A Little Love (22 page)

Christopher walked to her side of the counter and wrapped her in his arms. ‘I’d love you even if you were broken. I’d carry all the little pieces of you around in my pocket, forever.’

Pru closed her eyes against his chest and enjoyed being held.

The taxi pulled up in front of three ancient buildings on the harbour front. All three listed slightly to the left and their wooden doors and shutters had been bleached bone dry. They looked like working buildings. Through an open door Pru caught sight of a boat and piles of nets and floats that looked abandoned, as if a fisherman in a hurry to get home had forgotten to tidy them away. A man with a weathered face sat on a small three-legged stool outside. He raised his hand in greeting as he worked on a battered basket. He was wearing a flat cap, which made her smile. Did all old men the world over, whether from Yorkshire or Catalonia, eventually graduate to wearing this particular sort of hat?

The building in the middle appeared slightly less dilapidated. Its walls were a faded white, but its peeling woodwork still held remnants of bright blue; a large fishing net hung over the bottom-floor window and the top floor had a wrought-iron balcony. It belonged to Christopher’s friend Raul, a painter, who had taken on the fisherman’s cottage, renovated it and lent them the keys for the weekend. It looked lived-in and perfect.

Pru and Christopher glanced nervously at each other as they retrieved their luggage from the boot of the taxi. The Mediterranean heat warmed their bones and gave them both a jolt of holiday joy; this was just what they both needed. Christopher pushed on the shabby wooden door and immediately tripped on the step, just managing to right himself before he went sprawling.

‘Blimey, don’t break your neck! We couldn’t even blame a fall on cheap vino at this time of day!’ Pru laughed as she clutched at her chest.

‘Don’t you worry, I’m fully insured.’

‘That’s the least of my worries – you’re holding our duty-free gin!’

He opened the front door wide as he held out his hand to take hers, guiding her over the rather elaborate step configuration. Pru found herself in an artist’s studio. Canvases in various stages of completion were stacked against every surface. There were brightly coloured sploshes all over the whitewashed walls and the floor was a rainbow of droplets. The ceiling was low but the large window flooded the space with light. Christopher patted one of the weathered roof beams as he ducked his head beneath a blackened hook. ‘Ships’ timbers,’ he said. Pru loved how clever he was.

From some of the hooks Raul had hung twists of rope with shells threaded through them: one held a small net filled with coral, another was strung with corks whose ends were stained with red wine. They were quite beautiful. A pale wooden easel stood in the corner, near a battered chaise longue with wiry-looking stuffing coming out of it. The long, scratched work table was scattered with tin pots holding brushes, chisels and pencils and glass jars full of every shade of powder. Pru wanted to run her fingers over the unfamiliar objects, smell the powders and strange items. It looked like the artist’s equivalent of a well-stocked larder.

Christopher made his way over to the open-tread wooden staircase in the far corner. Pru followed him, trying not to step on the tacky blobs of paint. She watched as his clumpy deck shoes filled the depth of the first stair; it creaked and groaned under his weight and unconsciously Pru gasped loudly at the sound. She placed her hand on the wall to steady herself.

Christopher reached backwards and grasped her hand. ‘Hey, no need to look so frightened. If they take my weight, they are certainly going to take yours. Come on, it’s okay, I won’t let you fall.’

Pru put her hand against the small of his back.
I won’t let you fall…
She desperately wanted to believe him. She forced a smile and ploughed on up, trusting the worn planks as Christopher did.

The upstairs apartment was a single open space that ran the length of the building. The wooden floor sloped towards the back and fans of light pierced the gaps between its broad, waxed, golden-hued boards. Pru took in the wide wrought-iron bed and starched white bed linen and tried not to pay it too much attention. Instead, she focused on the rickety bedside tables and their oversized lamps, the patchwork cushions and the small red velvet sofa that sat alongside a crowded bookcase. To the left of the window was the kitchen area, with two green-painted stools underneath a breakfast bar. On the bar sat a fancy-pants chrome coffee machine that wouldn’t have looked out of place in any high street coffee shop, and the obligatory microwave.

Pru looked straight ahead and inhaled sharply at the scene that greeted her. ‘Oh my word, Chris! Look at this.’ She put her hands to her neck.

