Page 5 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘OK.’ I don’t bother to tell her the details because I don’t want her to worry about Tiago. She’s a worrier. A very maternal one at that. If I told her that Tiago is meandering around Porto randomly ordering food without checking every ingredient and not quite sure where he left his EpiPen, she’d march down there, grab his earlobe and lecture him about the joys of being alive and how she will be his shadow mother if he needs it. I wish I was joking.

‘Sooo, who is he? What does he look like? Where’s his family from?’

What she really means is: is he Portuguese, cute and do we have any personal links to his family? ‘He’s back to Porto for an undisclosed amount of time. He’s got floppy hair. Eyes.’

That’s all I’ll say on that subject, or she’ll sense a weakness and then I’ll be blurting about how I got lost in his gaze, and she will be out the front door signing up for a second job to save for my future wedding quicker than I can blink. For the record, I will remain unmarried as I value my autonomy and you cannot trust that won’t change, no matter what they say in their vows.

‘And … ?’

‘He lived in London. I didn’t get his last name so I’m not sure who his family is and if we know them, but it’s irrelevant anyway.’ I sigh. What else? ‘His conversation style is chaotic as he jumps from one topic to the next.’ Best to temper her expectations. By the whimsical smile on her face, she’s already skipped to fantasyland where I make a gaggle of friends and we become part of their family.

I’m not sure why humans, especially Portuguese humans, insist on being together so much. It’s stifling. The volume of so many people animatedly talking all at once is enough to send me into a tailspin. Not to mention how they use their whole body to get a point across. Whoever invented noise-cancelling headphones deserves a Nobel prize. The device is adequate to at least remain in the vicinity when I must attend a family function, and that’s only if I’ve exhausted every means of avoiding it. All I must do then, is be hypervigilant around the wild gesticulating that could take an eye out.

‘He finds pastel de nata too eggy.’ I can’t help but grin at my trump card. Another Portuguese person who feels the same as I do! Both at risk of being banished from our homeland for such a divisive view.

She exaggeratedly covers her face with her hands. ‘No! There are two of you, Valha-me Deus!’

‘Ha!’ I relish her dramatics, which isn’t often the case. Could it be that my brief social interaction has had a positive effect on me?

‘But you liked him?’

I consider it. There’s something about Tiago, yes, but the pendulum from like to dislike can swing at any moment, when you’re me. ‘He’s read the first three books of The Quill Chronicles.’

The sound she emits is of such a high frequency I cover my ears. This is how utterly bombastic she can be and why I’m always scant with details, lest she start planning movie marathons and sleepovers with Tiago as guest of honour. Due to said reaction, I withhold the information that he would make a great bumbling detective sidekick – mother is already close to overwhelm.

‘He has? What are the chances! How wonderful. I knew Porto was going to be a fresh start for us, and now look, you’ve made a friend already. If this isn’t a sign our luck has changed, I don’t know what is.’

Mother always talks about luck in such a way. It’s nonsensical, but I’ve learned it’s how she paints things in a positive light. Searches for the sunny spots. Still, I don’t want her to be disappointed when it doesn’t pan out.

‘I wouldn’t go that far, Mum. Tiago isn’t my friend, he’s just a guy who ordered the wrong pastry and then tried to palm it off to me, probably in the hopes I’d pay for it.’ I never did clarify if that was his intention. It doesn’t matter anyway because I’d never take food or drink from a stranger. As a rule, women are required to be more careful about such matters, that’s not sexism speaking, it’s safety, plain and simple. My reading material has taught me just how many poisons can be secreted in the most tempting of morsels. You must always keep your wits about you in this world.

‘How did you leave it with him?’

I brace myself for the inevitable histrionics. ‘We’re meeting again next Wednesday to silently read together.’ I hold up a hand to temper her response, which fails to have the desired effect as she jumps up and down like a child. ‘Please stop jumping. Think of your ankles.’ Ankles that are always swollen from long workdays on her feet.

We all have our foibles, so I wait somewhat patiently as she jumps out her happiness. She’s easily delighted.

Out of breath, she comes to a stop. ‘You’re right. My poor ankles.’

‘Are you finished?’

Mum grins, gives me a nod. ‘Sim, sim.’

‘I only agreed to meet Tiago again because of our love of The Quill Chronicles, however, I am concerned that a man like him won’t be able to sit still and silently read for any length of time. If he does break the silence, what’s the best strategy to deal with that?’

‘What strategies have you come up with?’

Mum never gives me the answer, always makes me puzzle out these conflict resolutions for myself, before eventually guiding me on what is deemed socially acceptable. Unless she’s having a bad day and then she tells me society can shove it and I should do whatever I please, because people should change to fit in with me, and not the other way around.

‘Slam my book closed and tell him this isn’t working?’ This feels like a very dramatic but satisfying end to what would be a predictably brief friendship, based on past experiences.

‘All because he broke the silence? What if he broke it only to mention how much he admired Detective Amber Quill?’

‘Yes, that would make it difficult to reprimand him, since I, too, admire her and would understand his need to voice that.’

‘Reprimand? Would we ever reprimand a friend making polite conversation?’

‘I’m guessing no by your tone of voice.’ I crinkle my brow and absently note that she’s had her hair colour touched up. The first time since the big fiasco unfolded.