Weeks in Naviras (7 page)

When I reach the ground floor I stop, listening to the sounds of people chatting and laughing. I walk back into the restaurant to find everyone seated in their place, except young Lottie. She’s standing at the main wooden door, looking out at the weather. It’s still unsettling to see her rejuvenated, she seems too thin and tall. Snowflakes are sticking to her dark hair, like they’re trying to restore it to the white strands I’m familiar with.

‘Tell me you’ve never seen it snow in Naviras before, Lottie,’ I say as I draw near her.

She shakes her hair. ‘Not so much as a flake, darling.’ She doesn’t look at me, her eyes are incredulously staring at the snow landing on the gravel driveway. She was calm before, now she’s agitated; she looks like how I feel. It’s getting thicker, the snow. ‘It’s simply incongruous,’ Lottie goes on. ‘The weather patterns above the Alantejo, they simply prohibit this. What’s even more odd,’ Lottie draws close to me, speaks quietly. ‘Is that I pointed the snow out to this lot and they all ignored it.’ She gestures with her eyes back into the restaurant, where the diners remain oblivious to what is fast approaching the whiteout above the village. ‘They didn’t even look.’

It’s true. Everyone’s carrying on with their meals and drinks, talking to each other animatedly. Not one of them is looking at the snow falling outside the door. I find their  behaviour curious, but still it’s not top of my list of incongruities. ‘There’s something I need to ask you, Lottie. There was an alcove in the bathroom of Room Seven. A small one in the wall.’

‘Behind the painting? Yes I know, darling, it’s always been there, rather unsightly. I just covered it with that old painting when I first moved into this place.’

I feel relieved that I’m not going mad. ‘The alcove’s not there, Lottie. It’s missing.’

She turns to me now. ‘What’s it to you, darling?’ Being younger seems to have made her more pointed.

‘I thought you might have known,’ I say eventually. ‘It was how I fell in love with Luis.’

The wind got up the first afternoon Gail and I spent in Naviras, quite a powerful blast from the Atlantic which whipped our hair around our faces. We’d been aware of it earlier in the afternoon, shortly after we’d met James and Rav on the driveway outside Casa Amanhã. After we’d left them and walked out of the grounds we’d turned left, heading down the narrow travessa into the village.

The first blast of wind sent my sarong flying upwards and Gail cackled at me. She was wearing incredibly skimpy shorts – she always had better legs than me. ‘Let’s get out of the wind, Ellie.’

At a little grocery shop halfway down the road we bought a small punnet of cherries, which seemed to ease our hangovers somewhat as we strolled into the travessa. In later years I became familiar with the lady who worked in that shop. She never truly took to me, but I suppose over time she acknowledged me as a recurrent. Most of the locals in Naviras treated me like that, someone on the boundary. That shop was also where I bought the postcard the following day, picking it out from a rotating rack blowing around in the wind outside. Then I never got round to sending it, which is just as well since it later become a postcard to myself; sent not through space but time.

‘You liked Rav,’ I said to Gail as we continued down the empty street. It was late afternoon, always a void period in Naviras when the shops were closing but the restaurants hadn’t opened.

‘Quite cute, yeah,’ Gail then suggested that James had been checking me out and I dismissed it. Although I didn’t say so I considered him out of my league, the kind of guy who’d prefer his women coiffured and composed. Yet Gail was insistent that James had given me
the look
, and that we should track them down that evening.

We made it all the way down to the beach, passing through the quiet square in front of La Roda. The street down to the beach was steep – we had to take quite small steps as we went down to the slipway before stepping down onto the beach. We took off our sandals and outer layers of clothes and left them on the sand before running into the ocean in our two-piece bikinis. It was freezing, neither of us lasted more than twenty seconds but we managed to submerge ourselves briefly, agreed it had done wonders for our hangovers. We went to lean against the side of the slipway, waiting for the sun to dry us off.

I squinted across the bay at the cliffs and the beach bar, just twenty metres away from us. I was only moderately impressed; a nice fishing village with a few things to do, but nothing special. Beautiful? Kind of. Unique? Arguably not. Addictive, definitely. Yes, Naviras was an addiction, probably similar to nicotine. I didn’t feel its hold on me until it was too late.

‘Well I think I’m ready for a drink, now!’ Gail’s method of dealing with hangovers was to just drink through them. I was admiring her legs, which were longer than mine. She had better knees. ‘I might be able to manage a vinho verde, actually,’ I said, far from convinced at myself as we walked up to the beach bar for the first time.

I don’t remember who served us that afternoon. It was a Portuguese guy, that I remember. People who’d grown up in the village tended to leave once they reached adulthood. Very few of them lived in Naviras for long periods, Luis being the notable exception. Often backpackers worked the bar, sometimes it would be people who’d run away from Britain, escaping debts or the bad weather. Normally those interlopers wouldn’t arrive until later in the spring; we’d come just on the cusp of its annual transformation.

