Two Old Fools in Turmoil

by Victoria Twead

  Espárragos gratinados

  For this recipe you can use whichever type of cheese you prefer, just make sure that it isn’t too strong and overpowers the asparagus.

  Ingredients

  Asparagus, fresh or bottled - 4 or 5 spears per person

  Sliced ham, or jamón - enough to wrap each spear

  Cheese - a fistful to sprinkle on top.

  Method

  Preheat the grill to a medium high heat.

  Pat the asparagus spears dry. Wrap each stick of asparagus with the jamón or ham leaving the tip bare.

  Lay the wrapped asparagus in a shallow oven dish.

  Sprinkle your chosen grated cheese over the top.

  Grill until the cheese is golden and bubbling.

  Serve hot.

  3

  STEPS

  “Well, Mum, we’ve done it!”

  “What?”

  “I’ll email you a photo. Looks like this little guy might be joining our family! He’s a Staffy/husky cross, ten weeks old and was abandoned along with his brother. He’s coming for a home visit on Tuesday to see how we all get along.”

  “Wow! Does the shelter know you have a toddler?”

  “Yep, we were totally honest. I told them that Indy was totally mental and runs around like a mini drunk. They don’t think it’s a problem at all. They said he’s playful but placid and very gentle. He comes on Tuesday night so they can check our house at the same time, then if we’re all happy he stays for two weeks to see how it goes. Their rules are very strict.”

  From the day I buckled the FitFirst onto my wrist, I became obsessed by the number of steps I walked and wasn’t content until I’d reached my target of ten thousand.

  The pattern of my days completely changed. As soon as I woke, I had steps on my mind. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I marched up and down. If I was writing, instead of gazing at the view for inspiration, I organised my thoughts while marching round the garden. When I went shopping, to give myself extra steps, I parked as far from the entrance of the supermarket as possible.

  I marched round the village, up the road, out of the valley and back again. The villagers became accustomed to seeing me stride past. I’d explained the FitFirst to some of them, and they clearly thought the whole concept was completely insane, but they humoured me.

  “Veeky!” called Carmen as I marched past her front door. “Stop and have a coffee with me. I have just made churros.”

  “Thank you, but I can’t! I’ve only done five thousand today.”

  And off I went, one foot in front of the other, step after step after step.

  “Pah!” called Paco. “You will wear your shoes out!”

  Actually, he was right. It was too hot to wear closed-in shoes, I only ever wore flip-flops, and I did wear them out. In the past, when my flip-flops had aged, the toe-piece usually snapped or pulled out of the sole. Now, after continuous walking, the sole of the flip-flop became compressed and wafer-thin. So thin that I could feel every tiny stone underfoot, which made walking very uncomfortable. A new pair of flip-flops lasted about a month.

  “Beaky!” Pancho the mayor called out from the village square. His nasal tones were unmistakeable, and I had long since become resigned to being called Beaky. “Beaky! I have not seen you for a while. We must talk about those English lessons you were going to give me…”

  “I’m sorry, Pancho, I can’t stop…” and I pointed at the FitFirst on my wrist by way of explanation.

  I tried hard to look disappointed but was glad of the excuse. The mayor never gave up attempting to get me on my own. I left him gaping after me as I strode past and disappeared up a side street.

  I couldn’t go to bed until I’d hit my target of ten thousand. At eleven-thirty, if anybody had looked up, they’d have seen me silhouetted against the night sky, walking round and round and round our roof terrace.

  Oh, the relief and sense of self-satisfaction I felt when the FitFirst finally buzzed and vibrated, signifying that the target had been reached.

  “Did you do it?” asked Joe sleepily as I finally climbed into bed.

  “Yup!”

  And then the next day it began all over again.

  Anxious to add to my steps, I marched to Marcia’s shop.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Come into the back, I have cake for you and you will take some for Joe.”

  “Thank you,” I said, as her black cat stared at me with big green eyes from the counter. “Just a tiny, tiny piece. Are you celebrating something?”

  “Yes! Today is my birthday. Today my sons and their families will drive up to El Hoyo and come to see me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said. “Happy birthday! May I ask how old you are?”

  Marcia smiled, then frowned in thought. Her hand ran through her silver hair and a hair pin slipped out and bounced on the tiled floor.

  “¡Madre mía! Do you know, I am not sure! When you have lived as many years as I have, you forget to count. I think I am eighty-six years of age today, but I will check with my family.”

  We both laughed.

  “My eyes are not so good now, but I can still bake a perfect cake.”

  She cut me a generous slice and passed me the plate. I tried not to think of all the evil calories lurking in that cake, waiting to turn into fat and increase my waistline.

  “You must have seen so many changes in El Hoyo,” I said, taking a bite.

  “Many changes. It seems like only yesterday that I was a young girl running barefoot in the village with my cousins. Of course the lead mine was busy then. All the families here had something to do with the mine in those days.”

  “Why did it close?” I asked, thinking of the now-silent mine at the other end of the village.

