Crappily Ever After (20 page)

We arrive in Tenerife the next morning, after a turbulent white-knuckle ride of a flight that sees me spending twenty minutes breathing into a paper bag to calm a panic attack. Not sure what’s worse, the indignity of being such a wimp on flights or that people think I’m a glue sniffer. The others joke that they will have to Mr. T. me in future. I retort that they’re all crazy fools. After we land, I feel unbelievable relief overwhelm me. I glance back at our plane as I race down the steps. I’m checking for L- plates. I swear that a seventeen year-old boy-racer hijacked that flight. We make our way to the hotel, taking a more detailed interest in our surroundings than most of the tourists.

‘What is “To Let” in Spanish?’ I ask.

Becky shrugs: ‘To Letto?’

Now that we have arrived and it’s all so real, I suddenly feel we are out of our depth.

Nick and Mike have decided between them that they will take control of the negotiations. Nick speaks pretty good Spanish and Mike is a complete control freak – and we would never do it to his standards anyway. To be honest, Becky and I can’t be arsed with the details and would probably completely muck it all up anyhow, ending up in a complete shack surrounded by cattle. I’d much prefer to be in charge of how my kitchen will run, the menu and the activities for the evening. If they want to take charge of the boring stuff then great. Suits me.

We find an ‘Estato Agento’. Becky and I are cracking each other up with simply adding Os to things. Much to the annoyance of the boys.

‘Not a difficult language to pick up,’ Becky cackles. I join in.

‘Oh my God. Shut up!’ yells Mike.

It only makes us giggle like schoolgirls even more. I can tell Mike is wondering what he has let himself in for. Perhaps a nursery would have been a more appropriate venture?    

We arrange three properties to view tomorrow and as our flight isn’t until 10pm on Sunday, we have three to see then too. We have dinner out and a few drinks in a Taverna.

‘Taverno,’ Becky whispers, and giggles mischievously to me. It’s a warm evening, despite the locals being wrapped up in jumpers and coats. It’s only March but feels like mid-summer to us.

‘What is that?’ Becky points to a flying insect buzzing around near her head. ‘Is it a … mosquito?’ she raises an eyebrow at Mike. I stifle a smile. He can’t tell her off for adding a ‘O’ to something that should have one anyway.

‘Too early for them, I’d say at a guess,’ Mike sulks.

‘Bore,’ Becky pokes her tongue out at him.

We head along the beach to a few bars. Everywhere we turn, free sickly drinks are thrust into our hands and British accents enquire:

‘Y’all right love? Fancy a free cocktail?’

Mike shudders: ‘This is so what I do not want for our place,’ he says vehemently.

‘No, tacky,’ I agree, watching a Scouse girl shove her cleavage in some bloke’s face. Turns out, there was a shot of tequila in there. She wouldn’t even look at him back home. We jump in a taxi and ask the driver to take us somewhere quiet. He laughs, a little too hard actually.

‘Ahh, you is all so old,’ he smiles.

We find a nice wine bar on the sea front. Peace. The soothing sounds of the waves crashing on the beach eclipses the very distant thud, thud of bass coming from the clubs further along the coast.

‘Now, somewhere like this, would be perfect,’ Nick indicates our surroundings, and we all take in a panoramic view. ‘Classy, not over-priced and most importantly, away from that lot,’ He points along the beach to a sea of flashing, florescent lighting.

‘You are looking to rent place?’ The bar tender has been eavesdropping on our conversation since we arrived.

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘somewhere like this, but with a kitchen and preferably some living accommodation too.’

‘I have brother on other side of island. I call.’ He disappears behind the bar and begins chatting animatedly in Spanish. He returns five minutes later and introduces himself as George, the owner of the bar. He has arranged for us to see his brother’s place on the other side of the island tomorrow. Living quarters upstairs, large kitchen, and a bar and dining area. Quiet, with only a few hotels nearby, but rarely anyone under twenty-five – unless they’ve booked without realising it’s so far from the main drag.

‘Like here,’ George tells us. Right enough, as we look around, there are mainly people in the thirty to fifty age bracket.                     

The next morning we are up early for breakfast. We pile into our hire car and Mike drives us to the first viewing. It has taken us over an hour, as Becky is navigating and has been holding the map upside down for the first twenty minutes. She then complains that it’s all in Spanish. After a bit of a fracas between Becky and Mike, Nick takes over the directions. I don’t bother offering – would probably do a worse job than Becky and am prone to barf when I read anything on any kind of transport. I don’t wan

t to make Mike’s foul mood any worse.

It’s a pretty disappointing lot. The first two are complete dives. It would take a good month of refurbishing and decorating before they were even halfway ready to move in to. Something we have neither the time nor the money to do. The third is so far off the beaten track that we wouldn’t have any trade. In the back yard there are two goats tied up. The smell did not help matters. We head on to George’s brother’s place.

It’s gorgeous!

