Page 62 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘Not even interested in hearing about his last relationship?’ the diabolical woman says so tantalisingly.

‘Not even that.’ I hover on the bottom stair. OK, I’m slightly intrigued, only because I’d like to know what sort of man I’m fake dating here. ‘Fine. Make it quick.’

Mum lifts a brow. ‘The woman broke up with him because he was always working. Luckily for you, he’s sold his company, so now he can focus on you and treat you like the princess you are.’

I snort. ‘Princess. I’m a formidable woman with an exceptional brain in my head. Not someone who struts around wearing tiaras, Mother. Goodbye.’

‘What should I wear to lunch?’ she teases. She must be teasing, as Mother never consults me about her sartorial choices, because she is tired of hearing my complaints about how many florals the woman owns. Could she not, just once, wear something a bit more formal? A touch beiger? Will she listen? No.

Chapter Forty

Zephyr

Who knew Porto would be such a gnarly ride? Yeah sure, a book club friend potentially committing homicide is a plot twist I didn’t see coming, honestly, Lucinda doesn’t look like the type, but who really can tell? Viviane relishes the idea of stepping into the shoes of Detective Amber Quill … and I lowkey love that.

The book club has been great for me. Even old Albert, who runs on outdated software, is winning me over. He’s a dinosaur but my grandpa is just the same with problematic opinions and lots of them. Viviane is the most like me, even though she’s giving hall monitor energy every time someone dares talk, at least she was. So much has happened since then. There’s been no time to worry about where I fit in the world, with old Albert and me scootering across Porto hunting for clues. It’s been like crazy fun. And honestly, this is going to sound nuts, but it’s pointed me in the direction I want my life to take. Policing, maybe? Is that super lame? I’ve been so directionless, so stuck not knowing who I am supposed to be, but maybe it’s more that I didn’t know what to do. They say travel is good for the soul, and it is. It has a way of peeling back the layers of your life until all you’re left with is the important stuff. I’ll enjoy the rest of the summer here in Porto and make some inquiries about a future in policing. Guess I better not help bury a dead man then.

When I first arrived in Porto, I made a promise to myself. Find my tribe. See if that helps this strange despair. I didn’t expect to find it at book club with such a diverse group. Yet here we are. It’s Viviane I’m most enthralled by. I love the way she speaks her mind. So sure about what she wants. Who she is. That’s what I want to be like too.

I rifle through my rucksack looking for my book and am surprised to find a pink romance novel. The Summer I Swiped Right.

I plumb the depths of my rucksack but can’t find my Dostoevsky book. There’s nothing else for it, I open the cover and read.

Chapter Forty-One

‘Order, order!’ I boom. Not because the book club is acting out of order, in fact, they’re sitting quietly. It’s more that I’ve always wanted to convene a meeting that way.

‘Welcome, one and all.’ I’m relishing my role as team leader. I’m not quite sure I can call myself a detective at this juncture since there is no detecting being done, but that’s not for lack of want, it’s from a lack of time and dealing with the curve ball of the Portuguese mothers. Not only did they meet up for lunch but they went wedding-dress shopping, took one of poor Tiago’s cousins who is similar in size to me and had her trying on froufrou meringue-style dresses, while they sipped champagne and took happy snaps which they sent to both Tiago and me. This is what they’re like. The poor saleswoman in the bridal shop had no idea that the bride was a stand-in, and there is no engagement, only a fake-dating disaster that’s spiralled out of all control.

We’re at Taberna dos Mercadores, a cosy little tucked-away eatery where we can talk freely, because, quite honestly, I need the social lubrication of a stiff drink, even though it’s against my usual principles to consume alcohol in times of high stress. I motion the book club to shuffle in. Obviously, we still have to keep our conversation quiet just in case. I also don’t want another Zeliá dilemma on my hands. I can’t go around fake dating men every time there’s a whisper of gossip around Porto. I have standards when it comes to just how far I’m willing to go to save Lucinda from her fate.

‘I have good news and bad news. Tiago, our esteemed tech God, found out the missing man is indeed The Man in the Blue Beret AKA João Silva.’ I halt for the requisite gasps and am pleased when they come. ‘Bad news is, he’s been found alive.’

‘That’s bad news?’ Thomas asks, with a curious frown.

‘Well, depends whose side you’re on.’

‘Wait, he’s been found? When? I didn’t get any Google Alerts,’ Zephyr says.

‘Early this morning, the Porto News released an article. Didn’t say much, just that the man was working at his new job and didn’t inform his family of his whereabouts. And apparently, he was none too happy about the invasion of his privacy.’

‘Was he purposely ignoring his family?’ old Albert asks. ‘Because why else did it drag on so long?’

‘He claims he emailed them to let them know he was fine, but they say no such email arrived.’ I throw up my palms, but it’s no surprise technology is once again at fault.

‘Sus,’ Zephyr says. ‘It sounds like he didn’t want to be found, more like.’

I nod.

‘So, who is The Man in the Blue Beret?’ Thomas asks, scratching his chin.

‘Tiago, you can answer this.’

‘Well, that’s where it gets interesting,’ Tiago says. ‘His new role is “business manager”. I can’t find much about him online, which is weird these days, but what I have found points to him being involved in the arts.’

‘Makes sense with that beret,’ Zephyr says.

‘Creative industries, mostly. Marketing. He’s moved around a lot in various departments.’