Seasons of Love: A Lesbian Romance Novel Read online

  It’s hard to have this conversation while drops of water trickle down Joy’s neck, slide down her breasts and pool in between her crossed legs. “Good for you,” is all I say, not wanting to extend this awkward moment.

  Joy cocks her head, squints her eyes.

  “What?” I can’t help but ask.

  “I was just trying to remember how long it’s been since I saw you last and if you were already so uptight back then.”

  Uptight? I clap the book I’m holding shut and throw it onto the nightstand. “I didn’t come all the way to Portugal to get judged by a teenager.” I jump off the bed and start closing the windows.

  “I’m twenty-nine years old, Alice,” Joy half-yells. “Haven’t been a teenager in a very long time.”

  Without acknowledging what she says further, I shut the windows on her, erasing this brazen girl from my field of vision—as though it can somehow magically make her disappear from the property. I stand by the window long enough to hear Joy splash into the pool again. The sound of carelessness, I think, of a recklessness I’ve never known.

  I switch on the air-conditioning in the room because, immediately, it’s too hot and stuffy with the windows closed, and I welcome the gentle whir that drowns out the slapping noises Joy makes outside.

  The blouse clings to the small of my back in the humidity—perhaps she had a point there. While I slip out of my formal clothes, I contemplate changing my flight, because this holiday will leave me more stressed than when I first arrived. In the end, it’s stubbornness that makes me stay. I can wait Joy out. She’ll only be here for a few days and after she’s left, the sense of relief and long-awaited solitude will bring me an altogether new kind of peace of mind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A couple of hours later, I venture out of my room and onto the patio for a snack. I refuse to confine myself to the kitchen just because Joy is sleeping topless in a lounger on the other side of the pool. I wouldn’t normally get out the wine at this time of day, but my nerves are frayed, and seeing as I’m trapped in the house with Joy, it seems like the only way to relax myself a tiny bit. As I dip bread into olive oil, my eyes wander. Not even in my twenties would I ever have considered taking off my bikini top. Not under any circumstance. But I’m well aware that, across generations, things change. I have twenty-two years on Joy, and she might as well have descended upon Quinta do Lago from another planet. When I was twenty-nine, I had been married to Alan for four years—and he’d barely seen my breasts before we said “I do”.

  “I’ll have a glass of that,” Joy suddenly says, her eyes only half-open.

  Does she expect me to serve her now as well? “Be my guest.” I take my glass of wine and take a few gulps, hoping that my gaze wasn’t trained on her chest when she opened her eyes.

  She gets up and walks towards the kitchen with her lips curved into a knowing smile.

  “You might as well make use of me being here.” Joy, still topless, sits down next to me, cupping a glass of wine in her hands. “Shall I take you out later? Show you around?”

  “Are you going to wear more clothes for that occasion?” There’s bite to my tone. There’s no way on earth I would go into town with Joy, but her words do spark the hope that she’ll go out later and leave me in peace for the rest of the evening.

  “Does it bother you?” I can feel her eyes on me, but I stubbornly keep staring at the surface of the water. It’s darker now that the sun is slanting down more. “I do apologise, Alice. I’m so used to it. It’s more a reflex than anything else. Arrive at the house. Take off my top. It’s just the way we roll here, always have.”

  “Do you mean to say that Miranda sits here like, uh, that as well?”

  “Of course she does. It’s really no big deal. It’s just nature.”

  “Lord almighty,” I whisper, trying hard not to imagine my oldest friend and business associate lowering herself gingerly into the pool with her chest bare. Thank goodness I never took her up on her offer to join her.

  “If it makes you more comfortable I can put something on. I just didn’t realise you would mind.”

  I’m torn. I don’t want to be called uptight again. But not having to sit here and drink my wine with a topless woman in her twenties would allow me to relax more. “I would appreciate it.” I turn my head and shoot her a quick smile.

  “Ah well.” Joy pushes herself out of her chair. “Your loss, Alice.” She winks at me and, barefoot, wanders inside.

