Like One of the Family

by Nesta Tuomey

  He slept fitfully until morning, and all that day he couldn’t get the dream out of his mind. He resolved to go ashore and ring home. He knew that his mother was in constant touch with the girls and would be able to set his mind at rest. Terry had briefly considered ringing Spain himself but when he thought of Claire perhaps answering his call ...H is break-up with Claire was a separate issue, he told himself, and when, and if, he tackled it he wanted to be able to see her face and look in her eyes.

  Later that evening he made his call from one of the pubs near the quay. Jane answered at once. She was in her surgery, she told him, going over household bills.

  ‘When did you last hear from Sheena?’ Terry asked without any preliminaries.

  ‘She rang me the day after Teresa Murray left Spain. About a week ago, I suppose,’ Jane admitted. ‘That’s right. Teresa rang me later that evening to apologise for not ringing me herself. Why?’

  ‘No particular reason,’ Terry said. ‘Just got a funny feeling, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m sure they’re all fine,’ Jane said, adding doubtfully. ‘I tried ringing them the other night but got no answer, but they were probably just in late.’

  ‘Well, keep trying, Mum,’ Terry said, and rang off. When it had come to the point he had found it hard to explain his unease.

  He arrived back on board ship to find the Dauphin being manoeuvred from the hangar to the flight deck grid. There had been an emergency call in his absence and they were under orders from Baldonnel H.Q. to join the search for two Kerry climbers, who had got separated from the rest of their party in the mist on Brandon.

  ‘Both reserves are in sick bay with food poisoning,’ Captain Landy told him. ‘You’ll have to stand in.’ He shot Terry a keen glance. ‘Have you taken a drink?’

  Terry shook his head.

  ‘Good.’ Landy looked relieved. ‘See you in the operations room on the double, McArdle!’

  ‘Yessir,’ Terry saluted jubilantly and sped off to his cabin to gear up. Poor devils, he thought, but what a stroke of luck for him, his first time co-piloting a rescue mission. All his earlier anxieties were forgotten at the exciting prospect.

  Jane put down the phone, more disturbed by Terry’s call than she had let on. She knew how close the twins were and if he had a hunch that Sheena might be in some kind of trouble, he could well be right. For the next few hours she rang the apartment repeatedly and got no answer. They were probably off sight-seeing, she told herself, trying not to worry.

  But when she rang on and off the following day without success, Jane began to be really worried. ‘Nothing for it but to ring Antonio,’ she decided, not knowing what else to do, and wondering if she was merely using the excuse to speak to him. Then she remembered the underlying anxiety in Terry’s voice.

  Jane waited with her heart thumping, until the receiver was lifted.

  ‘May I speak to Señors Antonio or Fernando Gonzalez,’ she asked as soon as she heard Consuelo’s voice.

  ‘Who is calling, please?’

  ‘This is Jane McArdle ringing from Dublin.’

  ‘Ah, Dr McArdle.’ Consuelo’s voice became less impersonal. ‘I am sorry but they are not here.’

  ‘I see.’ Jane was disappointed. She had been so certain of getting one of them.

  ‘Our offices are officially closed,’ Consuelo explained. ‘Señora Gonzalez died some days ago and her funeral takes place today.’

  Jane was so startled that she forgot her reason for phoning. ‘I am so very sorry,’ she stammered. ‘Please don’t bother them. It was nothing important.’ She put down the receiver and stared into space. Elena was dead. On the heels of this thought came another. Antonio was free. Then she felt deeply ashamed of herself. Poor Elena. How she must have suffered.

  Jane took a distracted walk about her surgery and absently straightened a cushion, hardly aware what she was doing. For the moment all thought of the girls had fled from her mind. She could think only of Antonio and what his wife’s death could mean to them both.

  In the bright Spanish sunshine Claire stood by Elena’s graveside as Antonio and his three sons laid roses on her coffin and sadly watched it being lowered into the earth. She stooped and laid her own offering with theirs - a spray of red and white carnations - for Elena had told her that, like the great Teresa of Avila, these had been her favourite flowers.

