The House We Called Home Page 22

  But Rosie would go no further. ‘My legs are tired.’

  Vasco paused. ‘Problem?’

  They all stared towards Rosie, sitting in a heap in the dust.

  Vasco smiled. ‘The heat is too much for the little ones.’ And walking back to Rosie scooped her up and onto his shoulders.

  Sonny broke into a fit of giggles at the look of horror on Rosie’s face. ‘All right, Rosie?’ he shouted. But her expression morphed quickly to delight as Vasco strode happily to the front of the group once again, charging up the incline ahead, nimble as a gazelle.

  Gus watched, stunned. ‘Maybe I should start doing yoga? I’m not sure I could get Rosie up on my shoulders that easily. He must be what? Fifty? Sixty?’

  ‘Seventy-one,’ Vasco bellowed.

  Gus, surprised he’d been so readily understood, called back, ‘Impressive.’

  ‘You want to be strong? You join me for sunrise yoga in the morning,’ Vasco shouted.

  ‘What time?’ asked Gus.

  ‘4 a.m.’

  Gus snorted.

  ‘Yes?’ said Vasco, stopping at the crest of the slope and depositing a giggling Rosie on the ground.

  ‘Maybe,’ Gus said, unconvinced.

  ‘These are your homes,’ said Vasco, as they all stopped next to him. Sonny chucked his bag to the ground, panting.

  Side by side, shaded by three looming eucalyptus, were nestled two wooden huts. They looked to Stella like homes for Rosie’s Sylvanian Families – tiny slated boxes with neat little windows and three-step stairways leading to a narrow veranda, all pale lime-washed timber with a white sail-cloth roof that sucked back and forth in the wind. Strips of tree bark curled on the ground like crocodiles. A crow scratched at the surface of a long wooden picnic table. The air smelt sweet of warm wood, the sharp tang of eucalyptus, and sea salt drifting on the breeze.

  ‘Very cosy,’ said Gus as Vasco led them up the steps of one hut and inside, pointing out the basics of the kitchen living room, the fridge, the candles, the matches, the tiny toilet and shower, and the two bedrooms, separated by canvas. One with twin beds almost touching, the other with a little double.

  ‘Anything you need,’ Vasco said, jogging away down the steps. ‘I am at the reception. Or I am over there.’ He pointed into the distance where, past a few more huts and a couple of yurts, there was a huge concrete square. A group of people were mid-yoga, arms stretched high into the air, and behind them was a wide expanse of bright cerulean sea.

  ‘Wow,’ said Stella. Vasco grinned with pride and handed them all a copy of the yoga timetable before jogging to join the group on the stage.

  They were all standing in various spots of their new abode. Gus watching Vasco still, saying, ‘I can’t believe he’s seventy-one,’ to no one in particular. Moira avidly studying the timetable. Jack was inspecting the construction of the hut, Stella was opening and closing cupboards having a look, while Rosie and Sonny fought over who got which bed.

  Amy stomped out of the second hut and said, ‘The sleeping arrangements won’t work. Where’s Mum going to sleep?’

  Stella poked her head out of her hut, exhausted from the heat and the journey. She knew immediately what Amy’s problem was but wanted to just gloss over it, unable to face a tantrum. ‘She can have the double and you and Gus can have the twin.’

  Amy gave Stella a death stare. ‘I’m not sharing a room with Gus.’

  ‘Oh come on, Amy,’ Gus pitched in. ‘It’s not my dream either but aren’t we beyond this? I have absolutely no interest in you and you don’t have any in me. We’re just two adults sharing a room.’ He raised his hands like ‘where’s the problem?’

  Stella watched Amy stumble for a reply. She looked momentarily baffled by Gus’s response. The frankness too much for her. As if it wasn’t his place to publicly reject her as harshly as she rejected him.

  Moira came over. ‘What’s the problem?’

  Amy wouldn’t say anything.

  Stella sighed. ‘Amy doesn’t want to share a room with Gus.’

  Moira frowned, examined the set-up, then, as if the possible configuration had just dawned on her, said, ‘Oh darling, I’m not staying with you. I have my own little yurt, further up the hill.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Stella, confused.

