Page 8 of The Little Porto Book Club

Except I’ll have to navigate the awkwardness of how we split the bill. I’m a feminist and will never allow a man to pay, because it’s not fair and it would make me a hypocrite when it comes to believing in equal rights, and also, because I’m always iffy of their motivations. Free food equals expectations of the nebulous kind. No, thank you.

While Tiago orders, I count up my coins to find I’m short. Now we have the added muddle of using banking apps and giving away more personal information than I’m comfortable with. Next time I’ll get here an hour early, so I’m not put on the spot in this way. I may have to change my entire work schedule. This bears some careful thought.

When he returns, I hand him the coins. ‘I believe I’m two euro short. Do you use the Friend2Friend banking app?’

Tiago sits beside me. ‘For two euro? Don’t worry about it.’ He waves my protests away like they’re nothing.

Here we go, the slippery slope to being indebted to him. ‘I’m a proud feminist, and I won’t be beholden to any man.’

Surprise dashes over his features. ‘Yes. Rightly so.’

‘Please give me your banking details so we can move on.’ After that’s taken care of, I shake my book. ‘Well, the time has come …’

‘Ooh, is this a book club?’ a glamorous woman with meticulously applied make-up asks. Her floral perfume, while delightful, is overwhelming, so I avert my face to gulp untainted air, and notice a large, jagged cut on her hand. It’s out of place against her flawless style, against her immaculate outfit. She hasn’t bothered to cover it with a plaster, and she’s wearing white.

The woman notes the direction of my gaze. ‘Oh, this! Gardening accident just before I made my way here. I must have knocked it again. I’m Lucinda by the way.’ She takes some napkins from the cannister and presses them against the injury and continues chatting. ‘How are you enjoying the exploits of Detective Amber Quill? Don’t you just love her no-nonsense approach, the way she incinerates incompetent men with a glare?’ I stare blankly at the woman. Yet another fan? How can that be? ‘Are you not Portuguese?’ she asks, switching to English.

I have a terrible premonition that our silent reading club is about to be invaded by a third party, and my mind is stuck on a loop trying to figure out what the best way to deal with this is, when Tiago offers her his hand to shake.

‘We’re Portuguese! And yes, a book club! Why not, eh? We don’t know each other, well, we didn’t up until a week ago. I’m Tiago and this is Viviane, the person you can thank for orchestrating this, this … Little Porto Book Club. You’re more than welcome to join us, Lucinda.’ Tiago has the audacity to pull out a chair for her.

‘Porto. Book. Club?’ I can barely form words.

‘Wonderful! I’d love to join. By nature, I’m a homebody but my goal this year is to get out more. To actually leave my house, my garden, in Miragaia. I’m a huge fan of whodunnits too. It’s eye-opening, the various ways in which people can be murdered without making a big bloody mess. Quite the education. I’m always learning.’

Tiago does a honking laugh. ‘Yes, makes it hard to look at household chemicals quite the same way. It’s great to have a Portuguese author doing so well. Must support our homegrown talent, eh?’

‘Yes, that’s a must! Even the more private among us, eh?’

‘Private?’ Tiago queries.

Lucinda shoves her oversized tote under the table. ‘Yes, the author of The Quill Chronicles fiercely guards her privacy, or so I’ve heard. And I can relate to that, homebody extraordinaire that I am. People just complicate things when I’d rather be reading.’

‘I can relate too,’ I say with a weak smile. It seems, while chatty, Lucinda is an introvert as well.

Our coffee and coxinha arrive. Tiago is in full flight, chattering away like Lucinda is his long-lost godmother while he rescues her tea from the table opposite.

If I don’t speak up now, it will be too late. ‘My apologies, you’ve been misinformed, Lucinda. This is not a book club, it’s a silent reading club.’ A club. What am I even saying? The speed with which we’ve arrived here is astounding. There hasn’t been time to make excuses or shut this down. It doesn’t matter if she adores The Quill Chronicles, does it? Or if she’s a homebody much like I am. Tiago and I need to protect the sanctity of our silence.

‘Even better,’ Lucinda says. ‘I’m not much of a people person. I prefer cats to humans. Hell, I prefer chatting to my hydrangeas over people. No offense.’

‘None taken,’ Tiago hastily replies.

Something niggles at me about this woman, there’s a familiarity, as if I’ve seen her before – ah! Last Wednesday when I met Tiago, she was here too, heavily sighing and aggressively frowning as she stared into the ether, like she was untangling a knotty problem. I gaze at her anew, not as someone destroying my silent reading – well, OK, yes, that too – but as yet another question mark. Another mystery to ruminate over.

While Tiago prattles in his usual upbeat way, I take a moment to study the newcomer. I’m no doctor, but to my untrained eye the laceration on her hand could have used a stitch or two. Why then did she not seek medical intervention? Could it be that someone hurt her, there was a domestic incident perhaps, and she’s protecting the aggressor? And it was no simple gardening accident. Who works in the garden wearing an all-white ensemble?

While outwardly glamorous, Lucinda’s got a skittery energy about her. I make a mental note to keep a close eye in case I need to intervene. I’m not the intervening kind, however, I also can’t stand back if an injustice is being done, especially to a woman. I could be totally off base. It’s possible Lucinda’s life is just as she claims and the deep cut on her hand is genuinely a gardening mishap, but my whodunnit senses twitch and tell me otherwise.

At this rate, I realise Tiago is going to win an award for speaking the longest sentence, so I cough and clear my throat. A couple of times. When he finally ceases jabbering, I say, ‘Are we going to … read?’

‘Ah – yes! Of course. Let’s get started, shall we? Lucinda, you’re bookless though.’

‘Never bookless, I’ve got an Agatha Christie novel with me. I’m making my way through her oeuvre. Again. I’ve almost memorised them at this point. Don’t you just find some reads are like a warm hug? That’s what Poirot is like for me.’ Dammit. That’s exactly how I feel about Detective Amber Quill. I’m beginning to like this Lucinda. ‘Murder is most fascinating.’

Tiago lets out a nervous chuckle.

Is Lucinda reading them as a how-to guide? You just never know when a person is going to snap. Hopefully, if said snap does happen, a jury of her peers will be sympathetic to her circumstances and understand she acted purely out of self-defence.