We ordered and picked up a bottle of wine at the bar, taking two chilled glasses with us outside, sitting at a table towards the end of the terrace. Gail quickly poured and although the first sip was quite a shock it soon began slipping down wonderfully, as it always did. Another Portuguese thing I became psychologically addicted to, but in a different way to Naviras. Vinho verde doesn’t really work outside Portugal. Drunk on a warm afternoon by the sea it takes on elixir-like properties, take it out of its natural environment and it becomes what it is; a young, slightly fizzy wine that gives you indigestion. Drinking it in London always felt wrong, somehow.

We watched the lifeguard performing handstands on the beach next to his little chair immediately below us. He was beautifully toned and wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of red trunks. ‘He’s on the list,’ said Gail.

‘He’s showing off for us,’ I said. He’d only started doing the handstands once we’d arrived.

‘So, missy, let’s get down to business. Rav, Jamie, the lifeguard?

I thought about it for about three seconds. ‘Shag the lifeguard, snog Jamie, marry Rav?’

‘No, snog the lifeguard, marry Jamie, shag Rav.’ Gail took a big gulp of wine.

‘Really?’ I wasn’t fully engaged in the game.

‘Yeah, you wouldn’t want to shag the lifeguard, he’d have sand in his pants,’ Gail was matter of fact as she topped up her glass. ‘What about the guy in the hotel, what was his name, Luis?’

‘Oh yeah, bit too short for my liking.’ I put my hand over the top of my wine glass as Gail went to pour into it. ‘Grumpy though, I quite like grumpy.’

‘The lifeguard’s got a nice-looking package,’ observed Gail. From where she was sitting she couldn’t see Luis entering the beach bar, wearing an understated pair of sunglasses. He said hello to a couple of people sitting inside, before buying a bottle of beer and walking towards the exit to the sun deck.

‘Look, here comes the guy from the guest house,’ I said to Gail, who twisted around to look behind her.

‘He’s not short, he’s perfectly formed,’ she said , raising her arm to wave at him. ‘Kissing taller men, it just doesn’t work. All that looking up to them.’

Luis walked across the sun deck towards us. ‘I don’t expect you two speak Portuguese, do you?’
I shook my head and he just shrugged. ‘It’s okay, most people here speak good English.’

‘You sound like you’ve spent time in England?’ I asked.

‘Sure, I lived in London for a couple of years, but I’m feeling a lot better now,’ he grinned. ‘You mind if I sit down with you for a bit?’

‘Of course, we’re just enjoying some vinho verde,’ Gail slid her chair across to make room for Luis. Its legs scraped against the wooden slats, setting my teeth on edge.

‘You shouldn’t drink too much of that shit,’ Luis plonked himself down. He had nice, tanned legs which weren’t too hairy. ‘It’s gut rot.’

We both laughed at him. ‘Gut rot’s a good word,’ I said.

‘It’s two words, actually.’ He looked at me and asked how long we were staying in Naviras. I said we weren’t sure, asked him how long he thought we’d need?

He chuckled to himself. ‘You’ve already seen it all, if you’ve walked down the travessa from Casa Amanhã.’

Gail was disappointed, asking Luis there was anywhere nearby which stayed open late. Luis took a large swig of beer and said that was unlikely, so early in the summer. ‘
If you want to get a taxi to Sines it’s about forty Euros, there’s a nightclub there.’

‘Cool! Why don’t you come with us, show us around?’ said Gail.

‘Ah no, I don’t need to go clubbing. I have a daughter to look after. You’ve come down from Lisboa?’

Gail explained our Iberian round-trip and the days of drunken depravity in Lisbon. I told Luis I was glad to be away from a large city and the lure of the nightlife. I was staring at the indigo sea, loving how the sky had become topaz at the horizon. I drained my glass and Gail refilled it for me.

‘This is the life,’ I remember saying. As if everything else wasn’t the life. Wasn’t truly living. When we say those words what we really mean is,
this is how I want my life to be, always
. Interesting how I was eventually held to that.

Gail was asking Luis about where in Naviras was the best place to eat. Luis was loyal, suggesting Casa Amanhã would provide the best bang for our buck. ‘
Lottie’s cheap, though you might have to wait a long time for your dinner.’

‘Why’s that?’ I asked.

‘Because she’s a perfectionist, none of her staff last more than a season in there. It’s okay doing the bar and the guest-house, and I should say that I love Lottie, she’s good to me and my daughter. But when she gets into the kitchen she’s impossible.’ He grinned at me.

‘What sort of food?’ asked Gail, dr
aining the dregs of the bottle.

