Once, Maria got lost. She was already in bed – or supposed to be – as she is so much younger than Jorge, my brother who’s 16, and I. When my mother went to kiss her goodnight, she found her bed empty. There was an awful commotion – we all searched the house from top to bottom, but she was nowhere to be found. We went to the farmyard and left no stone unturned but she wasn’t there either. Finally, once we were all well and truly frantic with worry, Fausto the dog found her curled up and peacefully asleep amongst the roots of a cork tree.
We were so relieved that she was safe that at first that’s all anyone could think of or talk about. But then it turned out that it was my fault, as I had told Maria that the cork trees get their shape because they jig about all night when no one is watching and then freeze to the spot, mid-dance, at daybreak. So she had gone out to see if it was true and unfortunately, because it was a dark night with hardly any starlight, she got completely lost and eventually became so tired with wandering blindly around the forest that she lay down to sleep, blissfully unaware of how much panic her disappearance had caused. Though pretty cross with me, for making up stories!
I’ll miss all of this, when I’ve gone to Porto. But I must stop thinking like this. All of my friends are so jealous. They’d give their eye teeth to be marrying a man like John – so good-looking, so successful – and so exotically English.
To make it up to Maria that I’m leaving, at lunchtime I let her be the one to show the rest of the family the picture of the dress. I think they approved, although my mother reprimanded me for running everywhere, calling me an unbroken pony, if you can believe it! Really, she does exaggerate sometimes. I could hardly stop myself from laughing, especially as I could see Maria biting her lip and trying to keep a straight face whilst I got a scolding.
Soon, I’ll be in charge of the dining room and the meals, choosing what to serve, planning menus. That’s a scary thought, if I’m honest, because I’m not very domestic. But I’ll learn. People say you can learn anything if you put your mind to it. My family are so happy for me to be making such a good match that I have a lot of expectation to live up to.
I can’t and I won’t let them down.
London, 2010
Sarah was still lost in Inês’s past when she heard the key in the lock that signalled that Hugo was home from work. Instinctively, she looked at her watch and saw that it was much later than his text had said he would be back. She had not noticed the passing of time, so engrossed was she in what she was reading. Hastily, she closed the journal and opened her laptop, on which the email asking her to do the Portuguese story was still open. She had almost forgotten about it, and the decision she had to make, with the distraction of seeing Inês, the encounter with her curious visitor, and the gift of the journal. Now some of Inês’s courage – preparing to leave all that was familiar to her in favour of the man she loved, to move far away from everything she knew – imbued itself in Sarah. She would not let painful memories that she should have left behind years ago define or restrict her.
She would take the commission. She would go to Portugal.
She heard the plump of Hugo’s bag on the hall floor and the click of the catch on the door of the downstairs cloakroom. By the time he had entered the kitchen, she was refilling her own glass and pouring one for him.
“Hi,” she said, handing him the wine. “How was your day?”
As soon as she’d said it, she knew it was a mistake.
“Awful. Needy clients, uncooperative software, ridiculous deadlines.”
Hugo sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. “What’s for supper?”
“Oh!” cried Sarah, suddenly remembering the casserole in the oven. Snatching up the oven gloves, she tore open the oven door and hauled out the heavy dish. The damage was confirmed as soon as she lifted the lid.
“I’m sorry, it’s a bit – well, dry.” She peered into the pan, the heat from the desiccated food scorching her skin. “I’ll make some more gravy, then it’ll be fine.”
Hugo got out his phone and started scrolling through it as Sarah struggled to redeem the food. Stirring the gravy pan vigorously, she could feel her annoyance preventing the lumps from melting. He hadn’t asked her anything about herself. There had been a time when he had been as interested in her work as in his own, but that time seemed to have been swept away by a tidal wave that had left only indifference in its wake.
“I’ve got the chance of a really good piece,” she announced, keeping her voice steady and calm. “An article about cork production.” She placed the casserole dish on the wooden mat she had put ready.
“That’s great, darling, well done.” Hugo had put his phone on the table but he was still looking at it, either reading a message or expecting one.
Sarah plonked her wine glass hard down, slopping a few blood-red drops onto the table. “Isn’t it good? I think it’ll be really interesting.”
She paused, rubbing at the spilt wine with her fingertip. “The only thing is – as I said, it’s about cork. Portuguese cork.” She realised that she was speaking unnaturally fast, as if getting the words out quickly would confuse Hugo into agreeing. “So – I’ll have to go there for a few days. To Portugal. I’ll have to go to Portugal.”
She gulped a mouthful of wine and dished out the reinvigorated casserole. “I’m sure mum will come and help with the kids,” she added, scrutinising Hugo’s expression for clues as to his likely reaction.
“Oh,” was his only response. He seemed stunned, lost for words. His tired eyes struggled to change focus from his phone to her. “Have you already agreed to it? Then we’ll manage. Somehow.”
His expression conveyed an inner disbelief that this would be possible. He rubbed his hands across his thick eyebrows, causing the hairs to stand awry. He was only forty-two, a couple of years older than Sarah, but his reddish-brown curls, once so thick and wiry with an exuberant bounciness that had entranced and delighted her when they first met, were thinning. Not only was his glorious trampoline hair now more like a flattish mat, but also the creases under his eyes had deepened to match the furrows etched into his brow. These things could not have happened overnight, but Sarah realised with a jolt of shock that it was the first time she had noticed them.
“More or less.” She passed a plate to Hugo and then considered her own, half-heartedly forking up a small mouthful. “I’d really like to do it,” she added.
“It’s a done deal, then, isn’t it? Nothing further to discuss.” Hugo looked back at his phone and began jabbing at the keypad at top speed.
“Fantastic,” Sarah replied, relieved that he hadn’t put up more of a fuss about the difficulty of juggling the business and childcare, but also angered by the fact that this was the sum total of his interest in her work. And in her. Neither worthy of his full attention even for only a few minutes. She breathed in deeply and willed for Ines’s spirit.
“Hugo, could you put that thing down while we’re talking?” He hadn’t asked for any details about the article, let alone congratulated her on being offered it. “Don’t you want to know anything else about what I’ll be writing about, where I’ll be going?”
“Sorry. I just had to reply to that one urgently.” Hugo pushed the phone a few inches away from him on the table, but didn’t take his eyes off it.
“Was it really something that couldn’t have waited for five minutes?”
“I’m keeping a lot of balls in the air at the moment with the new clients we’re taking on. I don’t think you realise the pressure I’m under. It’s not all about you, you know.” He smiled lopsidedly, as if aware of the need to soften the tone of his words.
Sarah, unable to see the joke, traced her finger slowly and deliberately around the rim of her wine glass. I think the problem is that it’s so rarely about me, were the