  ‘Just for a bit of privacy.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  ‘Stella, darling, this may come as a surprise but it’s a bit of a treat for me – being on my own. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ Moira waved the timetable as she started wheeling her snazzy little case up the path, ‘I have a session of Jivamukti Yoga to prepare for.’

  Stella watched her mother, arms crossed, from the veranda, wishing she too could have reached a point where she could take all this in her stride.

  Amy stomped off into the hut. ‘I’m having the double bed.’

  Gus exhaled, shaking his head. ‘Whatever you like.’ The limits of his good humour finally breached.

  CHAPTER 30

  The afternoon had remained fractious, everyone tired and grumpy. Gus had gone off on his own for a walk. Amy sulked in her hut. Jack and Sonny got lost trying to find food, arriving back furious and empty-handed only to be pointed in the direction of the beach by Vasco. ‘Why do you not come to me and ask?’ he said, all of them traipsing after him in silent exhaustion.

  But as heads lifted, and eyes focused on where Vasco was pointing down the beach steps, everything began to feel a little brighter. The collective mood lightened. Jutting onto the sand was a little restaurant; rattan-thatched roof, strings of white lights, long bench tables and in the corner a huge sizzling barbecue. Gus raised a brow. ‘Things may have just improved slightly.’ Jack’s hand tightened round Stella’s. Rosie and Sonny scrabbled ahead down the steps. Even Amy’s pout tilted up at the corners.

  They ate spicy piri-piri chicken charred to black and plump fleshy sardines, they drank chilled rosé, Sonny tried biscuit cake and didn’t like it. Rosie tried it and ate the lot. They talked a bit, they even laughed and then Jack said, ‘So, what’s the plan for the morning?’ and everyone suddenly seemed to remember why they were there. Everyone suddenly a little uncomfortable, as if now they were here it all seemed a bit ridiculous. That perhaps they’d got a bit too carried away and gone on an exciting but expensive and completely pointless wild-goose chase.

  In the morning, they piled into the huge tinted-windowed SUV – the only hire car big enough to take the lot of them – all except Moira who didn’t actually want to lower herself to the search itself, she would talk to him when they found him. But for the others, there was nervous trepidation in the air because as far as Stella knew there wasn’t a plan beyond the pool in Portugal. Which, twenty minutes later, when they were lined up along the side of the flashy, newly rebuilt swimming pool complex, seemed a lot like clutching at a straw so tiny it was almost microscopic.

  Jack, the only one of them who had a smattering of Portuguese from a gap year volunteering in Brazil, came back from showing the lifeguards a picture of Graham with a solemn shake of his head. ‘Nothing.’

  Stella sucked in her top lip. ‘I knew it.’ She reached up and tied her hair in a knot on top of her head. She had expected to feel almost smug when no trace of her dad could be found. She’d known he wouldn’t be there.

  But as she looked round at the others, at Amy’s face screwed up in a weepy frown, Rosie slumped down on the tiled bench behind them kicking her feet against floor, Sonny pulling his Wayfarer sunglasses on, face crestfallen, and Jack putting his arm around his shoulders – ‘We always knew it was a long shot,’ – Stella found herself equally dejected. And it wasn’t just that she felt bad for those around her or that she wanted all this just to get back to normal. The feeling stemmed from the part of her that had lain forgotten like a hedgehog in hibernation, the grinning girl in the regulation swimsuit in the photo in the attic, the Under-11 Regional Champion, the girl from before any of the serious training really kicked in, who had drunk tea from a Th
ermos and shared Marmite sandwiches with frozen fingers. The part of her that, while she might deny it if asked, had actually been quietly excited about finding him.

  Shouts of kids playing in the pool echoed round the giant space. Sunlight glared in through the wall of windows, reflecting in ripples on the white-tiled walls.

  Gus looked across at them. ‘This is not the attitude. It shouldn’t all be doom and gloom. He might still appear.’

  Stella shrugged.

  ‘No, Gus is right,’ Amy said, hesitating momentarily when she realised what she’d just said. Gus was affecting a bit of a swagger at the statement. Amy moved swiftly on. ‘I mean, what do the lifeguards know anyway? When have you ever seen a lifeguard actually look at the people in the pool? Half the time they’re all too busy looking at each other.’ She pointed to where a pair of exceptionally good-looking Portuguese lifeguards seemed to be flirting at one end of the pool.

