For now, though, all she wanted to do was to sit back and enjoy the scenery unfolding before her. The bare, dark rock interspersed with cacti surprised her, as did the sheer number of breeze-block-walled fields, topped with cream netting, some of it torn and fluttering in the breeze.
‘What’s growing in those fields?’ she asked, seeing squat palm-like plants behind the netting.
‘Banana,’ her driver said, glancing in the rear-view mirror.
‘There are acres of them!’ she exclaimed.
He gave her a wide smile. ‘Many bananas. Good to eat.’
She took a closer look as the car slowed to negotiate a steep bend and spotted clumps of the green fruit.
They’d been on the road for a good half-hour and she wondered how much further it was. They were travelling along a coastal road with the sea on their left and every so often she’d catch a glimpse of mountains on the right, with Teide as the pinnacle, still wearing a hat of cloud, only peeping through it now and again.
‘La Gomera,’ her driver said, pointing to a hazy lump of land out to sea.
Oh, yes, she remembered seeing the island from the plane. It looked miles away and slightly ethereal. Where the sea and the sky met was also hazy, but nearer to shore the water was a turquoise blue, with darker, almost navy patches in places. Little white crests topped the waves, and she guessed it was probably quite choppy out in the open water, although there were plenty of boats bobbing around on it.
‘Los Gigantes,’ he informed her, pointing straight ahead, and she leaned forward to see the famous cliffs. She had read in her guidebook that they were an impressive 2,500 feet high in places and could be seen for miles. There was a resort of the same name next to them, but she should arrive at the place where she was staying before then. The apartment did boast a view of the cliffs, though, so she hoped it wasn’t a case of having to be ten foot tall and standing on a chair to be able to see them from the balcony.
It wasn’t.
The apartment block was right on the edge of the sea, with only a broad pedestrian walkway separating the building from a spectacular drop into the pounding waves and jagged rocks below. Looking straight out to sea, she could make out the island of La Gomera; or a part of it anyway, because the bulk of it now appeared to have been swallowed by cloud. To the right, in the distance, were those cliffs rising vertically out of the sea, and to her left were pretty villas and apartment blocks, none of them more than a couple of storeys high.
The apartment itself had a decent-sized bedroom with two single beds, a marble-tiled bathroom, and an open-plan living room and kitchen with a breakfast bar separating the two areas.
This will do nicely, she thought, opening cupboards to see what sort of cooking utensils there were and checking on the condition of the fridge and cooker.
As she unpacked, she made a mental note of the things she’d need. Top of the list were coffee and milk (there was a cafetière in the cupboard next to the sink, she’d noticed), plus bread, butter and jam for the morning. Tonight, she’d treat herself and eat out. She couldn’t afford to do that every evening and she was looking forward to exploring what the Spanish supermarkets had to offer, but tonight was special – the first night of the rest of her life – so she intended to make the most of it. She might even have a couple of glasses of wine. No more than two, though, because she hadn’t had any alcohol for such a long time that she was scared it might go straight to her head. Many a time over the last few years, and especially in those final months when she didn’t think she could bear seeing her mother in pain any more, she’d felt like losing herself in a bottle of Rioja, but she hadn’t dared – her mother had needed her almost constantly day and night towards the end…
Stuffing the memories to the back of her mind, Sophie sent her aunt a quick text to let her know she’d arrived safely and that the place she was staying at was lovely. Then she swiftly changed into shorts and a T-shirt, slipped her feet into a cheap pair of flip-flops, grabbed her bag and headed out of the door. She wanted to find the pool, the beach, and the nearest supermarket. And she might even treat herself to a coffee and a sandwich on the way.
She strolled out of the apartment complex and onto the main road, spying a restaurant opposite and deciding to check it out on the way back. A few hundred yards away was a sign for a supermarket and beyond that she could see numerous bars, restaurants and shops. The little town wasn’t too busy from what she could see, but there appeared to be enough going on to make life interesting, if that was what she wanted. For the time being, she’d be content to lie by the pool with her book, and maybe find a coastal path or two that she could explore.
Feeling rather decadent (she hadn’t enjoyed a coffee out for such a very long time), she picked the nearest café, chose a table outside under a colourful umbrella and watched the world go by as she ate her bocadillo (apparently it meant ‘snack’ in Spanish, but it looked like a baguette to her), which came with fries and a side salad. She wanted to pinch herself; she still couldn’t believe she was really here. She kept expecting to snap out of the daydream to hear her mother’s feeble voice calling for her, and a wave of sorrow and guilt engulfed her.
The sorrow was to be expected, but the guilt was a whole new feeling; she’d not expected to feel shame for getting on with her life, yet she did. She felt even guiltier when she realised that she hadn’t thought of her mum for at least an hour, and that she had actually experienced a sense of contentment for a while as she sat at the pavement café with a view of the sparkling sea and the wonderful warmth of the sun on her face.
It was as though she didn’t feel she had the right to be happy, not with her mother’s passing so new and raw. Yet she knew that if her mother was here now, she’d tell her not to be so silly. Her mum would never, ever want to hold her back, and she’d said so frequently, especially over the last few months when her health had deteriorated so alarmingly that it was clear the end wasn’t far away.
‘Put me in a hospice,’ she’d said, but Sophie wouldn’t dream of it. She wanted her mum to spend the remainder of her life at home, with the one person in the world who loved her more than anything. How could she have lived with herself, knowing that her mother was spending her last few weeks and days surrounded by strangers, no matter how caring and professional they were?
‘Sorry, Mum,’ she muttered into her coffee cup, well aware that her mother would be horrified if she knew how she was feeling. She should make the most of this holiday and not spend it wallowing in misery, because Lord knows when she’d be able to afford another one.
Gradually she felt the sun, the warm sea air and the relaxed atmosphere soothe her taut muscles and ease some of the tension from her mind, and she sat back and let the island work its magic.
After a while, she paid her bill and took a walk to the supermarket where she picked up a few essentials, then returned to the apartment to change into her bikini and spend the rest of the afternoon by the pool.
She might even go for a dip!
Chapter 3
It was only day four, yet Sophie felt as though she’d been in Tenerife an awful lot longer. Having an apartment all to herself helped, she decided, because it was almost as though she was living there, unlike the temporary feeling you got when staying in a hotel. She had everything she needed, from a washing machine to a comfy sofa. She had some English channels on the TV, a radio station which was aimed at the British (she liked listening to that in the morning while eating her breakfast – the presenter was funny and smart and played some seriously good music) and a decent Wi-Fi signal. She was also enjoying cooking for herself, even if she did miss having someone to share the meal with.