Page 39

It takes two minutes after I’ve pressed send on my email to Toni for her to call me.

I smile to myself victoriously when I see her number flash up on my screen – I knew it would be unlikely for me to be put through to her if I phoned the Studio office, but that as soon as she read my email, she’d want to speak to me directly.

‘Iris,’ she says when I answer, her voice full of concern, ‘what’s this about you needing another week over there? Is Leo Silva still not playing ball? You need me to get involved? Tell me if you’re really stuck and I’ll speak to Michelle’s team.’

Sitting on my balcony, I clasp the warm takeaway cup of coffee I got on the way home from Leo’s, trying not to giggle. If only she knew…

I know it’s bad, but the secrecy of what’s going on with Leo is actually wildly exciting. I think back on this morning when he pinned me up against the doorframe to kiss me and a thrilling shiver rolls down my spine.

‘No, he’s definitely… coming around,’ I say vaguely, biting back a smile.

‘Fantastic. I knew you’d be able to reel him in.’

Oh, I’ve reeled him in all right.

‘Nicely done, Iris,’ she adds, impressed. ‘I told Sam if anyone could break through a wall of resistance, it would be you.’

‘Thank you – but I do need more time out here. There’s a lot we haven’t covered,’ I say calmly, taking a sip of coffee.

‘I suppose it took more time than expected to get him where you want him.’

Her comment causes me to inhale sharply and almost choke on my drink, coughing and spluttering, the coffee splashing and spilling out, pooling in its lid.

‘Iris, you all right?’ Toni checks.

‘Fine,’ I utter through wheezes. ‘Coffee went down the wrong way.’

‘Look, I get that this guy has made you work for the interviews, but you’ve already had two weeks,’ she reminds me.

‘We’re on a strict deadline with this one.

Not much I can do about that with Michelle Martin breathing down my neck.

It needs to publish early summer; a surf article any other time of year doesn’t make sense. ’

‘I know, I know.’ I press my lips together, thinking about how Leo reminded me that I’m not one to ask for something I want.

I take it. ‘But Michelle wants this feature to be the best it can be, right? It’s important to her.

So I’m sure she’d understand that I need a bit more time to make sure of that. It has to be perfect.’

I hear Toni exhale at the other end of the phone.

‘And I’ve saved Studio a lot of money by staying in accommodation arranged by my friend,’ I add in an attempt to argue my case. ‘So hopefully, a change of flight won’t be too extravagant when you take that into consideration.’

‘Mm.’

Putting my coffee down on the table, I stand up to wander to the edge of the balcony, leaning on the rail and looking out at the ocean. I wish I could see him surfing out there on the water. The waves somehow look empty without him.

It was nice to take my time leaving his flat this morning.

I had a long, hot shower after he left, selected a hoodie from his collection and pulled it on over my dress.

When I had found Marina’s flip-flops he’d mentioned, I’d strolled leisurely back to the flat carrying my heels in a shopping bag I stole from the cupboard under his sink, just in case I bumped into anyone I knew.

Carrying heels from the night before would have been a bit of a giveaway.

As I stopped to buy a coffee from the little café I’ve been dropping into almost daily now, I lost myself in a daydream about my night with Leo, unable to stop smiling.

They had to call out to me twice to tell me the coffee was ready and I blushed when they finally caught my attention, as though they might have been able to read my dirty little mind.

Leo was absolutely right – I need to cancel my flight. No matter how inappropriate the situation, I have to admit to myself that last night (and this morning) was so fun, I’m not ready to leave quite yet. I like it here.

‘Honestly Toni, to prove my conviction, I’ll say that I’m happy to foot the bill myself about this flight if you really can’t make it work.

I know that to get this story right, I need more time out here.

It’s a good story, trust me, but it’s a complex one.

And I want to get this right for you and Michelle, I really do. ’

She takes a moment to consider my argument. ‘All right. I suppose we can give you one more week on this. I’ll speak to Sam about changing the dates of the flight and she’ll email you the confirmation.’

‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’

‘Sounds like hard work. Have you got anything to show me?’