  Sonny perked up a bit. ‘We could come back this afternoon? This might be too early for him.’

  Amy grinned. ‘Yes, I agree.’

  Gus held his hands aloft. ‘Maybe the guy likes an evening swim.’

  Jack laughed, which in turn made Rosie smile.

  Stella didn’t say anything. She was thrown by the strange sense of hope she was experiencing. It scared her that it was all becoming too big in her head, bigger than finding her father. Because what if he didn’t speak to her still. What if this wasn’t about any of them at all? What if he’d just wanted a bit of a holiday or was having an affair and was currently shacked up in some fancy woman’s bedroom? What if it wasn’t what she was psyching herself up for? She glanced around the pool. All of it unfamiliar, all of it new. Not one memory here of all those years, all those countless lengths. She looked out at the landscaped garden that had once been home to an old silver bullet caravan, the tyres melted into the dry earth, that sold chocolate milk in bottles, Portuguese bread toasted and buttered, and tiny custard tarts. Where she and her dad would sit under the shade of a sun umbrella and stuff their faces, exhausted, hot, calm, before heading to join her mother and Amy at the beach or the hotel. Those were her favourite bits. When the swimming and the shouting and the stopwatch checking were done. Both of them secretly putting the moment off when they would rejoin the family because it would always involve some stress, her mother annoyed that they’d taken so long, them lying and saying that was how long training took. Neither admitting to the little pockets of time they snatched just to sit, the pair of them.

  Looking out she wondered if he remembered any of that. He probably just remembered the number of lengths she did or the split times. Or perhaps he’d erased it all, built over it and landscaped it like the silver bullet café itself.

  Then another thought took hold. About her mother. About how she must have known they were lying. About how that must have felt. She glanced over at Jack with his arm around Sonny. Tried to imagine what it would be like to know that your husband preferred your child to you. To know you were now second best. Especially in the eyes of someone like her dad, to whom second best was worth diddly-squat.

  ‘So, what do you want to do now?’ Gus asked, to everyone but directing the question mainly to Stella because she always had the answers.

  Not today though. Stella just looked at him blankly.

  ‘Can we get an ice cream?’ Rosie piped up.

  ‘If we’re on this trip we may as well make it a holiday,’ Amy said. ‘Let’s go to the beach and get ice cream.’

  ‘Yay!’ shouted Rosie. ‘Can I get a Twister?’

  ‘What is it with you people and Twisters? They’re disgusting,’ sighed Gus.

  ‘I think they’re gross too,’ Sonny agreed.

  Rosie swung round. ‘No, you don’t. You’re just saying that because Gus says it.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘You are!’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Jack cut in, voice firm, ‘Don’t argue or no one’s having one.’

  Stella looked over, surprised at Jack’s tone of command.

  Jack shrugged like it was nothing, like he could be the bad cop given half a chance. Then slightly ruined it as they walked out by saying, ‘I’m going to have— Stella, what’s that orange lolly I like?’

  ‘A Solero.’

  ‘That’s the one.’ He winked to say what would he do without her to rely on.

  Stella rolled her eyes, wondering if knowing each other’s favourite ice creams was on the Marriage MOT list. Then she shuddered at the thought of the article she still had to write, currently bottom of her list of priorities. She wasn’t even sure if she and Jack had passed or failed. The temptation to hide behind Potty-Mouth was getting ever greater.

  ‘I like those ice creams that are shaped like a shell,’ Gus said as they walked across the car park, sun dazzling on the melting tarmac. ‘I always had them as a kid.’

  Amy paused. ‘An Oyster?’

  Gus nodded.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Gus nodded again, this time more hesitant.

  Amy glanced incredulous at Stella. Stella shook her head in sympathy for Gus but grateful for the lightness of a laugh.

  Even Sonny frowned as he climbed into the car.

  ‘No one likes those,’ Rosie sneered with her trademark withering look.

  Jack gave Gus a pat on the back. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, mate.’

