Jimmy on the terrace.
She crept over to the row of rangy, unkempt olive trees in an attempt to peer through the gaps to see what was going on.
She could see Miles’s khaki clad legs. They made her think of all the unsuccessful dates she’d had over the years, no candidate matching up to her vision of him.
She could hear Jimmy as she peered through the leaves, unable to get a very good look, the branches all overgrown. Then Miles’s deep laugh.
She reached up and moved an olive branch out the way as surreptitiously as she could. Then she caught Jimmy say something about Flo, and Miles saying, ‘Yeah, it’s better.’ And she immediately let go of the branch and stepped away.
Flo.
Flo Hamilton was a friend of a girl who’d been on Jimmy’s university course and had taken Jimmy’s room in the boys’ flat when he’d left. She’d bounded in, all white teeth and American confidence. Jessica had made the mistake of not taking much notice.
Jessica heard Dex come out onto the terrace, and the sound of more back-slapping and guffawing. Then obviously Miles must have been shown inside and it all fell silent.
She rubbed her face with her hand and stood for a second before retying her hair and taking a proper look at the pool area.
It was an unloved little hideaway, enclosed on every side by olive trees whose branches snaked out in search of one another. Taking her bucket, Jessica went and sat in a big wicker chair in the one shady corner and stared across at the pool. It was just about long enough for two strokes of front crawl and was tiled in pearlescent black stones that made the water green and dark. It would be like swimming in twilight as the sun blazed overhead. Olive leaves scattered the surface like little boats.
She wondered if she could hide there forever.
It was the dirt that made her get up in the end. The desire to make this little area shine to its full potential.
She got to work with the scrubbing brush, the hard bristles scratching over the lichen-coated tiles. And the more she scrubbed, the more she fell into the monotony of the noise. It made her think of her parents’ house where she’d lived with sweeping and scrubbing as a background noise for years. Polishing and hoovering. Constant tidying. The dull thumping sound of the living room doors as their glass panels were dusted; the smell of white vinegar on surfaces and the sight of cloths soaking in bleach.
It was almost impossible to believe it had once been her life. Every time she thought about growing up in that house, which was as little as possible, she’d be astonished by her younger self, by her resourcefulness. Shut up in her room, every second of her life wasaccounted for. She was confined by the overwhelming fear her parents had of the world and the people in it. The mistrust of society. Straight back from school, straight back from work. Jessica had waited years to squirrel away the cash to leave.
As the sun blistered down, the sound of her scrubbing was interrupted by a familiar voice saying, ‘Ah, you have been put to work.’
She stopped to look up and saw the guy from the bar standing with his arms crossed over his chest, dressed in leather motorbike trousers and a bright purple t-shirt, a smirk on his lips. ‘This outfit, it is very flattering,’ he said, pointing to her boilersuit.
Jessica raised her brows. ‘Are you stalking me?’
‘Ha, no.’ He shook his head, then took the couple of steps down to the patio. ‘I am looking for Ms Libby. I help her out a bit last week and I am free today so I thought …?’ He shrugged. ‘She might need more help. I am Bruno by the way.’
‘Libby’s inside,’ Jessica said, starting to scrub again.
He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. ‘You know in most cultures it is polite to return a greeting. A person might even say their name.’
She paused, wiped her brow, and then leant her hands on the edge of the bucket. ‘I’m sure they might,’ she
She crept over to the row of rangy, unkempt olive trees in an attempt to peer through the gaps to see what was going on.
She could see Miles’s khaki clad legs. They made her think of all the unsuccessful dates she’d had over the years, no candidate matching up to her vision of him.
She could hear Jimmy as she peered through the leaves, unable to get a very good look, the branches all overgrown. Then Miles’s deep laugh.
She reached up and moved an olive branch out the way as surreptitiously as she could. Then she caught Jimmy say something about Flo, and Miles saying, ‘Yeah, it’s better.’ And she immediately let go of the branch and stepped away.
Flo.
Flo Hamilton was a friend of a girl who’d been on Jimmy’s university course and had taken Jimmy’s room in the boys’ flat when he’d left. She’d bounded in, all white teeth and American confidence. Jessica had made the mistake of not taking much notice.
Jessica heard Dex come out onto the terrace, and the sound of more back-slapping and guffawing. Then obviously Miles must have been shown inside and it all fell silent.
She rubbed her face with her hand and stood for a second before retying her hair and taking a proper look at the pool area.
It was an unloved little hideaway, enclosed on every side by olive trees whose branches snaked out in search of one another. Taking her bucket, Jessica went and sat in a big wicker chair in the one shady corner and stared across at the pool. It was just about long enough for two strokes of front crawl and was tiled in pearlescent black stones that made the water green and dark. It would be like swimming in twilight as the sun blazed overhead. Olive leaves scattered the surface like little boats.
She wondered if she could hide there forever.
It was the dirt that made her get up in the end. The desire to make this little area shine to its full potential.
She got to work with the scrubbing brush, the hard bristles scratching over the lichen-coated tiles. And the more she scrubbed, the more she fell into the monotony of the noise. It made her think of her parents’ house where she’d lived with sweeping and scrubbing as a background noise for years. Polishing and hoovering. Constant tidying. The dull thumping sound of the living room doors as their glass panels were dusted; the smell of white vinegar on surfaces and the sight of cloths soaking in bleach.
It was almost impossible to believe it had once been her life. Every time she thought about growing up in that house, which was as little as possible, she’d be astonished by her younger self, by her resourcefulness. Shut up in her room, every second of her life wasaccounted for. She was confined by the overwhelming fear her parents had of the world and the people in it. The mistrust of society. Straight back from school, straight back from work. Jessica had waited years to squirrel away the cash to leave.
As the sun blistered down, the sound of her scrubbing was interrupted by a familiar voice saying, ‘Ah, you have been put to work.’
She stopped to look up and saw the guy from the bar standing with his arms crossed over his chest, dressed in leather motorbike trousers and a bright purple t-shirt, a smirk on his lips. ‘This outfit, it is very flattering,’ he said, pointing to her boilersuit.
Jessica raised her brows. ‘Are you stalking me?’
‘Ha, no.’ He shook his head, then took the couple of steps down to the patio. ‘I am looking for Ms Libby. I help her out a bit last week and I am free today so I thought …?’ He shrugged. ‘She might need more help. I am Bruno by the way.’
‘Libby’s inside,’ Jessica said, starting to scrub again.
He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. ‘You know in most cultures it is polite to return a greeting. A person might even say their name.’
She paused, wiped her brow, and then leant her hands on the edge of the bucket. ‘I’m sure they might,’ she
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