Christopher beamed. This was obviously the reaction he had hoped for.

The large sash window, a replica of the one on the ground floor, opened on to the wrought-iron balcony. It was high enough to give the most amazing view over the restaurants that lined the marina, and beyond the harbour wall you could see the sea, glinting with sun diamonds. Pots of trailing geraniums, heavy with scent and an abundance of scarlet blooms, hung in metal troughs along the sides of the balcony, and in the middle sat a rather battered blue metal table with two mismatched wicker chairs. The only way to access it was to manoeuvre through the open sash window, scissor-legging over the sill, which was maybe two feet high.

‘You like?’ He asked the question as though he already knew the answer; it was halfway between a question and a statement.

‘It’s perfect.’

He gave a small nod. It was. ‘I’ve been meaning to come here for years, but never got around to organising it. I think I knew it was the type of place that would only be half as good if I came alone.’

Pru suddenly felt inexplicably shy, hit by the reality of being in such close proximity to Christopher and sharing a living space. This felt very different from meeting for short bursts in the park. She needed the loo and tried to picture getting into her pyjamas and cleaning her teeth in front of him. She was sure it would have been easier in her teens, when she had yet to assume the cloak of self-doubt and awkwardness that she had carried with her since her forties. She remembered being very young and wishing that she weren’t so tall, hating the fact that she was always a head taller than any boy she wanted to dance with. Hers was always the first face detected in a classroom or on the factory floor when the person in charge was looking for the troublemaker. Yet now, at sixty-six, her height was the one thing she did like; it was everything else that let her down: the stretch marks on her abdomen, her small boobs, which were now less than pert, the tributary of lines that ran from her mouth to her jaw and teeth that looked aged and worn.

As if reading her thoughts, Christopher made his way to the corner, to what Pru had thought might be a cupboard. Instead, the wooden louvre door opened on to a cramped but clean and shiny white shower cubicle and loo.

‘Okay, we are going to have to implement a system. With no lock on the door and only this one room, I propose to whistle “Dixie” very loudly when I’m in situ. That’s your warning not to enter and to cover your ears. What, might I ask, will your song of choice be?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t whistle and my singing is terrible,’ she whispered.

‘How about, “Hey Jude”? That’s in an easy key and everyone knows the words.’

Pru shrugged. ‘Okay, “Hey Jude” it is. I need the loo now, actually.’ She chewed her bottom lip.

‘In that case, start singing, while I unpack at the other end!’ He glanced across at her. ‘You look anxious.’

‘I am anxious.’

‘Why?’ He stepped forward and folded her against his chest.

‘I think I’m a bit nervous. Not just the loo thing, the whole thing.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you, in any way.’

He grazed the top of her scalp with a kiss. ‘Oh, Pru, you couldn’t disappoint me in any way. You are an incredible woman.’

‘I’m not twenty any more.’ She hoped that this would convey her fears and her self-consciousness about her aged body, her many foibles and the peculiar habits of a single woman that had been a lifetime in the making.

‘Neither of us are, my love, that is why this is rather special.’

She smiled against the fabric of his shirt. ‘In that case, I’d better start singing.’ She disengaged herself and headed for the louvre door.

After a stroll around the marina, as the day drew into dusk, Pru and Christopher made their way back to the fisherman’s studio.

‘I’m shattered!’ Christopher patted the space next to him, to the left of where he lay on the bed.

So that was her side then. Easy. Pru kicked off her shoes and sidled over to where he rested. Placing her head on his chest, she felt his arm encircle her shoulders. She could hear his heart beat and smell his unique, intoxicating scent. They sank into the gloriously soft mattress as the sounds of the marina drifted up through the window. Pru felt a welcome calm spread over her. This wasn’t awkward at all, just lovely. Christopher’s chest rose and fell as he dozed. She couldn’t sleep, but listened to the clatter of tables being set, cutlery and crockery clunking together as it was placed on the linen tablecloths below. Waiters called instructions to one another in Catalan. Music was starting to play; guitars strummed amid the gentle hum of laughter and conversation as lovers and families strolled along the waterfront, looking for friends or seeking the perfect table from which to watch the harbour.

