Alentejo Blue by Monica Ali Page A

stuffed with fear: no sound could come out, no air could go in. He hit the ground and rolled with his hands up over his head, the dog’s breath warm and meaty in his hair, the growl coming up from the ground like an earth tremor shaking his bones.
    He rolled and rolled until he hit something solid and lay belly-up in the gravel. Above, the palm leaves cut black slices in the sky. A tractor went along the road spreading its weary message, off again, off again, off again. Jay rubbed his head and looked at his hands. He smiled and turned to see the dog, straining now at his tether. ‘Sorry, mate, you lose.’
    He remembered the matches just as he was about to dive in and left them on the tiles. The sun smacked down so hard on the water it made little silver scars along the surface. A row of geraniums in earthenware pots gazed thirstily on. Jay shivered, cracked his fingers and took a run up.
    The all-and-nothingness of it.
    The water closed over his head. He kept his eyes shut. Arms wrapped around his knees, hugged in close to his chest. Whatever the water did with him. The bubbles at his mouth, the cold in his ears.
    It let him go, of course, pushed him up and turned him on his side. He opened his eyes and spread his arms so he floated face down. You only got it the first time. He knew it would be different when he jumped in again. Thin ribbons of red dust shifted over the mosaic floor. A grasshopper drifted along on its back. A leaf spun in slow motion and rested. Jay took air and swam. He did ten lengths of crawl, pulse climbing, thrill draining. He held on to the ledge and blinked away the water and panted. Then he got out and jumped in a few times. He swam another length, a good stretch of it underwater, and a blankness entered into him and flattened all desire. He got out, spread his T-shirt on the tiles and lay down. The hot tiles bit at his elbows and feet.
    The sky was so blue it hurt. He closed his eyes and watched the black strands flicker across the red. Ruby might be in São Martinho. She went in that bar near the brick-built pond with the terrapins. She said, ‘Miguel likes me. I’m good for business.’ They used to play together all the time but one day she stopped playing. Just like that. If he found her she might buy him a Coke. She might get Miguel to give him a Coke. She said, ‘Just you wait,’ and ‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ like something was going to happen to him, something bad. He wanted to ask her what but there was no point, she’d never say. There was no point asking Mum either and there was definitely no point asking Dad.
    Jay thought about China falling down last night. He held his leg like he’d been shot and rolled around saying, ‘You’re in or you’re out, mate. In or fucking out.’
    Chrissie said, ‘He wets himself, he stays like that.’ She made herself a cup of tea. She had to step over him to get to the kitchen and again to get to her chair.
    He stayed down there moaning and holding his leg. Chrissie dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief and hummed. She had that look, like her eyes were open but not seeing. That used to scare Jay so he turned her into a princess under a spell. The spell made her sleepwalk but it didn’t make her scary.
    China said, ‘Don’t talk to me about your percentage. You’re lucky I’ve given you a job, you fucking piece of shit.’
    Ruby came in and said, ‘Well, I’m not clearing it up.’
    ‘Dad,’ said Jay, kneeling down, ‘it’s Jay.’
    Ruby waved a hand in front of Chrissie’s face. ‘Hello? I said, hello? Jesus Christ. I mean.’ She went out again.
    ‘Do you want me to help you up, Dad?’ Jay tried to get an arm under him. The alcohol hung like rain in the air.
    ‘Can’t say anything, mate. Lips is sealed.’
    China fell asleep then, or passed out. It was like he’d been tortured. There was a video they had in England – they used to put it on sometimes when they’d run out of cartoons. It was black and white and it was