  Afterwards Claire decided that she would not go back with the mourners to the Gonzalez house, knowing this was where she would miss Elena most. She crossed to where Fernando stood with his father, looking unfamiliar to her in his formal dark suit. Of all the Gonzalez family he had shared the closest relationship with her, and when he thanked Claire for coming, he met her eyes with such a sad, sweet smile that her heart was wrenched. Alejandro gave her his quick, ravishing smile as she politely shook his hand in turn.

  ‘When did you last see Sheena?’ Claire took the opportunity to ask him as the others walked ahead to the entrance of the cemetery. ‘She told us she was meeting you in Gibraltar but we haven’t heard from her in ages. In fact we’re rather worried about her.’

  Alejandro did not reply just stared at her, a flush darkening his fair skin. ‘ I have not seen your friend for some weeks,’ Alejandro said. ‘But please tell her when you see her that I...that I regret my hasty departure from Nerja and I have so much enjoyed her company.’

  Claire nodded. She had seen him blink in surprise at the mention of Gibraltar, but at the same time something was clearly bothering him, she thought. She took her leave of him at the gate and with a last sad nod in the direction of Fernando and Antonio, began to walk into the town.

  Alejandro stood and watched her go, a frown creasing his forehead. He was thinking of the last time he had seen Sheena and the memory was not pleasant. Since Miguel had boasted how he had taken advantage of his beautiful girlfriend the image had returned often to shame Alejandro, and for the first time in his young life he had suffered great anguish. He had quarrelled with the other Spaniard and, during his venomous diatribe, clearly seen the other man for what he was. At the same time he could not discard out of hand Miguel’s boast that Sheena had been more than willing to allow him sexual liberties or his spiteful claim that there had been other sexual encounters between him and the young Irish girl. Alejandro did not fully believe Miguel, but either way he felt his honour besmirched. The complication lay in the fact that he owed Miguel money and he had gone away to try and raise it, wanting only to be shut of the alliance - he could never have at any time called it friendship - that had grown thoroughly distasteful to him. Alejandro sighed and turned away as Claire’s slim figure grew smaller with distance; he walked with none of his usual swagger towards his father’s car. Added to his feelings of guilt and shame over his dealings with Sheena was the knowledge that he had failed in his filial duty to his mother. With genuine sadness he mourned her passing, while all too painfully aware that by his own selfish attachment to worldly pleasures he had thrown away the precious chance afforded him to be with her during what turned out to be her last weeks on earth. He told himself that had he known she was to die so soon he would have acted very differently. He knew that no matter how he regarded all that had gone before, he had not come well out of either business and no amount of self-deception could ever persuade him otherwise.

  As Claire walked slowly back to the apartment her heart was heavy too, not only for the death of Elena but for her failure to try and trace her friend. She knew that she should have at least let Jane know that Sheena was missing. But burdened by sorrow for Elena and the shock of her pregnancy, Claire had felt it was beyond her to even try and explain. The same irrational fear she had always entertained that Jane would somehow blame her or perhaps regret the many kindnesses she had shown her over the years, continued to hang over her. It had been all too much for Claire to cope with and so she had allowed the days slide past, without taking any action.

  Claire was reacting to crisis as she had always done in the past. Her thoughts became clo
udy and insubstantial. She would have a thought and then lose it almost immediately, only to recapture it by a great effort of concentration. She was still struggling to come to terms with her pregnancy. At times it seemed so incredible as to be untrue; at others she was amazed she had been so long in recognising what was surely so evident. Her system had never been regular like other girls and at times of exceptional stress, like exam times, became even more erratic. This coupled with what had happened to her as a child had left her with the conviction she was sterile. Now there was something growing inside her.

  Claire let herself into the apartment and went to lie down on the narrow divan in her shaded bedroom. After a while she heard Ruthie coming into the apartment. The little girl had suddenly tired of being away from her family and Ignacio, knowing that Claire was returning immediately after the funeral, had agreed to drop her over some time in the late afternoon. Ruthie wandered chattily in and out of her room, but when she got no response from Claire, soon grew bored and went to play with her kitten on the balcony.