  Joe and I had once strolled there and climbed the steps up the mountainside. At the top we discovered an open shaft. Looking down, we marvelled at the blackness, and man’s determination to hack valuable minerals from the most inaccessible of places. We were also astonished at how the shaft had been abandoned, left open, a dangerous, gaping wound in the mountainside.

  “I think it was a combination of reasons. Lead became unpopular because they discovered it had harmful properties. The lead was already beginning to run out in the mine of El Hoyo, and it became too expensive to extract. So the decision was made to shut it down.”

  “What happened to all the miners and their families?”

  “They went back to the cities to find work. Most families kept their cottages though, and their descendants still come back for weekends and the summer holidays.”

  I nodded. Paco and Carmen were perfect examples. They lived in the city during the week, but on Friday night they returned to El Hoyo for the weekend, and spent all summer in the village. Both Paco’s and Carmen’s fathers and grandfathers had worked in the lead mine.

  “Enough of the past,” said Marcia. “How is Joe?”

  “Between you and me, I’m a bit worried about his health, but I don’t really know if anything is wrong, and he won’t go to the doctor to find out.”

  Marcia nodded.

  “¡Madre mía! Men are their own worst enemies,” she said. “Look at Geronimo, if he would just stop drinking, some nice girl would fall in love with him.”

  “What about our new postlady, Valentina?”

  “I think she likes him. But I think she will soon find out how much he drinks. I don’t think there will ever be a future for those two unless he stops.”

  I sighed. That was unlikely to happen.

  “But I have other news that will interest you. News about one of your neighbours.”

  “Really?”

  Marcia gave a wry smile and nodded.

  “Which one?”

  “I have been told that Lola Ufarte is returning to the village this summer.”

  I gaped at her.

  Marcia’s black cat walked into the room and swished her tail with disdain. I was sure most of the villagers would feel the same.


  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  My mind shot back over the years to when Lola Ufarte, Mama Ufarte’s younger, beautiful, feisty sister had first swayed into El Hoyo. She’d worn micro skirts and jangly gypsy bracelets and every male in the village had been captivated. She had left a trail of broken hearts before leaving in disgrace.

  We thought we’d never see her again, but she returned. Spanish families are close and it appeared she’d been forgiven. This time, however, she brought an unwholesome young man with her and yet again, left in disgrace.

  “Has her family forgiven her again?” I asked, astonished.

  “It is normal in Spanish families. Blood ties are very strong.”

  I reported back to Joe, who, although he insists he doesn’t approve of gossip, was all agog at the news.

  “So Lola is coming back, is she? I wonder what havoc she will wreak this time? Vicky, I wish you’d stand still when I speak to you.”

  “Sorry, doing steps.”

  I was actually very pleased with my progress. The weight was dropping off, and I felt great. Most days now I reached my target of ten thousand with ease, but if I didn’t I wasn’t averse to a tiny bit of cheating. Unfortunately, the FitFirst seemed to detect underhand shenanigans.

  At eleven-thirty one night, I noticed I had another thousand steps to go before I reached my target. Our washing machine was beginning its spin cycle. I whipped off the FitFirst and taped it to the vibrating machine, hopeful that it would clock up lots of steps for me. It didn’t.

  No choice but to dash up to the roof terrace and trot in circles under the stars until the FitFirst registered ten thousand. Any villager spotting my orbiting silhouette against the night sky probably thought me crazy. At midnight, the Fitfirst would revert to zero. There was no time to lose.

  Another day I felt particularly lazy. Catching sight of Yukky, Paco and Carmen’s dog, I had an idea. Yukky (probably named Jacky but it sounded like Yukky to us when Paco called him) was a springer spaniel with boundless energy. Seeing him race up and down the street, chasing his tennis ball, gave me an idea.

  “Yukky,” I called, unclasping the FitFirst from my wrist.

  Yukky bounded up to me and I grabbed his collar, quickly attaching the FitFirst.

  “Fetch!” I cried, throwing his ball down the street.

  Off he galloped, retrieved the ball and brought it back for me to throw again.

  “Fetch!” I cried again, and again.

  “You’re having a good game with Yukky,” remarked Joe from our doorstep, unaware of my sneakiness.

  “Yes.”

  I was confident this would work. When Yukky was out of breath, he flopped down to rest, panting. Checking first that Joe had gone back inside, I swiftly repossessed the Fitfirst, eager to find out how many steps Yukky had clocked up for me.

  None.

  Not one.

  I guess the gadget was calibrated to recognise only my own paces.

  Completing those steps had become part of my life. When I cleaned my teeth, I walked on the spot as I brushed. In the evening, when I watched the TV, I jumped up and marched round the room during every commercial break. Joe became accustomed to holding conversations with a moving target.

  I changed my goal to eleven thousand steps, then twelve thousand. The scales gave me good news every time I stood on them, and I loved it. I’m not the type who enjoys working out or attending gyms, not that there were any nearby gyms to join. Walking daily suited me much better.

  “I must say, I’m surprised at how well you’re doing,” commented Joe, as we sat on the edge of the Enchanted Pool, dipping our feet in the water. “How do you feel?”