‘Its adega, you know? Lots of different things, Portuguese food, some English food. Every morning I get up early, drive to the fish market in Sines to get her the best prawns.’ Luis
pushed his chair back. ‘If you end up eating there, tell her that I recommended you. Then she’ll be nice to me for a few days.’

‘You won’t be there?’ I was trying to sound indifferent.

‘No, I’ll be eating with my daughter and my brother, he’s down from Lisboa for a few days.’ He downed his beer too quickly and belched silently. ‘But I’ll see you tomorrow in Casa Amanhã, if you’re staying for another day?’

‘Yes definitely,’ I said, without checking with Gail. ‘We’ll stay for one more night at least.’

He laughed to himself again. ‘You haven’t had your first night in Casa Amanhã yet.’ He stood up. ‘Lottie might chain you up and force you to work in the kitchen! Ciao.’

‘See you later,’ said Gail, before turning over to look at me, pointedly.

With that Luis turned and headed back into the beach bar. I watched as he grew smaller, leaving the beach bar through the opposite door and walking down the path, onto the slipway and back up into the village.

Gail still had her eyes on me. ‘Well Ellie, less than an hour in the village and you’ve snared a local.’ I knew she was pleased for me but there was an edge to her – I think she was worried that she’d end up playing gooseberry to me and Luis.

‘He’s probably married,’ I said. ‘Anyway, d’you want to get another drink or just head back up to the guesthouse?’ I was hoping Gail would say the latter; I felt sandy, sweaty and dehydrated.

‘I think I’d feel a lot better for a shower,’ she said. ‘Or maybe even a bath. You?’

‘Shower, definitely,’ I said.

We stopped inside to pay for the wine at the bar. I remember it costing five euro, and thinking all my dreams had come true. A perfect village with cheap wine and nice locals. Far more agreeable than the mayhem of Lisbon, I thought, as I looked at the sky and the sea filling every window of the beach bar.

We headed back up to the slipway and trudged up the street, walking slowly, complaining affectedly to each other about how unfit we were. By the time we reached the entrance to Casa Amanhã our calves were on fire. Gail went upstairs to run her bath, after I’d offered to go and see about a table for dinner. It didn’t take so long to adjust to the inside the second time because candles were lit. Lottie didn’t seem to be around but James and Rav were propped up at the bar.

‘Hello again,’ I said, and both of them turned.

‘Hi,’ Rav said. ‘How was the beach?’

‘Pretty good thanks,’ I walked over to them and saw they were drinking some kind of liqueur from small tumblers, a bottle of brown liquid on the bar between them. ‘Hair of the dog?’

‘Yeah. We weren’t going to, but the lady who runs this place insisted,’ said James, who looked tired even in the candlelight.

‘Lottie?’

‘Yeah, she’s bonkers. It’s brandy with honey. Dangerous stuff, you can barely taste the booze,’ James was pouring a shot and handed it out towards me. ‘You game?’

It was the first time I’d looked at him properly. Back then his hair was wavier, normally combed back so it kept out of his eyes. That afternoon it was
dishevelled, as if someone had come along and pulled each clump in a different direction. Years later I’d find it hard to look at James when he was on TV, delivering PMQs or some statement with a foreign leader, without feeling disappointed at how every strand had become locked in place. Of course we both changed enormously, from that afternoon to the day he walked into Number 10. I think he changed more, though. He used to be fun, and certainly was both funny and charming that afternoon, when I accepted the brandy mel in the glass he’d been using before.

‘It’s delicious,’ I said, handing it back to him.

‘Do you want another one?’ James held the nape of the bottle between two fingers and was gently spinning it around.

‘God, I’ll be hammered by dinner time, I’ve already had half a bottle of vinho verde.’

‘Take that as a yes,’ said Rav, who put his hand up and gestured to someone, who turned out to be the young Portuguese woman I’d seen earlier. ‘Un autro vasso?’

‘That’s Spanish,’ I said. ‘The Portuguese don’t like that,’

‘Really?’ said Rav, looking at me surprised. ‘It hasn’t done me any harm so far.’

‘Oh, they get a bit annoyed if you try to order things in Spanish,’ I said. ‘English is safer.’

James looked amused, shot a quick look at Rav. ‘Thanks for the tip.’ My glass arrived and James poured before asking me what my name was short for.

‘Eleanor, of course, what else would it be?’ I tended to get brisk around men, a technique which had hitherto enjoyed scant success. We said cheers and soon I felt my cheeks starting to burn from the brandy. ‘So, are you two from London?’

‘Not originally, but living there now, yeah,’ said James. It took a bit of teasing out before they would admit to working for the Conservative party, Rav finally saying so sheepishly. Although I didn’t tell them, I’d actually voted Tory at the previous election. It hadn’t helped them much since they were languishing in opposition, their previous leader ejected from Downing Street. James told me how he worked in the research department, perhaps he’d hoped it would impress me. All I said was that I’d never seen him in the papers.