  My loss? What is that supposed to mean? It’s as though the girl has come here for one single reason: to wind me up.

  A few minutes later she sits next to me in the same sheer tank top she arrived in, no bra underneath, and although it isn’t much more than she had on before, it does ease some of the stiffness in my muscles. Before the subject of conversation again goes somewhere I don’t want it to go, I hijack it, and start talking about work—always a safe topic.

  “Miranda said something about you starting a new job soon?”

  “Yep.” Joy pulls her feet up onto the chair and rests her elbows on her knees. “Social media advertising. I’ll mostly be working on Facebook ad campaigns.”

  I’ve heard of Facebook, of course, but I would never be caught dead on a platform like that. “Right,” I say. “Sounds interesting.”

  Joy just chuckles, then says, “I don’t want to talk about work, Alice. I’m on holiday.” She lets her legs slide off the chair and deposits her—already—empty glass on the table in front of us. “So, are you game? We can either walk around the lake, or I can show you the shortcut to the beach, or we can just go for a drink in town, although ‘town’ is a big word for it.”

  “I’m not sure. I’d rather—”

  “You have a date with Jack Reacher or something?” She cuts me off. “I was unfair to you earlier, by the way, I have read one or two Lee Childs—who hasn’t?—and I even saw the movie, but, I mean, come on… Tom Cruise? For real?”

  I’m not entirely sure what she’s referring to, so I sit there mute.

  This, apparently, is another good reason for Joy to start giggling. “Do you ever go to the movies?”

  “Not very often.”

  “So what do you do for relaxation?” She twirls the stem of the wine glass between her fingers.

  “I quite often go to plays and the opera. A museum once in a while on the weekend if there’s an interesting exhibition. Much like your mother, I would think.” I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being questioned, that something about my personality or habits or the way I choose to live my life is under scrutiny.

  “Mum? As far as I know she hasn’t been to the opera for more than a decade, not since she met Jeff.”

  “Ah, Jeff.”

  Joy turns to me. “I never got a chance to ask you. You’re one of Mum’s best friends so you must have an opinion. What do you think of him?”

  Miranda has been with Jeff for more than ten years. Any opinion I ever had about him—and I did have a few at the time—has become irrelevant. “They seem very happy together.”

  “That’s not an answer to my question, Alice. Come on.” She taps her fingertips onto the tabletop now. “Whatever is said here stays between us. I promise.”

  I inhale deeply before speaking. I don’t even know if I can trust Joy because, as has become overly clear since her arrival earlier today, blood is always thicker than water. And, even though Miranda is my friend, we don’t have the sort of relationship in which I would unabashedly voice my opinion on the dubious nature of the man in her life. “He’s an acquired taste, I guess.”

  Joy shakes her head, a lopsided grin on her face. “Good thing I’m rather adept at deciphering middle-class social diplomacy.” Out of nowhere, she puts a hand on my lower arm and pats it. I stare at the spot where she’s touching me—openmouthedly, I realise too late. So much for social diplomacy. Joy retracts her hand. “He’s a pompous, arrogant bastard. That’s what he is.” Joy looks me straight in the eyes. “Then again, so was my dad.
At least Mum is consistent in her taste in men.”

  “Paul was no such thing.”

  “Oh come on, Alice. I know, I know. Don’t speak ill of the dead and all that, but I’m his daughter, and very much like him when I come to think of it, so I’m allowed to speak my mind. Mum likes grandstanding men who are full of themselves. It’s a fact.”

  I feel a bout of laughter rise within me, but I don’t know if it’s appropriate to chuckle at the memory of Joy’s deceased father. “Obviously, you knew him much better than I did.”

  Joy rises to her feet. “How about we save our trip into town for tomorrow. I’ll get some more snacks and wine and we can just stay here and chat?”

  “You don’t have to stay in on my account,” I’m quick to say.

  “It’s no bother. I’m a bit tired from traveling anyway.”

