I approached. 'Look at the state of you,' she tutted, smiling and rummaging around in her handbag. 'Here,' she handed me a hairbrush as I climbed into the back seat of their old Peugeot. 'You'd better brush your hair before we stop for a bite to eat.'

Dutifully, I tried to run the brush through my locks, but the knots were everywhere. I relaxed back and looked out the window, watching as the sea disappeared behind us.

'Wait!' I yelled, spotting something along the road.

'What?' Mum cried. 'What is it?'

'Dad, can you pull over?'

'Why ever do you want us to do that?' she asked as Dad stopped the car in a nearby parking space.

'There's a coffee shop over there. You and Dad go for a coffee. There's just something I need to do. I won't be long, I hope.'

'Wh..wh...' Mum muttered but Dad shushed her and nodded. 'Yes, dear.' Mum smiled at me. 'We'll go for a coffee in there.'

I grabbed my handbag and ran back down the street, walking into the salon I'd spotted.

'Hi. Do you speak English?' I asked the stylist who was sitting inside reading a Portuguese magazine.

She nodded and smiled. 'A little.'

'Great,' I immediately sat down. 'Cut it, please.'

'A trim?' she said, in near perfect English.

I shook my head. 'No. Cut it. All of it.'

She looked a little taken aback before grinning. 'Of course.'

oOo

'Evelyn? Evie? No, what have you done? Your beautiful hair!' Mum cried, standing up and rushing towards me, her hands covering her mouth as she shook her head. 'Your beautiful hair,' she cried again and again.

Feeling somewhat liberated, I grinned mischievously. 'Don't you like it?' I asked, knowing full well she hated it.

Dad approached us with a smile, 'Sweetheart, I think you look beautiful. It brings out your cheekbones,' he said, kissing me on the cheek. 'Shall we go?'

'Oh, Eve. Why? Why would you do something like that?' Mum kept saying in the car.

I just sat back, finding the hairbrush beneath my fingers.

'I won't be needing this anymore, Mum,' I laughed, handing it to her in the front.

'Oh, Evie,' she muttered under her breath.

'Where would you like to go for lunch?' Dad asked, trying to change the subject.

Mum just shrugged, so he looked at me through the rear view mirror. 'Honey?'

'Lagos somewhere? Or shall we just head back home?' I suggested.

'No, let's not go home just yet. Lagos it is,' he said, as he readjusted his sitting position, and we drove the next thirty minutes in silence.

Eventually pulling up into a large car park, we climbed out of the car and started walking towards the marina, where a multitude of restaurants and cafes were located. Rounding the corner, I smiled at the sight of all the boats. It'd been a while since I visited Lagos marina, but it was one of those places that relaxed me.

'Can you order something for me? I'd like to go for a little walk on my own, first. I need to stretch my legs.'

'We'll walk with you,' Mum said, before Dad pulled her away from me and shook his head.

I heard her tut and then, as I wandered away, they began to bicker.

Brushing my hand through my newly cropped hair, I smiled. A couple walking towards me, hand in hand, smiled at me. My heart ached at the sight of them but I continued to smile nonetheless.

Wondering what was happening at home, I sighed. Home. Where was home now? I no longer had one. I was homeless and alone. A single woman; a single woman approaching forty, no less. I hadn't been single since I was seventeen, and it was difficult to digest. What would I do? Where would I go?

Suddenly, my chest felt so constricted that I literally stopped, as if I'd been punched in the stomach. Holding my hand to my chest, a middle-aged woman who had been walking past stopped and moved closer.

'Are you alright, treasure?' she asked in a thick London accent.

'I...I think so,' I answered, looking a little lost.

'I don't reckon you are. You're not having chest pains, are you?'

'No,' I smiled, standing more upright. 'Nothing like that. Don't worry, I'm fine, really. It's more heartache than anything.'

'Oh,' she said sympathetically. 'I remember how that feels. You just have to wait it out, I'm afraid.'

I nodded. 'I know. It's going to be a long wait, I think. My husband has just had a baby with another woman.'

'For goodness’ sake,' she said. 'That's terrible. You poor thing, you've got a broken heart, that's what it is.' She looked down at her watch. 'Sugar,' she whispered. 'I'm going to be late. You sure you're alright?'

Raising my eyebrows, I frowned and smiled at the same time. 'I'm sure I'll be fine – eventually. Thank you.'

'Why not stop by my bar for a drink later? On me,' she said, opening her wallet and pulling out a business card before she pointed to the other side of the marina. We're open late. Come on in. We can have a good chat then; if you want to, of course.'

I smiled. 'Thank you. You're very kind. Maybe I will. I'm Eve, by the way,' I said, holding out my hand.