Pru felt at peace as she hugged Christopher’s form into her chest.

He stretched as he woke, smiling, happy to see that she was next to him. ‘Well, not a bad first day, in fact half a day, as we only arrived this afternoon.’ He stroked her hair.

‘It’s been great. I’m quite exhausted. I don’t think me and afternoon bottles of wine mix very well!’

‘God, you wouldn’t last five minutes in Westminster.’

‘I could have told you that, wine or not!’ She laughed.

‘Right, you stay here. I’ll be back in a bit.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his deck shoes.

‘Where are you off to?’ She tried to sound nonchalant.

He turned and kissed her nose. ‘Never you mind! I am a man of mystery!’ He struck a pose that was part Flamenco, part magician, then disappeared down the stairs.

Pru lay back on the pillows. As soon as he left, she let the cold creep of concern wash over her.
I need to tell you something, Christopher, but I don’t want to spoil things. I don’t honestly know how to start
.

She reached for her phone and punched the icon that meant home. Milly answered immediately.

‘It’s only me. Everything okay, Mills? Plum’s have a good day? Meg all right?’

Milly sighed loudly across the miles, refusing to answer the questions. ‘How long have you been gone?’

Pru looked at her watch. ‘I don’t know – seven hours?’

‘Precisely. And just what do you think might have occurred in that time?’

‘I don’t know. Have you seen Meg? Is she okay?’

‘No. I haven’t heard a peep out of her. But here’s how it is. If she’s quiet, it’s because nothing has happened and therefore you have nothing to worry about, all is as you left it. If on the other hand she has in fact found the combination to the safe, robbed us blind and left with our worldly wealth stuffed into that fake bump, then there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.’

‘You’re not really helping. I was just checking in, that’s all.’ Pru sighed.

‘Well don’t. Bugger off, drink sangria and have a nice time. I don’t want to hear from you again. If anything out of the ordinary should occur, then rest assured that I will call you.’ Without a farewell, Milly ended the call.

‘Well that’s me told.’ Pru stared at her handset and laughed as she wriggled down further on to the bed and waited.

It was nearly an hour later that Christopher poked his head above the stairs, his arms raised high. In each hand he held a thick terracotta platter. One was piled high with sardines and wedges of lemon, the other with slabs of fresh crusty bread and two fat peaches.

He walked past her with barely a sideways glance and made his way out to the balcony, climbing through the open window with the deftness of an expert. He placed the food on the table. Then he came back into the room, retrieved the bottle of plonk they had bought earlier and gave an elaborate bow that reminded her of Guy. ‘Dinner is served, ma’am.’

Pru clambered from the bed, her clothes crumpled, her hair mussed, but she didn’t care. She followed him through the open window and sat down at the table, marvelling at the sights below. Lights twinkled and the smell of garlic-infused dishes wafted up to them.

‘This is amazing!’ She ran her palm over the table.

‘Oh! Wait a mo!’ Christopher hopped back through the window and reappeared almost immediately with a glass lantern. The large cream candle inside was already lit. He set it on the floor and then produced two glasses and two linen napkins. She noted that there was no cutlery.

‘Now it’s perfect.’ He sat down to join her.

They ate with their fingers and minimal conversation: like two people that were so familiar, nothing else was needed. Pru had never shared such intimacy with a man. They gorged on the garlicky fish, which they smothered in lemon juice and wrapped in the warm bread. It was delicious. She thought of the conversation they had to have and her throat tightened. She wiped her mouth with her napkin.

‘You okay there, Miss Plum?’

‘Yes, I’m great; full but great.’ She patted her stomach. ‘I was just thinking how lucky we are to be here, with all this. And we get along so well, don’t we?’

He nodded. ‘We do.’

‘But we are still strangers to each other in a lot of ways, aren’t we?’

‘Well, yes, that’s always the way when you’re starting out on an adventure, whatever one’s age. We are getting to know each other every day and I must say, I am more than enjoying our journey.’ He squeezed her hand inside his own as it lay on the table.

‘Me too. But I guess we should make time for frank chats – that would be good, wouldn’t it?’