  No bother? There goes my quiet evening. “Sure.” I empty my glass of wine to mask any potential signs of disappointment on my face. While Joy goes inside to fetch the food and drinks, I remind myself to ask her, as soon as the occasion arises, when exactly her return flight is scheduled.

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  “I can’t believe this is your first time here, Alice,” Joy says, after pouring me another glass of wine which I don’t intend to touch a drop of.

  “I’m not much of a traveller, I guess.” I look out over the pool, now caught in shade.

  “Still. It’s barely three hours on a plane.” Joy takes a sip, then continues. “My granny loved it when Mum bought the house. She came up here at least three times a year…”

  “Is it really necessary to compare me to an OAP?” I have half a mind to scoot out of my chair and retreat back to my room, but it’s a beautiful evening and I want to see the sun go down. Instead, I do drink from the wine—I bought it after all.

  “I’m sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean to do that.” Joy has an amused expression on her face, as though she’s taking great pleasure in winding me up. I have no doubt she is.

  “I’m not so sure of that,” I reply before grabbing a slice of the ham she deposited on the table. If I keep chugging back wine like this without eating anything, I’ll pay for it in the morning.

  “I swear to you. I’m on my best behaviour. Should I try to better it further?”

  “You can do whatever you want.” I start pushing back my chair, having changed my mind about watching the sunset. The sun has only gone down behind the trees and it will be a good while before we’re given a glimpse of orange glow on the horizon. I can’t wait that long—not in the company I’m currently in. “I’m going inside.”

  “What? No. Come on.” Joy jumps out of her chair. “Let’s try again, please. I know I’m an annoying brat.” She cocks her head and protrudes her bottom lip. “Give me another chance?”

  “If we’re going to be sharing this house I expect to be treated respectfully.” I sound like a headmistress scolding a child, which makes me feel utterly ridiculous.

  “Nothing but respectful language from now on, I promise.” Joy puts a hand on her chest, just above the curve of her breast, only attracting more attention to her see-through top.

  “Fine,” I say, but only because I think I may detect a glimmer of remorse in her eyes.

  “It’s not easy being this obnoxious all the time, you know,” Joy says, then paints a smile on her face. “But none of us are perfect.”

  “That’s certainly true.” I cast her a severe glance before pulling my chair closer to the table again. We sit in silence for a while—a silence during which I feel compelled to empty half of my glass of wine. Though I’m grateful for the moment of quiet, the silence starts getting to me because it’s awkward sitting next to someone and not making conversation.

  “I’m glad I did finally make it here,” I say, while twirling the stem of my glass between my fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I know.” Joy has changed her tone of voice. It’s gentler—less obnoxious. “I was so lucky to be able to come here as a child.”

  “Years ago, Alan did suggest we take a vacation here. I refused, as usual.” And he started his affair with Sheryl not long after, I add in my head, while wondering how these words made their way out of my mouth. It must be the wine. I’ve had too much and it sneaked up on me.

  “Do you mind me asking why?” Joy seems to have injected even more tenderness into her voice, and that edge of brashness she subjected me to earlier has disappeared altogether.

  I glance at my almost empty glass of wine and, once again, vow to stop drinking from it. “Work,” I say, then push my chair back again. “I’m going to get some water.”

  “Nope!” Joy is on her feet before me. “I’ll get it. Sit back down.” It’s as though she’s become scared I’ll flee to my room and leave her to witness nightfall by herself.

  While she’s in the house I look up to the sky, to how it’s starting to morph into that deep inky blue that sets the day apart from the night.

  “Here you go.” Joy has brought out a bottle of water and two glasses and makes a show of pouring us each one.

  Despite knowing better, I drink from the water as though it has the capacity to dilute the alcohol level in my blood instantly. My cure for most things in life has almost always been abstinence, so I know I’m in trouble, having already far exceeded my daily unit limit. When I look at Joy I can see her straining to keep her mouth shut, as if it’s chock-full and ready to burst with questions she wants to ask me.

  “Spit it out,” I say, curving my lips into an amused smile this time.

