He was quiet and seemed preoccupied, which was understandable, and even the kids seemed more tired than usual. So by nine they were all in bed, and as it seemed clear that neither Joe nor I was feeling particularly chatty, we also retired to our rooms, to read.
As the next day was Saturday – I’d actually lost track until Joe reminded me – the public pool was crazily busy. There were so many people that it was all but impossible to swim.
The upside of this was that it felt totally safe to leave the kids to their own devices. There were children and adults a-go-go and there were even two muscular lifeguards on high chairs, even if they did seem to be chatting more than watching. They were smoking, too, which seemed shocking – passing back and forth, in plain view, something that looked suspiciously like a joint.
Joe and I had nabbed a shady spot to lay our towels and were both reading. I’d finally managed to lose myself in the story, which was both a break from my own miseries and, as it featured a divorced couple, an oblique way of thinking about them.
On arriving, Joe had tried repeatedly to phone Amy, wandering off into the distance each time to do so, but it seemed she wasn’t picking up.
When his phone buzzed, I glanced at him and watched as he sat bolt upright. ‘Ouch!’ he said, crossing his legs on his towel. He jabbed at his screen a few times, and I was just wondering if it would be intrusive to ask for news when he looked over at me and said, ‘Apparently she’s sent me an email.’
‘An email?’ I said. ‘Amy?’
‘Yeah, she sent me a text to tell me to check my mail.’
‘Can you do that here, on your phone?’ I asked.
Joe nodded. ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘I’m just picking them up now.’
He rolled on to his side so that his back was towards me and read whatever she’d sent him. It must have been quite some email, because he was reading for a good ten minutes.
When he’d finished, he rolled on to his back, exhaled through pursed lips, and said, ‘Wow! OK.’
I watched him with concern until he glanced over at me, whereupon I raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question. His reply was an almost indistinguishable shake of the head.
He closed his eyes for a bit and I tried to read, but I was distracted by the nervous tapping of his fingers against his phone. Unexpectedly, he leaped to his feet. ‘I need . . . to walk or something,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be back.’
I tried once again to read, but my concentration was gone. I kept getting to the bottom of the page and realising that I hadn’t taken in a single word. I thought about Joe’s face before he’d left, how grey and sad and serious he’d looked, and I started to worry if he was OK.
I gave up on the book and dropped my Kindle into my bag, then stood to see if I could spot him. There were people everywhere, but no Joe. I checked in on the kids – they were playing with some Spanish locals, watched closely by two overweight mamas eating ice creams – and then I set off around the perimeter fence to look for him.
I found him in the scrubby car park, sitting on a tree stump. He had his head in his hands and though, as I approached, he wasn’t making a sound, it was pretty obvious he was weeping.
I thought of leaving him alone, but an old woman was looking on concernedly, so deciding that he’d be less troubled by my intervention than by hers, I crouched down beside him. It wasn’t until I rested my hand on his back that he even noticed I was there.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked. I knew it was a stupid question, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. He looked up at me and shook his head gently. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet, and just the sight of him brought tears to my eyes.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I asked.
‘Later,’ he croaked. ‘Just . . . later. I need to be alone. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ I said, standing and reluctantly leaving him to it. I glanced at the old woman and smiled gently in an attempt at reassuring her. To calm myself, I walked twice around the perimeter of the pool before finally jumping in with the kids.
On the way home we stopped off in Orce for another batch of takeaway pizzas. It seemed silly when we had so much food back home, but neither of us could summon the energy to cook, and it was what the kids wanted anyway.
We managed to get them to bed by ten that evening, and it was only then that Joe seemed ready to talk. I poured us two glasses of wine from the fridge and carried them out to the courtyard.
‘So, I expect you want to know what’s going on?’ Joe said as I handed him his glass.
I sat down. ‘When you’re ready, Joe,’ I said. ‘And only if it helps. Otherwise there’s no reason you need to tell me anything.’
He nodded and sipped his wine. ‘Actually, there is,’ he said. ‘A reason, that is. Because it kind of involves you as well. Actually, involves is a bit of an understatement.’
‘Oh,’ I said. My heart skipped a beat.
‘So, I’ve had a think, and there are three ways we can do this,’ Joe said, sounding like he was forcing himself to be efficient. ‘I can show you Amy’s email. Or you can call Ant and get him to tell you himself.’
I nodded and thought about the two options, neither of which really appealed. ‘And the third?’ I asked.
‘I suppose I could tell you,’ Joe said. ‘I could, you know, give you a summary sort of
