by Rachel Dann
‘All okay?’
‘Yeah, fine,’ I say lightly, resting my hand on Lewis’s head where he has now climbed up on to the seat and is curled up meekly in between us. I can’t begin to explain to Sebastian what my father and I have been through in the past day, or my feeling of quiet hope that our relationship has taken on a new trajectory. Nor can I even begin to dissect the mixture of emotions running through me, knowing I will see Harry again very shortly, after how we left things. But smiling weakly back at Sebastian, something in his expression tells me he understands all this.
We drive on in silence, and I watch the lights of Quito flash past as we head south to Liza and Roberto’s house. Then Rodrigo flicks his trusty tape-deck to life again, and the crooning overtures of Elton John fill the car.
Can you feel… the looooove tonight? He beseeches us. As would any other person in the world of a certain generation, I think of The Lion King. Rodrigo turns around briefly with a wicked grin and smutty laugh. There’s a soft thud as Sebastian rests his head against the car window, muttering what I think is ‘Oh, Christ’.
By the time we arrive at Liza and Roberto’s house we have been serenaded with ‘Is This Love?’, ‘The Greatest Love of All’ and, Rodrigo’s grand finale, for which he turns up the volume several notches, Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s ‘Power of Love’. Rodrigo pulls up outside the house, and we have to sit awkwardly waiting for the very last notes to die away before it’s possible to speak.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say, feeling suddenly guilty at all Sebastian has done to help my father and me in the short time we’ve known each other.
Through the dull light of the street lamps outside I see him smile widely. ‘It was a pleasure, honest. Nice to get out of Quito for a bit.’
Sitting in the back of the taxi next to Sebastian in my mud-stained clothes, I can’t help feeling like I have been on a very bizarre date. And right about now would be when we kiss, I think irrationally.
Seeing that I show no signs of getting out of the car, Rodrigo wordlessly turns the ignition off.
Summoning up courage I lean over Lewis to peck Sebastian on the cheek. But before my lips can make contact with their target, something makes me freeze. The light is on in our apartment, clearly visible up ahead above the rest of the house in darkness. This in itself would be nothing strange, but through the half-open slats in the blinds I can see a figure that is unmistakably Harry’s, and just in front of him there is someone else. Shorter, slimmer, the silhouette of a woman.
In the split second it takes me to register all this I reach out to stop myself on my trajectory towards Sebastian’s cheek, and grab hold of Lewis’s fur. The dog yelps and jumps on to the floor, my hand continues forward and lands on Sebastian’s thigh.
‘Oh my God!’ I cry and jump back, simultaneously cracking my elbow on the car door. Lewis starts going crazy and trying to jump up and lick my face, Sebastian pulling him back on to the floor by his collar, laughing.
‘Oh dear… down boy! Are you okay?’
‘Yes… God, I’m sorry… I just thought…’ I turn to look back up at the apartment. The light is still on but both figures have gone from the window.
‘Okay… good. Because actually I wanted to tell you something.’
I’m aware Sebastian is talking to me, but my brain is too busy noticing other things about the house, a series of little alarms pinging in my head at each one. The strange car parked outside just ahead of us – who would Liza and Roberto know that drives a purple VW Golf convertible?
‘The thing is, I’m leaving on Monday for a training course, in Colombia.’
The garage door – it’s wide open. They never leave it open. Roberto always goes down and checks it right before going to sleep, sometimes several times.
‘It’s for three weeks. And I might stay on afterwards to do some sightseeing. I mean, it depends. Will you still… be around here, then?’
I turn to look at Sebastian, aware he has asked me something but unable to think of anything other than that unmistakably female figure, standing upstairs in my living room, and the realisation that this could, finally, be the answer to all my suspicions about Harry.
‘I’m sorry… got to go. There’s a… something has…’ Already fumbling for the door handle, I turn and give Sebastian what I hope is my best apologetic smile. ‘Look, I’ll call you tomorrow. Thank you for everything – thank you, too, Rodrigo – bye!’ I grab my backpack and throw myself out of the car.
I run the short distance to the house, dimly aware of Sebastian calling my name, then the car ignition starting up. I don’t slow down, and take the steps to the upstairs apartment two at a time, adrenaline racing through me. The door is closed but not locked and I hesitate for just a second, sensing on some deep, instinctive level that what I find on the other side will blast my whole world to pieces. Then I fling it open.
