‘Officially the marriage was annulled; the family have Catholic friends in high places. I like to think the Pope gave me a get-out-of-jail-free card,’ she said, trying to smile, but Alex could see the sadness in her face. It was obviously hurting her more than she wanted to let on.
‘Anyway, what about you?’
‘You came to Ibiza to start a new life, I came here to escape my old one.’
‘Women trouble?’ Grace smiled.
‘Everything trouble.’
Grace stood up. ‘Ah, well that sounds like a long story,’ she said. ‘Shall I make some food? The kids haven’t had a sleep today so they’ll be in bed in an hour.’
‘Cool. You whip us up something hot and Spanish and I’ll play with Joe and Liv.’
‘Hot and Spanish you say? You’re not on tour now, you know.’
‘Hey, I’m a good boy, you know,’ said Alex. ‘You ask your friend the Pope.’
And he ran off down the garden making monster noises to the delighted squeals of the children.
What am I doing? thought Grace as she leant into the mirror to reapply her lipstick. He’s just an old friend, remember?
Before his unexpected phone call that morning, it had been a long time since she had thought about Alex Doyle. Not in a conscious way, at least. He’d appear as a faceless character in a bad dream or part of a vague sense of dread that she sometimes woke up with in the middle of the night. But she certainly hadn’t been longing for him. No, for the first time in a long time, she was happy again. She loved the villa, she loved working at the San Josef Primaria, a small rural school just a few miles away from her hamlet, she loved running the photography club, buying camera equipment with her own money, which brought enormous pleasure to both herself and the pupils of the heavily underresourced school. And she was happy alone, just her and the kids. There was no room for anything or anyone else in her life.
So why are you putting lipstick on
? she asked herself. Why didn’t you make an excuse when he rang?
She went back into the kitchen. Outside she could see Alex chasing the shrieking kids with a leaky garden hose. Quickly she snatched up her camera and shot off a roll of film of photographs, smiling as she thought what a natural Alex was with the kids. As the sun dipped in the sky, and the crickets came out with their brittle nighttime chorus, she put the children to bed with no trouble – Uncle Alex had exhausted them.
While Grace put the finishing touches to the food, Alex opened a bottle of wine and walked around the dining room looking at the black and white prints on the wall. ‘These photos are fantastic, Grace,’ he called. ‘You should do it professionally.’
‘Oh, it’s just a hobby,’ said Grace, poking her head around the door.‘The exhibition’s going to be fun, but I don’t think David Bailey is going to be quaking in his boots.’
Alex helped her carry the food outside on to an old wrought-iron table on the terrace and they lit some oil lamps; the sky had turned purple behind a line of olive trees. Grace served up a chorizo stew with garlic polenta and a big bowl of salad brimming with ripe red tomatoes. As they ate, Alex slowly filled her in on his own life.
‘So are you going back to Emma?’ she said.
‘I’m not sure she’ll have me,’ said Alex.‘She says I drink too much.’
‘Then stop.’
‘I’m going to try,’ he said with a half-smile.
‘No, you have to be serious, Alex,’ she said. ‘Join AA, go on a retreat, show her that you mean business. And we’ll start by taking this away,’ she said, reaching over and moving the second bottle of Rioja out of his reach.
‘Grace, please.’
‘No, Alex, I think Emma’s right. You’re a talented musician; you keep this up, you’ll throw it all away.’
He pulled a face. ‘Might be a bit too late for that. The songs have dried up and now Jez wants me out of the band.’
‘So leave.’
‘And do what?’
‘Start a new band. Or go solo. What is so difficult?’
‘I’m in a pretty successful band, Grace,’ he said. ‘I like playing at Glastonbury. Being Big in Japan. ’