Right on the edge of a low cliff, the waves crash on to the rocks below us. The garden is large and shaded with huge parasols and overlooks the Atlantic. The décor is perfect, shades of deep blue, terracotta and sunshine yellow. It’s everything I imagined. I walk into the kitchen and run my hand along the marble work surface. This will cost a bomb, but it’s perfect. We won’t have to touch a single thing.

Mike and Nick get down to business with George‘s brother, Roberto. Becky and I take an interest, but it’s blatantly obvious we are dealing with a man’s man here.

Any questions from me, such as about the passing trade, nearby resorts and annual turnovers, are met with a steely glare. I am then coolly ignored. Yet when Nick or Mike reiterate my enquiries, Roberto (Becky wants to take it based solely on his name ending in an O. Business woman, she ain’t) beams at them as if they were so clever to think of it. At one point he pinches Nick’s cheek and says:

‘Good boy! Nothing will get past you. But your waitress, she ask too much that is none of her business.’ He shakes his head at Nick as a warning. I’m biding my time.

The summer figures for the past two years have been great, but before that it was a dive. Roberto had taken it over, redecorated and turned it around with his speciality paella and Spanish-themed nights. He now felt he was too old for a busy restaurant and wanted to work only part time in one of his quieter places. He was happy to let the premises and living area upstairs so he could continue making money on rent for his retirement fund.

There are two nearby resorts and private villas along the sea front; a good combination of business from tourism and ex-pats in the surrounding area. Between the two, the restaurant was pretty much packed out for breakfast, lunch and dinner times. It certainly was filling up quickly as we sat. Roberto was so confident that we would do well that he was willing to offer us the lease for six months, instead of one year. It would go quiet after September, but there was also a big Christmas and New Year crowd. He generally closed the place down in October and November, January and February. We would, however, have to continue to pay rent for these times – open or closed – if we decided to continue with the lease. He seemed very fair and honest for a misogynistic old git.

Then the good bit. Nick and Mike turned to me. Roberto looks confused.

‘What do you think, Lucy? Can you see us being happy here?

‘Why you ask her?’ Roberto shrugs.

‘Lucy is the major shareholder in the business and will be investing three times my amount. The others will be working as staff members. The profit sharing will be between Lucy and me. One third to me, two thirds to Lucy,’ explains Mike.

Realising that he has just dissed the deciding factor, Roberto smiles at me uncertainly and asks what I think of his restaurant? Ah, so
now
he cares about my opinion.

I look around and sigh deeply.

‘Well, it is very nice, good décor, prime location. And I am impressed with your turnover and negotiation over the rental agreement, Roberto.’

He looks at me curiously. Like I’m a creature he’s never seen before. Not used to women talking and him actually listening, I’m sure.

‘We do have three other places to see.’ I look around at the others. They are pleading with me with their eyes.

‘What do you guys think?’ Nodding furiously, the lot of them.

I hold my hand out to Roberto.

‘OK, Roberto, I think we have a deal.’

He beams proudly. I sign a cheque for three months rent and a deposit and we head out into the sunshine.

‘Great! We now have the rest of Saturday and Sunday all to ourselves,’ announces Becky, linking arms with Mike and Nick.

We have a great evening of tapas and wine. In a frivolous moment, we take a cab back out to Roberto’s to see what the night-time shift is like. Very atmospheric, very busy. Doesn’t get much better than that. We sit in a quiet corner and I have a sudden attack of panic about not being able to cope with the kitchen side of things. What do I really know about catering? I voice my concerns to the others, who insist I will cope, no problem. I will have waitresses, kitchen staff and a dishwasher. I won’t actually be doing the job of five people in there, like I would be if I were hosting a dinner party at home. Bolstered by the surge of wine and adrenaline in my bloodstream, I decide that it‘ll be fine – and start looking forward to the challenge. If I have any problems, we can always hire a chef and I can take on the
commis
role. This has been my dream for years. I can do it.                                           
            

                                  
               
Chapter Sixteen
        

We head back to London the next day and prepare to hand in our notices to jobs and landlords. Well, except for me, who has already done the spectacular job notice bit. We have two weeks ‘til we move. The boys may have to do a month’s notice, but they are confident they can wangle it down to two weeks. Our rent begins the second week in April at Roberto’s. Becky has only to give one week’s notice as she temps for an office agency. So, we will head out a week before the boys to clean, shop for our own personal touches and get a feel for the place. I start a course on food hygiene and enroll on a week-long catering class next week. I am already quite a confident cook, but I want to add a few skills before we go. Every night I cook for all four of us. Different dishes that I think would be great on our menu. Almost everything is met with enthusiasm. We have decided to do a mixture of traditional British food and a few Spanish specialities, such as paella and tortilla. Chuck in a bit of Mexican (still kind of Spanish) and Italian, as pasta is definitely my
forte
. We have printed up fifty glossy menus. All things I can cook confidently, and we will add a different daily special, starter and main.