“Now … let me just demonstrate how this particular light switch works, because it can be, ah … tricky when you’re new to it, I suppose, since it’s quite a special one,” Margaret says, pointing to the very regular light switch, which works in the very regular fashion. She has a way of speaking like she’s constantly on the verge of saying something else, only to change her mind again. “And you’ll want to know how the showers work too, I imagine, if you could just … Yes, yes, follow me, the bathroom’s just over here, and also … All right, this is the bathroom, as you can see …”
Julius and I exchange amused glances and wander through the house with her, from the living room on one end to the reading room on the other.
“Oh, this—now, this is my favorite place in the house,” Margaret tells us, and I immediately understand why. There’s barely any furniture, just a bookshelf and a coffee table in the center, and there are more windows than walls. A balcony looks out at the gardens below, where wildflowers spring from the soft soil and two lemon trees stand guard over another owl sculpture. Maybe that’s what Margaret is the artist of.
Through the shades, the sun is setting over the hills, the light turning everything into gold. It looks exactly like my dream home, the happy place I’d imagine for myself when I was exhausted and so burned out I couldn’t breathe.
Did Julius know? Is that why he chose this flat?
“Do you like it here?” Julius asks, coming around to lace his fingers through mine.
The touch of his hand. The warmth of the sun. The open room, silver dust motes floating, our home for the next couple of weeks, just us. I nod, but what I mean is,I hadn’t imagined that life could be like this.It’s okay, though, because when he squeezes my hand three times and leads me down the corridor, I know he knows.
“You have my phone number, yes?” Margaret is saying. “Please do text me if you need anything at all, or better yet, you can simply walk up and knock on my door—I live just upstairs.”
She’s nothing like my mother, yet she feels motherly, familiar. Once she’s wrapped up the first half of the house tour, she offers us detailed instructions on how to use the kettle and the dryer and the Wi-Fi, and then points to a picnic basket on the counter. “There are some chocolate chip cookies inside, if you’re hungry after your flight and looking for a treat or, you know, well—I don’t know what you like, but my nieces really enjoy them,” she says. “Of course, there are some lovely cafés in the area too. There is this—what was the name now? I’d written it in the handbook, I’ll find it later … But yes, there’s this popular bakery down the street with the best croissants—comparable to the ones in France, they say.”
“Amazing, thank you. We’ll have to check it out,” I tell her.
“The cookies smell amazing,” Julius adds.
She beams at him. “And I hear you both came all the way from Australia?” she asks. “Is that right?”
“We did,” Julius says. “Basically just around the block.”
“The spiders,” she says at once, which is, anecdotally, one of the first things people associate with the country.
“Yes, the spiders,” Julius says.
“Are they all … Do they, am I correct to think that—They’re large, aren’t they?” Margaret wants to know, with what seems to be real concern.
“They do come in various sizes,” Julius says reasonably.
“But they’re … I heard, ah, at least—some people have told me that the spiders are poisonous?” Margaret presses.
“Sometimes.” Julius offers her one of his crowd-pleasing smiles. “You shouldn’t worry about them too much though. Just have to know where to go and who to stick to.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit,” Margaret says, looking thoughtful. “It’s just the spiders I’m scared of.”
“Well, do tell us if you ever decide to come down,” Julius tells her. “We can give you recommendations for spider-free spots.”
It used to annoy me, but I secretly love when he’s like this. His charm switched on, his manners impeccable, endlessly patient, almost glowing. The kind of boy who elderly strangers dote on, who you’d trust to command a room full of people. The kind of boy you’d feel proud to bring to a large family gathering, no matter how many gossiping aunties are there.
“That’s very kind,” Margaret gushes, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she reached out and pinched his cheeks. She twirls around in the gray-tiled kitchen and ushers us back toward the closets by the bathroom. “Now, one last thing, before I forget—here are all your essential supplies …” She yanks the closet doors open, and Julius and I fall into stunned silence. The entire closet has been crammed with towels of every possible size. “There are more here, in case you need them,” Margaret adds, opening the closet beside it, only to reveal an equally impressive stash of towels that would put most hotels to shame.
Julius glances at me sidelong, as if to confirm whether he’s justified in his astonishment at the amount of towels.
“Right, I’ll get out of your hair now and leave you two to settle in, maybe get some rest, recover from the jet lag or do a bit of sightseeing, if that’s … whatever you feel like doing, totally up to you. And you do have my number? Yes, no, we spoke about that already. Okay! Ah, wonderful, wonderful, do enjoy your stay,” Margaret says.
We both thank her profusely for the cookies and the towels and the instructions.
When she closes the door behind her, I heave a small, happy sigh and turn to Julius, taking in everything: him and the flat and the very fact that we’re in a completely new country now. It’s like we’re two kids playing house, but it’s also the most grown-up I’ve ever felt, the most free.
“So? What do you think of the trip so far?” Julius asks, taking my hand and spinning me around in the living room as if it’s a dance floor.
“I think … it’s almost perfect,” I tell him.
He draws me back to his chest. “Almostperfect? What’s missing?”
