The book tells the fascinating story of a family deciding to exit the demands of life in northern Europe and head for a sub-tropical life on an Atlantic island. A planned one-year stay expands into three years, but ends with a debilitating tug of war between husband and wife about whether to return north or not. The story which began so beautifully grinds to a sad end. The place they had ended up living was in a ramshackle house, covered in bougainvillea in a tiny, unspoilt village with no tourists since there was no beach. (However, unbeknown to outsiders, down a steep run of steps was an amazing large rock pool that had breathlessly clear water and only a couple of other swimmers.) When not swimming or doing up the house, the couple worked—in Jeany’s case at her opera concerts and in Jonathan’s case writing a history of Amnesty International, which Penguin had commissioned. Their eight-year old daughter, Jenny, went to the local village school. She spoke no Spanish but within three months she was fluent.