  Claire felt heavy and drugged as she lay there in the lazy heat of the afternoon. The hours were passing and still she had no energy or desire to get up and get dressed. The radio on the bedside table emitted soft strains of popular music and was strangely hypnotic. It grew dark outside and she struggled up to open a tin of spaghetti for Ruthie, and when she eventually went back to bed she slept at once.

  The days and nights were running into each other and still Claire dozed away the hours. She dreamed that she and Elena were both in wheelchairs, being pushed down a corridor by nurses. Claire was holding Elena’s hand and she felt very happy. And then the nurse who was steering Elena suddenly quickened her steps and Elena’s hand was wrenched from Claire’s grasp and contact cruelly broken. Claire began to weep piteously and her own choking sobs awoke her.

  Claire lay shuddering, still in the grip of her dream. And then it seemed as though Elena was speaking directly to her and telling her how glad she was to be rid of her sickly body. ‘I am so happy to be out of it,’ she was saying. ‘If you could only know what it’s like you would be rejoicing too, dear Claire. Please don’t grieve anymore for me for I am free at last.’

  Claire felt amazingly soothed and scraps of conversation she had once had with Elena replayed in her mind. Elena had said just before she died that Fernando was in love with her. If he really did love her, Claire thought, maybe it was the way out of her present trouble. He was a kind and caring man and would make her happy. At the same time she felt a fastidious aversion to marrying someone under false pretences.

  The telephone rang suddenly, sounding harsh and discordant in the lazy hush of the afternoon. It had rung on and off that day, but in her lethargic state Claire had let it ring. Now she struggled off the bed and padded into the lounge.

  `Claire!’ It was Sheena’s voice, terse and nervously high. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been ringing and ringing and getting no answer.’

  Claire swayed on her feet, the sudden exertion making her dizzy. She tried to think clearly. ‘Where are you, Sheena?’

  ‘I... I’m not sure...’ Sheena sounded, hurried and scared, not at all like her usual bubbly self. ‘We left Gibraltar yesterday and drove for miles. I think we’re heading back to Nerja.’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Claire asked.

  ‘I’ve got to go.’ Now there was no mistaking the terror in Sheena’s voice. ‘I’ll ring you again.’

  ‘But Shee...’ The line went dead.

  Claire stared at the phone. She heard a sound behind her and turned round. Ruthie stood in the doorway, the kitten clasped in her arms.

  ‘That was Sheena, wasn’t it?’ There was fear and doubt on the little girl’s face.

  Claire nodded.

  `’Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Claire forced herself to nod and speak cheerfully. ‘She rang to say she’s staying away a little longer.’

  Some of the anxiety left Ruthie’s expression. ‘I miss her,’ she said forlornly. ‘I really miss her.’

  Claire stared at her helplessly. ‘Why don’t we go down to the beach,’ she suggested, and was glad to see Ruthie’s face brighten. ‘Give me time to shower.’

  The shower helped to clear Claire’s thoughts. She should have rung Jane days ago and now there was no time to waste. Clearly Sheena was in some kind of trouble and the sooner she was found the better. Claire had a sudden vision of herself and Jane searching the roads the summer of Ruthie’s attack, and felt a shiver of apprehension

  Sheena replaced the receiver and faced Miguel with a frightened expression. She exhibited none of her usual bravado as he hustled her out of the shop. Her face showed traces of recent tears and there was a cut on her cheek where his ring had struck her.

  ‘Why do you keep slipping away like this?’ he demanded petulantly. ‘I told you I would return immediately.’

  Miguel guarded her as closely as a gaoler, but she had taken her chance when it came and slipped out, using her last few coins to ring Claire. Now they went back up the street, closely linked. The sun had burned Sheena’s face and arms the colour of dark honey and with her black hair and brown eyes, she and Miguel could have been taken for a Spaniard too.

  Once back inside the building Miguel dropped his lover-like pose and shoved her before him into the room. Sheena staggered and turned to look at him, as he went out again, locking the door behind him. She sat down on the unmade bed and stared tearfully at the small window set high in the wall, golden beams of sunshine spilling through it. Her cage, she thought dully. She felt hunger rumble in her stomach and despaired of Miguel remembering to bring her anything to eat. Since he had taken to locking her in, she never knew when her next meal would be. She stretched out on the rumpled bed and, after a while, fell asleep.