Standing before me, looking up to meet my eyes in startled surprise, is the mirror-image, identical, eight-year-old version of Harry.
***
His eyes are different, a light hazelnut brown instead of Harry’s clear blue. And his skin has a warmer tone to it, a soft caramel, the colour Harry would turn if he spent enough time in the sun. But the thick shock of dark golden hair is unmistakably, hauntingly the same. The parting that never quite lies flat. The long, straight nose and high forehead and good cheekbones. I stand frozen to the spot and just stare and stare and stare.
Even the angle of his shoulders sends a chill down my spine as he steps hesitantly forward to shake my hand, stepping back again quickly like someone scalded. The feeling of his hand, small and cool and soft, stays seared on to mine as if he had not let go.
‘This is Nicholas,’ A woman’s voice says quietly somewhere to my left, cutting into the silence.
For the first time I become aware of the other people in the room. The owner of the voice – the woman from the window – small and slender with long black hair pulled back in a plait, standing to my left by the breakfast bar. And Harry, at the opposite side of the room, staring at the floor and looking as if he is about to throw up.
‘And I’m Lorena,’ the woman perseveres, her voice tight. She steps forward and offers her hand to me, looking as if she would rather be anywhere else in the world but here. ‘We were just leaving, it’s far too late for Nicholas to be up…’
I take her hand but can’t tear my gaze away from Harry and the boy. Nicholas. I look from one to the other, mesmerised. It’s like stepping into some sort of twisted This Is Your Life episode that shows you what your children would have looked like.
Bile rises up my throat, and I feel my legs backing away and carrying me from the room before my brain fully registers that I’m going. I fumble for the door and trip down the steps. I hear voices calling somewhere behind and above me, and scrabble frantically for the lock to the door, the cold air of the street hitting my face and a strange rushing sensation filling ears.
Then I faint.
‘Kristie…’ A woman’s voice is murmuring in my ear. I become dimly aware of a hand lightly resting on my shoulder, and the warmth of another body pressed against mine.
‘No, don’t get up, just keep your head there…’ The hand moves to the back of my head and gently pushes it back down between my knees. I open my eyes and see a pair of pink flip-flops next to my muddy trainers, illuminated by the streetlight beside us. The woman’s toenails are painted a silvery colour.
‘How old is he?’ My voice sounds strangled and unfamiliar.
‘Listen, Kristie, I—’
‘How bloody old is he?’ I raise my head and meet the eyes of the woman sitting beside me, noticing with vague surprise that they are brimming over with tears.
‘Nine.’
The mental arithmetic takes me less than a second. I slump my head back against the concrete wall behind us. ‘I’m such an idiot.’
‘Listen…’ Lorena begins cautiously. ‘Harry didn’t know.
Not for years.’
She speaks English very well, I find myself thinking distractedly, irrelevantly. Just a light accent.
Lorena takes a deep breath, perhaps psyching herself up to continue. ‘We met when he was a traveller, just passing through, and I was at college. He signed up for a city tour with my family’s company, and I met him sitting in reception. I couldn’t help it, it was one of those instant chemistry things…’
I wave my hand, trying not to gag, not wanting to hear details but at the same time needing to know everything.
‘What do you mean, your family’s company?’
Lorena blinks at me, perhaps wondering why I have chosen to hone in on the one piece of irrelevant information from everything she’s told me.
Except, to me, it’s not irrelevant.
‘Your family owned a travel agency?’ I persist.
‘Yes… my parents did, now I’ve taken it over… why does that…?’
I’m already shaking my head, feeling even more sick, remembering the night Harry tried to convince me I was imagining things, that his secret phone call had been to a travel agent, arranging a surprise trip away… the guilt I’d felt for ever suspecting Harry. The young voice answering the phone when I called back. My mum handles all that.
Nicholas.
‘Anyway, we started going out,’ Lorena continues, oblivious to the concentrated effort I am making to stop myself from vomiting on the pavement in front of us. ‘He had dinner at my house a few times, I showed him around the city. But I always knew he was leaving – he had a flight to Argentina, then after that he was starting university in England. I was sad when he left, of course. But we were so young. We both always knew what it was.’ She fiddles with the end of her long plait, pulling the hairband out, twisting it around and around her fingers in an endless nervous gesture. ‘But then I did a positive pregnancy test.’