'Diane. Pleased to meet you, Eve. Hopefully I'll see you later?'

I nodded and she patted me on the back before rushing off.

'Here she is,' Mum said loudly, as I approached the restaurant where I'd left them. She was eating a small tuna salad while my dad tucked into a burger and chips.

He grinned as I pulled out the chair and sat down. 'I didn't think you'd be wanting any of that bird food rubbish, so I took the liberty of ordering you a burger too.' He winked.

Ordinarily I'd have preferred a salad, but I was starving and a burger was exactly what I needed. Tucking in, Mum kept giving me sideways glances and shaking her head.

'I can see you, Mum.'

'What?'

'The disapproving glances you keep giving my hair.'

'Well,' she sighed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. 'You had the most beautiful hair. I can't understand why you would just chop it all off like that. Without even a second's thought. And without talking to me first.'

'You would have only tried to talk me out of it.'

'Of course I would,' she reiterated.

I shook my head and shared a look with Dad. 'Exactly.'

'But why did you do it, love?'

I could feel Dad giving her a nudge under the table, but she ignored it. 'Give it a rest, Joyce,' he said, taking a drink from his mug of steaming tea.

'No, I won't,' she grumbled.

'Mum. It's done. I cut it. That's it. It's gone. And it'
s
m
y
hair, not yours. I'm thirty-nine years old, not bloody thirteen,' I snapped, putting the rest of the burger down. My appetite had disappeared.

She looked away, ashamed; probably ashamed of me, really.

Dad smiled sympathetically and patted me on the hand.

'I understand, love. You're not the first woman to chop off all her hair after a heartbreak. It's perfectly understandable. Just ignore your mother.'

CHAPTER NINETEEN

All I remembered was dancing on the bar and then my mind was completely blank. Opening my eyes, I cringed. Where the hell was I?

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, my stomach did a somersault and I had to breathe deeply to avoid throwing up. The sound of someone breathing very close gave me palpitations, and when I turned around, I stood up so fast that I had to lean on the wall to stop myself from falling over with dizziness.

Nausea flooded my system and I rushed through the nearest door, hoping it would lead to a toilet. Luckily it was an en-suite. I closed the door and bent over the bowl, vomiting.

What had happened? Where was I? And more importantly, who the hell was that man?

Grabbing the nearest towel, I put it under my legs and then curled up on the floor, racking my brain, trying to figure out what I'd done.

Incidents flashed in my mind; the bar at the marina, pouring my heart out to Diane, her filling my glass...meeting a group of English women on a hen night and drinking with them. There was another bar then...then, I'd got chatting to a German guy. My hands shot up to my mouth and I rubbed my face. Everything was shaking, and as the memories flooded back, so did the vomit.

I heaved until there was nothing left.

A gentle tap on the door a few minutes later made me jump. 'Are you okay?' a deep voice asked.

'Y…yes. I'll be fine,' I said quietly.

'I'll make you some coffee,' he said, his footsteps disappearing out of the room.

Counting to ten I tried to stand, but my legs were so wobbly that I had to lean on the sink for a moment. I splashed my face and opened his cupboard. Taking out the toothpaste, I squeezed a little onto my finger and rubbed it over my teeth before spitting it out and gargling with some water. The simple act of bending my head back made my stomach roll over and I spat, waiting for it to start convulsing again.

Luckily it didn't, and I just stood looking at myself in the mirror for a minute. I looked like a panda, with my makeup smudged every which way. I needed a shower, to wash him off me. I didn't even know him, and I'd ended up in his bed. I felt like some cheap slut, as tears rolled down my face. Who had I become? Who was this woman staring back at me? This wasn't me. This wasn't the woman I wanted to be.

oOo

'Are you sure this is it?' he asked as I nodded.

'It's what the map says. Thanks for the lift, Dad,' I said, as we both climbed out of the car. He opened the boot and pulled out my luggage.

'Are you sure you want to do this, love? You know you can stay with us for as long as you need to?'

'I know, Dad. But I just want to be on my own for a bit. I felt really good at Sagres last week, so staying up here on the west coast is just what I need to help myself out. It's quiet too, maybe I'll be able to do a bit of writing.'

'You know your mother's quite upset that you're not going to be with us for your birthday?'

'I know, Dad. But it's my birthday, not hers, and I really need to be alone right now.'

'If you're sure, love?' he asked.

'I'm sure. Oh this must be them, now. I'll ring you,' I said, turning to look at the B&B where I'd be spending the next seven days, before waving Dad off as he drove away.

'Eve Brooke?' said a beautiful Italian woman, in her late thirties, with huge eyes.