I hesitate. Since deleting the disastrously dry writing I sent her before, currently all I’ve got is a blank page. ‘You’ll have some draft paragraphs by the end of today.’

‘Good. I’ll make a note to read those tomorrow morning before I take my daughter to her football practice,’ she says, and I can hear her typing, adding it to her calendar.

Which reminds me of Leo’s teasing about my insistence on scheduling everything.

I smile into the phone, thinking of him doing so, how cute he looks when he gets that bemused expression on his face because I’m doing something that is ridiculous to him.

That smile of his is so sexy, even when he’s making fun of me.

‘It will be a nice start to my Saturday morning,’ she continues. ‘I can sit looking out at the pissing rain while reading about beaches, rolling waves and a surfer who won’t quit.’

‘You won’t be disappointed. Hey, would you rather I sent them Sunday evening so you can have a stress-free weekend and read them on Monday instead?’

‘Oh God, Iris, how many things were wrong with that sentence? No, I would rather have your pages as soon as possible. Additionally, I do have the capability of leaving a document unread in my inbox should I decide to read them the next day instead. And a stress-free weekend? Please . I’m a working mother. Get a grip.’

I laugh lightly. ‘I realised it sounded stupid as soon as I said it.’

‘At least you realised.’

‘You know, Toni,’ I say, peering down at a couple strolling towards the sea and putting their feet in the water, letting the waves lap over them, ‘you should come to Burgau.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘It’s beautiful here and very tranquil, especially in the down season.’

‘If I want tranquil, Iris, I’ll put on my headphones and listen to a podcast.’

I grin. I hope Toni never changes. ‘The views are really something. Everyone is friendly, the beach is great, the food is delicious. And they have good coffee.’

She snorts. ‘So does London. In fact, we have all of those things you listed right here.’

‘You might scrape by with the people and food, but a great beach?’ I point out, raising my eyebrows.

‘What the fuck do you call South Bank?’

I burst out laughing. ‘I’m serious, Toni; if you ever need to get away, you should consider The Algarve.’ I gaze out at the ocean and mutter, ‘There’s something about this place: the community, the pace – it makes you feel… like you’re part of something.’

‘That’s nice. Put that in the piece,’ she instructs bluntly, her brisk tone snapping me out of my daze. ‘Right, got to go. Sam will be in touch about the flight change.’

‘Thanks, Toni.’

‘Get those paragraphs to me ASAP; I can already tell you’re a sucker for that beach so you’ll write it nice and atmospheric, and make me cheer for this guy, yes?’

‘You’ve got it.’

‘Bye, Iris. Good luck.’

She hangs up. I take another moment to soak in the view, musing how it makes me feel so still, despite not being still at all.

The waves are rolling in one after another, sailboats drift by in the distance, birds are dancing across the top of the water, and the beach is playing host to a walker and their dog, a stunning collie-type.

The dog is barking at his owner to throw his ball before he launches himself after it, sweeping it up from the sand before it rolls into the water.

Filling my lungs with a deep breath of air, I turn back to face the apartment and say out loud, ‘Right, let’s do this,’ before I march inside to fetch my laptop.

Bringing it out to the table on the balcony, I sit down and open up all the notes I’ve made for the piece, reading them through, and starting to plot out a structure.

That takes a long time, but once I’ve got a vague idea of how it’s going to go, I open a fresh new Word document. Time to make a start.

An email comes up on my phone that I’ve left out on the table – it’s from Sam, confirming my flight date and time change. Smiling smugly, I put my phone back down and do my best to shut down any thoughts of last night and this morning so I can fully concentrate on my work.

‘Okay, starting line,’ I say out loud to myself, tapping my fingernails below my keyboard. ‘I just need that first sentence and I’m good to go.’

The opening line to a feature has to be perfect.

It has to grab the attention of the reader and set out the scope of the article.

It always takes me a while to land on, and following that, the first paragraph is the one I find the hardest, but once I’ve got those down on the page, the rest of the feature tends to flow.

I stare at the blank page on the screen.

Nothing comes to me straight away and the pressure riding on this piece begins to feel heavy on my shoulders.

I have a lot of people to please here: Michelle Martin, Toni, Leo, the Burgau locals, the World Surf League and the entire surfing community.