  “What?” Joy asks. “The wine? No way, Alice. It’s too good for that.”

  I burst out into a mild chuckle. “Whatever it is you want to ask me.” Perhaps it’s the relaxing atmosphere, or the sun dipping lower on the horizon, or too much wine consumed, or all of these things together, but, now that Joy has toned it down a bit, I’m actually beginning to enjoy this conversation. I’ve stepped so far out of my daily life, I might as well talk about a few things I barely even think about in London anymore.

  “Okay.” Joy eyes me while refilling our wine glasses. “So you’d rather work than take a holiday in this gorgeous place. That’s interesting.”

  “That’s not a question.” Ostentatiously, I grab my wine glass and drink again—ignoring the vow I made earlier.

  Joy chuckles. “Let me rephrase, Alice. Did you really prefer sitting in an office in rainy London over soaking up some lovely rays of sunshine in the Algarve with your then husband?” She looks at me triumphantly.

  “Alan and I…” I start. “We lived our own lives. Or, at least, I did. Work was… is my life. That’s why, in the end, I had to stop blaming him for leaving me for someone not only a lot younger than me, but willing to pay more attention to him.” After saying those words out loud, I actually need another sip of wine.

  “That’s very honest of you.” The triumphant smile has left Joy’s lips. She probably didn’t expect me to open up about Alan so much. Truth be told, nor did I. Joy’s effect on me seems to be changing exponentially the more wine I drink. While sunlight has given way to approaching darkness, she has somehow transformed herself from an aggravating presence into an easy conversation partner.

  “It’s the truth, though I didn’t see it that way when he left me.” I eye both the glasses in front of me and opt for the water this time. I suddenly dread having to get up, afraid I won’t be able to make it to my bedroom in a straight line.

  “Hindsight and all that,” Joy says. She stares into her wineglass gloomily, giving me the impression she’s reminiscing about her own amorous past—or present.

  When I close my eyes briefly, my head starts to spin. As soon as I open them, I reach for the water glass again and gulp down the remaining liquid.

  “I take it you’re not a heavy drinker,” Joy says, as she refills my water glass.

  “I can enjoy a good glass of wine, but other than that, I don’t have much use for alcohol in my life.” I slap my palms onto the armrests of my c
hair a bit more heavily than expected. “Speaking of which—alcohol I mean—I believe it may have got the better of me. I really do need to go and lie down now.” By the time I make it out of my chair, I’m actually a little sad to leave Joy to enjoy the rest of the evening by herself.

  “Will you be okay?” Joy asks with a hint of worry in her voice.

  “Certainly,” I say, though my legs feel a bit wobbly. “Good night, Joy. See you tomorrow.” Instead of heading towards the French windows of my bedroom, I take the longer, inside route, through the kitchen, just so Joy doesn’t have to witness me staggering drunkenly, and very un-ladylike, along the patio.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I wake up the next day with my brain banging against my skull and the foulest taste in my mouth. The sun comes through the windows—I didn’t even close the curtains. I bring my hands to my head and start to massage my temples, as if it will make any difference. I more than exceeded my two units last night. When I gently move my head to the left and my gaze catches the alarm clock I am appalled that it’s past 10 a.m. What on earth got into me? How many more days before Joy leaves? I might have asked her last night, but if I did I don’t recall the answer.

  By the time I manage to get out of bed, take a long, cold shower and put some clothes on, I find Joy in the kitchen brewing coffee.

  “The lady has awoken,” she says.

  I don’t know why, but I feel my cheeks flush at her comment—even though she’s wearing her bikini with top this morning. “You’re a bad influence, young lady.”

  “I’ll take the blame.” She points at the coffee machine. “Some of this and a Panadol and you’ll be good as new.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t take unnecessary medication.”

  “Of course you don’t.” That knowing smile again. “But I bet you don’t usually have more than a couple of glasses of wine either. I would call these extraneous circumstances, Alice. Plus, you only have so many days here, don’t waste one on a hangover you can easily cure.”