Nodding, I held out my hand. 'You must be Flavia. Thank you for accepting the booking at such late notice.'

'Not a problem at all,' she said, as we walked through the gate. An attractive man in his mid-thirties walked towards us with a beaming grin on his face. 'Eve, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Michele! Welcome to Onda Vicentina.'

oOo

As the reviews on the internet had indicated, Onda Vicentina was the perfect B&B for pure relaxation. Not only that but the owners, Michele and Flavia, did everything possible to ensure my comfort and enjoyment during my stay. And when I did want to talk, they were eager to practise their English. It was utter heaven, and it was exactly what I needed to try and decide what I would do with my life.

Matt had sent me an email with the details of the sale of our house – it was going through in less than a week. So sudden, just like most things in my life, lately. But it meant I could do whatever I wanted to do. I just needed to decide what that would be.

During breakfast the following morning, there were a few new guests, eager to surf. Michele, a keen surfer himself, was regaling the group about the wonders of surfing at the local beaches, particularly at a beach called Monte Clerigo, where there was a good surf school. Having never tried it myself, I allowed myself to imagine what it might be like, the freedom of riding on top of the waves with the wind in my hair. Well, in the little hair I had left.

'Why don't you go too, Eve?' asked Michele.

'Oh no, I don't think I'd be much good at it.'

'No? How will you ever know unless you try?' He grinned as he went through to the area where they kept the boards and suits that they rented to keen guests.

'Well, I suppose I won't, but I'm forty years old... in two days.' I smiled, watching as he carried some of them out for the guests to see.

'Wow,' said Flavia, smiling. 'Then you should try something new.'

'And if you wanted to try it, this would be a good board for you,' Michele offered. 'And this suit should fit you.'

'But I really have no idea what to do,' I said, getting a bit nervous.

'You can swim, though?' Flavia asked, as she started clearing the tables.

I nodded.

'Try it. You might enjoy it.' She smiled again. 'You could take a class with the school.'

'Or I can show you the basics, if you don't want to commit to a full class,' offered Stephen, one of the other guests.

Michele laughed. 'Stephen has been surfing for years. He's almost a pro surfer, you'll be in good hands.

Getting up the courage to try something new, I stood up and stretched. 'Okay, I'll give it a try. But I'll need a lift, I don't have a car.'

'We can take you,' smiled Stephen's girlfriend, Elena. 'It'll be nice to have some female company for a change.'

'Great. Give me five minutes.'

oOo

There was no doubt about it. I officially sucked at surfing. Stephen and Elena both spent hours trying to get me up on the board, but I was absolutely useless. I failed every single time. It had been fun though, but in the end I gave up and went and lay on the sand, watching as they wowed with their amazing moves. After a while, they gave up; 'on account of the small waves', they'd said. My cheeks reddened; to me they were huge!

It was a wonderful day spent in the sun, and it wasn't until we were back at Onda Vicentina and I stood in the shower when I realised I'd gone a whole day without thinking about Adam, or Matt and the baby. It was the first time in ages that I'd let myself enjoy a full day without moping. Was I finally moving on?

Why the hell would you want to move on
?
Asked the devil on my shoulder. She hadn't shown her face for a while, either. 'Why would
I
no
t
want to move on?' I whispered, responding to my own imagination.

Because you love him. Why don't you just go back to him
?
asked the devil. Because it's too raw. It's too close. He was married to Charlie, the woman who had my husband's baby. It's just too much. I can't bear it
.
Oh, get over yoursel
f
, she said to me again
.
If you love him, you should be with him.

No, I thought, stepping out of the shower. Besides, he hasn't tried to contact me. He doesn't want me.

That's what it boiled down to. Adam no longer wanted me; that much was obvious. I sat on the bed, wrapped in the towel, and picked up my phone.

'Hey, gorgeous, how are you? How's Portugal?' said the smiley voice on the other end.

'It's good, Lisa. I'm having some valuable me-time. It's just what I need.'

'Then why do you sound so down?' she asked.

I sighed. 'Because I miss him,' I admitted.

'Why don't you call him?' she asked.

'Because I'm not ready and I don't think he is, otherwise he would have called me.'

'He wants to call you, Eve, but he knows you need time on your own.'

'I know.'

'Hey,' she said. 'Don't worry, everything is going to be great. Trust me.'

I laughed. 'I hope you're right.'

'When are you coming home?' she asked.

'Soon. I'll email you.'

'You sure you're okay?' she asked, like a concerned mother.

'I will be.' I smiled. 'How are you?'

'Oh, I'm always good,' she said dismissively. 'Just enjoy yourself. Speak soon, babe.'