Page 54 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘Well, you’re stuck with me now.’

I take a deep inhalation. ‘Since I met you, I’ve had these glimmers of joy, quite a lot of them actually, and that hasn’t always been the case.’

‘No?’ He tucks a lock of hair from my face, a lock that I was trying to hide behind. ‘Why?’

I go on to tell him all about my dad, his death and the second family. Tiago’s expression is full of compassion, concern. ‘Wow, Viviane. You’ve done so well to get through that. You must miss him a lot.’

How does Tiago sense that? That underneath all the anger, there’s still that deep abiding love. ‘I do, I miss him. But how can you miss someone who lied like that? It makes me question if I knew him at all.’

‘From what you’ve said, it’s clear that he loved you, Viviane. And your mum.’

‘How can it have been real love though? Real love doesn’t lie, does it?’

He glances up at the starry sky and stays silent. After an age he says, ‘It depends on the motive, I guess.’

‘And his motive?’

‘I couldn’t say. But I’m sure keeping a secret that big would have hurt him too. No one wants to live like that, surely?’ That gives me pause. Did Dad suffer too?

Tiago walks me home, and the mood becomes playful again. After we say our goodbyes, which grow lengthier by the day, I rush up to my bedroom with my book. Maybe I will read it, like Tiago suggests, not keep it pristine like a museum piece.

On my bed, I creak the cover open, only for a range of Post-it notes to fall out. I smile when I recognise the handwriting. You make every day special.

These are the affirmations I saw Tiago writing at the pastelaria during a book club meeting and somehow, he snuck them in this beautiful limited-edition novel. That day, I’d been impressed that he was in touch with his feelings but to know he was sitting there thinking of surprising me with such sweet, mood-boosting notes makes my heart expand. Tiago is a romantic soul and I can’t help but be swept away by these little gestures that show he’s thinking of me.

Chapter Thirty-Three

We’re having another emergency book club meeting, not because there’s been any development but mostly because it’s nice to catch up and read with like-minded souls. Who knew I, Viviane Álverez, would honestly be enthusiastic about attending a social event like this? The change in me is incredible.

I’m hoping there’ll be a break in the case with the missing man, but from what I can see online there’s nothing so far. And secretly, I’m keen to catch up with Tiago, not because I have some strange crush on him that I’m desperately trying to push back on, but because … OK, fine, I have a crush. But more pressing is the fact his mother is on the hunt for mine and I can only remain ‘out of office’ for so long. Ideally, I’d like to bump that problem back to him.

Old Albert arrives, complaining about the relentless heat. The promise of autumn was more of the broken type, and the heat is back. Zephyr arrives next, breathless from the walk up the cobblestoned street. ‘Hello, hello!’

‘They still haven’t found the missing man?’ old Albert asks, shuffling to his chair, and flopping into it with a grunt.

‘No, I looked it up this morning, nothing,’ Tiago says, joining us, lifting a cake fork to his mouth before he’s even sat down.

I narrow my eyes. ‘Tiago! No! That’s pastel de Tentúgal again!’ I snatch the plate from him. Is the waitress trying to kill my hapless sidekick? She doesn’t appear to be watching for a reaction, she’s making coffee for a customer but that could very well be her ploy.

He laughs. ‘It’s OK, I checked. They made it without almond meal this time.’

I double blink. ‘And you’re just going to believe that?’

He takes the plate from me, but I don’t willingly let it go. We commit to a tug-of-war which he finds endlessly fun judging by the laughter in his eyes, while I feel frustration bloom that he’s not more careful about consuming almonds. Eventually he reluctantly relinquishes his hold. ‘Fine, I’ll choose something else.’

‘Good.’

‘Polícia haven’t said boo. They’re too busy taking siestas.’ Old Albert slides a hand through his thinning white hair as he grumbles about the dire state of policing around the world. ‘Snowflakes, the lot of them, who stay inside under the air conditioning – forget about walking the beat! Might get a blister. No, instead they rely on technology to solve cases, technology!’

Zephyr fixes him with a flat, unblinking stare, as if daring him to continue just so she can retaliate. ‘Legit, technology solves like ninety-nine per cent of crimes.’

Old Albert exhales a long-suffering sigh as if he’s had enough of their back and forth, and honestly, that makes three of us. ‘Pray tell, where are you pulling those figures from, young lady?’

It’s obvious we’re feeling the pinch of our investigations that are going precisely nowhere. We are so inept, now we’re turning against each other.

Zephyr lifts an exaggerated brow. ‘Young lady? Have we time travelled again? Must you infantilise me? We had this very conversation where I explained you didn’t have to speak to me like I’m a ten-year-old.’

Old Albert’s mouth opens and closes like a puffer fish before he eventually lands on, ‘You spoke at me, not to me!’