  It was one o’clock, and the place was deserted apart from Alberto, the lifeguard, who sat in the shade playing games on his phone.

  “Fantastic!” I replied, and meant it. I felt really well. “I feel so much more comfortable, and fitter. I can’t wait to go to Australia and…”

  I stopped as I followed Joe’s gaze. He was staring down at his ankles.

  “Joe? Have your ankles always looked like that?”

  “No.”

  “They look a bit blue, and swollen and puffy.”

  “I know.”

  “What do you think is the matter with them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you still getting headaches?” I asked.

  “Yes, sometimes.”

  “Do you think your blood pressure medication needs adjusting?”

  He paused and sighed before responding.

  “Yes, maybe. Vicky, I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but I’ve made up my mind.”

  “About what?”

  “I’ve come to a decision because I think there is something very wrong with me.”

  Tuna with Onions

  Atún encebollado

  Tuna is a very versatile fish with a hardier consistency that enables it to handle strong flavours.

  Ingredients (serves 2)

  Half a kilo of fresh tuna, cut into bite-sized cubes

  2 medium size red onions, white will also work

  2 medium garlic cloves

  1 bay leaf

  ¼ teaspoon of sugar

  100 ml water

  A good pinch of paprika

  A good pinch of dried oregano

  Salt and pepper to taste

  A good splash (about a tablespoon) of sherry vinegar

  Olive oil for cooking

  Method

  Drizzle a little olive oil into a medium/hot, deep frying pan.

  Throw in the tuna cubes and cook until they start to turn golden.

  Remove the tuna and set aside.

  Finely slice the garlic and onions, then fry on a medium heat, adding a little more oil if necessary.

  Add the sugar, a pinch each of salt and pepper and stir well.

  Lower the heat so it is barely on and cook the onions very slowly until they brown, taking care not to burn them. Stir regularly.

  When the onions are soft, add the sherry vinegar and water and bring the heat up to medium.

  Leave cooking for another couple of minutes before adding the tuna back into the pan and stirring well.

  Remove from the heat and stir in the paprika and oregano.

  Serve hot.

  4

  A BAD PENNY

  “You need a check-up, that’s all.”

  “Yes, I do need a check-up.”

  “I’ll make an appointment for you.”

  “No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I want to be completely checked out. I want to talk to the doctor in English and I want to be able to understand everything if they do find anything wrong.”

  “Lots of Spanish doctors speak English.”

  “No, Vicky. I want to go back to the UK and get checked out there. If I have to go into hospital for tests or something, I want it to be in my own country.”

  “But there’s probably nothing wrong with you!”

  “I know, but just in case.”

  “When?” I had a feeling I knew the answer.

  “In December. I want you to go to Australia as planned, but on your own. Meanwhile, I’m going to the UK.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Why don’t we go now? We don’t have to wait, then we can both go to Australia.”

  “No, it’s going to need some setting up, and whatever happens, I don’t want you to miss out on the trip to Aus. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to seeing Indy again.”

  “But…”

  “I want us to enjoy the remainder of the summer together here in Spain, then we’ll go our separate ways. Not for long. If all goes well, I’ll join you out there after two or three weeks.”

  I gaped at him but recognised that set expression on his face, that granite look in his eyes. That told me his mind was made up.

  “But don’t you want me to come with you to the appointments?”

  “No
need for us both to be there for those. We’ll keep in close contact. I don’t want to spoil your trip to Aus and I won’t be able to relax until I’ve had myself checked out.”

  “But, Joe…”

  “Oh no! Look who’s just arrived.”

  Clearly, Joe was not prepared to discuss it further.

  I looked up and groaned. A large Spanish lady was bearing down on us. She was a regular, like us, and I recognised her immediately. Joe and I called her the Metronome.

  The Metronome had two most annoying habits, both of which upset our British sensibilities. She was inconsiderate, and she invaded our cherished personal space.

  Looking neither left nor right, she marched towards us and dumped her belongings on the lounger nearest ours. Although she had any number to choose from, she always selected the one that was closest. Why she did this baffled us because, apart from Joe and myself, there were no other bathers.

  She then began to disrobe, preparing to enter the pool. Her routine never wavered and we knew exactly what she would do next. It was why we called her the Metronome.

  She entered the water via steps halfway along the pool and, having launched herself, began swimming slowly and deliberately across the width. At the far side, she turned and swam back, never looking to her right or left. She always swam breaststroke, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, for exactly thirty-five minutes.

  More often than not she arrived when Joe and I were already in the pool. We preferred swimming lengths but were now forced to dodge the width-swimming Metronome. She would stop for nobody, not even, I suspect, a great white shark if one had suddenly appeared.

  My new fitness regime dictated that I must swim twenty lengths. But now I had to adjust my pace either to slow down and allow the Metronome to cross in front of me, or speed up so that I was not caught in her path. It spoiled the rhythm of my swim. However, concentrating on the Metronome’s exact location allowed me no time to brood over Joe’s decision not to join me on the trip to Australia.