And myself. I want to get Leo right. It’s not going to be easy capturing him on the page, but I’m going to try.

I take a deep breath and look out at the view.

Come on inspiration. Hit me.

Entranced by the water, I wait for the perfect sentence to pop up in my head.

It doesn’t.

After a long time of sitting there with nothing to say, I force myself to write a couple of sentences that I swiftly delete.

I try wording it a different way but it sounds stupid, so I delete that.

I then type out something so bland, I say, ‘Boring’ at the screen, heckling my laptop as though it’s not acting on my orders.

Hoping that a brief distraction might help, I call Mum to tell her about the change in flight. I brace myself for her disappointment, guilty at being away from her longer, but she doesn’t seem all that surprised.

‘I got the feeling when we spoke the other day that things were going better for you,’ she says, referring to the phone call I’d made to tell her I’d gone surfing for the first time. ‘You need to strike while the iron is hot. I’m pleased that Toni understands that.’

‘Are you okay? Everything all right at home?’

‘All well here,’ she says, having never answered that question differently.

I lean back in my chair, wrapping my hand round my waist. ‘And… the house?’

‘It’s never been tidier. The estate agent is sending out a photographer next week, so I’ve been busy clearing out a load of clutter. You don’t realise how much rubbish you acquire over the years until you force yourself to pay attention to it.’

I swallow, before lowering my voice even though there’s no one around to overhear. ‘Mum, if you’re feeling sad about the house—’

‘I’m fine, Iris,’ she chirps, her stock answer ready and waiting before I can ask.

‘I know that,’ I say firmly, determined to get this across.

‘But if ever you’re not, I want you to know that you can talk to me.

Because selling the family home, it can feel…

’ I close my eyes, recalling Leo’s words at the party ‘…it makes everything real. So, yeah, you may want to brush over it and pretend it’s not a big deal, which is fine…

but I wanted to say that if, at any point, you find that it is actually a big deal, then I’m here. You can talk to me.’

I’m greeted with silence.

‘Mum?’ I prompt after a while.

‘Thank you, Iris,’ she says gently. ‘I know it’s only a house but… yes.’ She sighs. ‘Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.’

I nod, the phone pressed to my ear. ‘Good.’

‘So,’ she says, lifting her tone, signalling it’s time to move on, ‘how is the article going?’

‘Funny you should ask.’ I sigh heavily, squinting at my screen. ‘I’m working on the opening line. It’s taken me maybe an hour to write absolutely nothing at all.’

‘Always the way. It will come to you. Especially if you’re staying out in Burgau for another few days.’

I frown in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know, I’ve just felt you’ve sounded different on our phone calls – more sprightly, less agitated.’

‘Huh. I think that’s the first time anyone has ever called me “sprightly”,’ I shift in my seat. ‘Not sure how I feel about it.’

‘You’re in the right place to write,’ she assures me. ‘Stop thinking about it so hard and let it come to you.’

Easy for her to say. But she has a point.

Often my best lines crop up into my head when I’m doing something different, when I’m on a walk or out with friends or listening to music.

It’s that classic thing when if you want something too much, it doesn’t happen, and then when you don’t need it, it comes along no hassle.

After we’ve hung up, I decide to get in my gym gear and do some yoga with the help of an instructor on YouTube on the balcony, wondering if a bit of exercise might get my brain going.

The stretching definitely helps and I do feel better about myself – but the opening line still hasn’t made itself known.

Hands on my hips, I huff in frustration.

‘Maybe I should… go surfing?’ I suggest to myself, watching a couple of others brave the waves out there this afternoon. And then I tip my head back and laugh at myself.

Leo has truly sent me doolally.

Oh my God, I’m actually considering getting in the sea for no reason but to amuse myself and clear my head. What is happening to me? I place my palm against my forehead as I look out at the surfers paddling out. Mum’s right. I feel different here.

Although I refuse to accept the ‘sprightly’ description.

When my phone buzzes with a message, I practically launch myself at the table to pick it up, excited to have any kind of distraction.

I break into a goofy smile when I see who it’s from.