  Sheena was awakened by the sound of the key in the lock and sat up, feeling hot and parched. The sun had moved round from the window and the room was no longer bathed in light. It was a minute before she saw that Miguel was not on his own. He had a young man with him.

  Sheena swung her legs off the bed and got up. She felt dizzy from heat and lack of food. She saw that Miguel carried a bottle and welcomed the thought of a drink, although she knew she would only feel thirstier after the cheap wine. She wondered vaguely about his companion.

  Miguel was very hearty, talking rapidly in Spanish and laughing a lot. It was clear he had been drinking. Sheena accepted the glass he gave her and sipped thirstily. He made a great ceremony of filling another glass and giving it to the young Spaniard.

  ‘Feliz cumpleaños,’ he toasted him.

  Sheena moved to make room as Miguel sat down on the bed.

  ‘Me permite usted?’ the boy asked, for he was no more than that, and sat at her other side.

  Miguel filled their glasses again and left down the bottle. Before Sheena realised his intention he was gone out of the door, leaving her alone with the young Spaniard.

  The boy looked at her then glanced shyly away. Conscious of her dishevelled appearance, Sheena ran her hands through her tangled mop and bit her lips to give them colour. They sat sipping the wine and not looking at each other. She asked him his name and his age in her schoolgirl Spanish, having gathered from Miguel’s drunken toast that it was his birthday. It was evident that Pablo knew no English.

  ‘If you could have three wishes what would you ask for? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.’ The wine after days of starvation was affecting Sheena strangely. She smiled and joked a lot, an edge of hysteria to her laughter. She was unaware she was speaking all the time now in English and that Pablo, though he laughed along with her, showed no sign of understanding.

  They made love. In a way there was comfort in his smooth young flesh, his arms holding her close. When he admitted that it was his first time Sheena felt old beyond her years, vaguely sad too as she gently initiated him in the act of love. How long ago it seemed that she was young and free herself.

  It was almost before it was b
egun, and he rolled away from her and stood up, modestly tugging down his shirt to cover his lean buttocks. Sheena struggled forward on to her knees and watched him reaching for his trousers. Maybe through him she could get word of her predicament to the others. She grew dizzy with hope.

  ‘Do you have paper.. a pencil?’ Sheena began rummaging through the pockets of the boy’s jacket and finding nothing, took the trousers out of his hands and hurriedly searched it too. After a moment’s hesitation, the young Spaniard took a couple of crumpled notes from his shirt pocket and slowly held them out to her.

  Sheena flushed hot with shame and despair. He thought she was looking for payment. With an inarticulate cry she turned away from him and threw herself sobbing on the bed. Through her tears she heard the sound of the door closing and she cried all the harder, with a bitter strength that drained her emotionally and left her exhausted, weeping for the loss of her self respect as much as her predicament.

  Some time later Sheena was wakened out of a doze by the sound of murmuring voices. Her head ached from the cheap wine and her throat was dry. She sat up in bed, holding the sheet against her, and looked towards the door. Perhaps Pablo had understood after all and was coming back to help her?

  She waited, her heart thumping hopefully as the door swung open. Then hope was replaced by fear as Sheena saw the two men coming towards her out of the gloom. As the door gently closed again and she heard the key turning in the lock, she suddenly understood the full significance of Miguel bringing the young Spaniard to her room earlier.

  Terry spent the afternoon engaged in low tactical flying but his performance fell far below what it should have been for such precise and delicate manoeuvring.

  In the early hours of the morning he had woken up out of the ‘bad dream’ covered in sweat and with his heart pounding painfully. This time Sheena was reproaching him for not coming to help her. ‘I counted on you,’ she kept saying. ‘Now it’s too late.’ Sweat was running down her face. He tried to reassure her but she turned her face away from him and lay so still he thought she was dead. He had woken up, feeling convinced that there was something terribly wrong.