  CHAPTER 31

  As far as they could see was golden sand. The beach had barely changed in all the years they’d been away. To the right were chairs and tables laid out in front of a couple of familiar beach bars, their once flimsy palm-thatched roofs now more permanent constructions. The same slated wooden paths led down to sun-loungers with blue and white striped umbrellas. Chart music mingled with the sound of laughter and kids shouting. There were still the deckchair circles of old women in swimsuits next to men in shorts, shirts, and white socks drinking Coke from ancient cool boxes. The lithe teenagers laughing all golden limbs and ankles inked with stars. The hot pages of magazines flapping in the warm breeze and bright-coloured windbreakers billowing. Out in the ocean, clusters of surfers like black dots waited for the waves. The wind whipped warm. In the distance kite-surfers flew suspended in midair.

  To the left was just miles of beach, backed by a wall of pampas grass, palm trees, and prickly pears, the wooden fence posts marking the path white with sea snails. That was the direction they would always troop. Far away from the beach bar music that annoyed their dad but still close enough to get their mother a sun-lounger and umbrella. Stella followed Amy who seemed to head that way out of instinct.

  The sunbathers thinned out as they got further from the bars, walking through the shallow water to avoid the searing sand, Sonny and Rosie moaning about whether they could stop yet. Amy finally settled in a spot with the feathery shade of a palm. ‘Here, this is perfect,’ she said.

  The others plopped hot and tired down on the sand.

  The sun was ferocious but almost addictive. Stella could feel it pounding on her skin as she laid down a towel and the buckets and spades they’d bought for Rosie. The kids were lathered up with Factor 50, frantically licking their ice creams where they were melting over their hands. Rosie and Amy had zeroed in on the Twister. Gus had been delighted to find that the nineteen eighties classic, the Funny Feet, had been reissued. Sonny had copied him, giggling at the luminous pink foot-shaped ice cream.

  Stella had chomped quickly through a lemonade lolly just to get it out of the way. Her brain still muddled and distracted. She felt antsy and irritable, uncomfortable in her clothes and the heat.

  As Rosie roped in her brother to build the largest sandcastle known to man, Stella stood facing the water and said, ‘I think I’m going to go for a swim.’

  Jack looked up from his Solero. ‘Can I come?’

  ‘No,’ she said too quickly. Feeling immediately mean, but almost spoiling for a fight and not sure why.

  ‘OK, no problem,’ Jack said as if he complete
ly understood.

  Stella glanced back. She had wanted him to react and knew it.

  But Jack just smiled.

  She fumbled around with a towel trying to change into the cheap yellow bikini she’d just bought from the tourist shop, tying the thin spaghetti straps behind her neck and praying the little triangles would hold her boobs.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Jack, supressing a grin, when she emerged from the towel.

  Stella looked down at herself, at the yellow frills adorning her like a chicken. She never wore bikinis like this. She wore plain black ones. She closed her eyes and shook her head as Jack laughed. ‘Piss off,’ she said.

  Jack grinned.

  She stalked off to the water. Restless and on edge. The waves whacked her, one by one, like punches. Her eyes stung from the salt. Her back burnt from the sun. She breathed in deeply. She knew suddenly that Jack had laughed because he was happier now, less stressed, less quick to react. He had the capacity to see things for how they were. His battle was done. And she envied him. It made her realise, as she dived head down into the searingly cold Atlantic, that what was pumping through her veins was adrenaline, unused. It was all building inside her, bubbling up, desperate to escape. Like it used to before a race, when she couldn’t sit still, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Muscles firing. This time, however, carving through the water did nothing to abate the restless feeling. She would have to find her dad soon, she realised, pausing to tread water and look back at the group on the beach, because otherwise she was going to explode.

  * * *

  Gus came back with yet another bucket of water to aid the building of Rosie’s ginormous sandcastle. Jack and Sonny were hard at work digging with cheap plastic spades alongside Rosie, who kept stopping to shout instructions.

  Amy was sucking all the yellow swirl off her Twister.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ Gus said, pausing to watch in horror.

  Amy glanced up from under her huge hat.‘I know. But I like it.’

  Gus shuddered. His Funny Feet was long since demolished.