My mind whizzes back through time and space to when I first saw Harry, stepping into our Spanish classroom with his inappropriate clothes and scraggly hair, confident smile, carefree attitude to everything. How long after his travels in South America was that? Six months? A year? I can’t remember the exact order of Harry’s life events before we were together. But I knew he went to Australia for a while before finally starting university. So, most likely at that very moment, unbeknownst to anyone, the course of events that has led us to this evening was already set in motion. It had already happened… Harry was already a father.
Lorena stares blankly out at the road before us, also transported back to another place and time long ago.
‘Luckily my parents supported me completely. They let me stay at home, stay in college. I had been a good student up until then… there were only a few months to go before graduation. I wore a long robe, but it was still obvious to everyone.’
I turn to stare at her, feeling a confusing mixture of emotions towards this woman. Jealousy, sympathy, resentment…
‘I made the decision right away not to tell Harry. What would have been the point? I knew he wasn’t coming back. He had told me all about his family, his father’s business, his university plans. And I didn’t want him to think I was asking for anything.’ She juts out her chin defiantly. ‘It was only much, much later, when Niko started asking about his father, that I finally realised Harry should at least be told. I owed my son that much. Of course it was up to Harry what he wanted to do with the information… and I didn’t promise Niko anything. But for his sake I felt I had to at least try. He was old enough by then to express his wishes… and he was determined he wanted to know more about his dad.’ She stops, twisting her hair around her fingers again, frowning out into the dark street. ‘I didn’t even know whether the message got through. I just had one email address. I had no idea what had happened to Harry or what he’d done with his life since he left here.’
‘How long ago was this?’ My voice is barely more than a whisper. ‘When did you tell him?’
‘Last year. Easter Sunday. I’ll never forget it. I’d had the email drafted up for ages, but… it took me until then to press send.’
My mind goes spinning back again, frantically trying to remember where we were, what Harry had been doing then, when it was that things started to turn strange between us. Was there a correlation?
‘He didn’t reply,’ Lorena whispers, answering my unvoiced question. ‘I spent a few weeks nervously checking my email every five minutes, then gradually went back to normal. I told Niko I simply hadn’t been able to trace his dad and we had to leave it there. He’s generally a happy kid… I think he was just getting to an age where they start to ask questions, you know? Especially looking like he does… so blond, different to all his friends here.’
Lorena barely seems aware of my presence any more as she loses herself in the recounting of her story. ‘I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing… not trying harder to find Harry. I knew there were ways to trace people if you really put your mind to it. But I met someone and got married three years ago. He treats Nicholas like a son. I was terrified of upsetting the delicate balance of that… our little family…’
She turns to me now, as if remembering I am here. ‘I never expected Harry just to book a flight and come out here. Or for how he behaved when he arrived – to be honest, he got a bit crazy. Phoning and emailing all the time. He even turned up at the house. And I was so angry to begin with… how could he ignore my email for over a year, then just decide to drop by, at his own convenience? I wasn’t sure I even wanted my son to meet someone like that.’
‘And then… you finally agreed to let them meet? This weekend?’ I don’t need Lorena’s answer. As she’s been speaking, all the missing pieces have been falling into place, piling on top of each other faster and faster like the end of a Tetris game. Harry, shouting down the phone in Spanish on our first day here. Harry, getting a job here and becoming increasingly vague about how long he wanted to stay, about our supposed travel plans. Harry, sitting outside a house in downtown Quito, his head in his hands. The repeated Skype calls. The lies.
Then, most painfully of all, his reluctance to leave Quito to go with me and help find my dad.
Fury bubbles up inside me, forcing me to my feet.
‘Kirsty, wait!’ Lorena scrambles to her feet, too. ‘I was angry at first, and didn’t want him to see Nicholas – but then I realised. The reason Harry didn’t reply for ages, the reason for all his strangeness, was you. He finally decided he should see his son, because he was on the brink of getting married and starting a family – with you. It’s so obvious.’
I’m already backing away from her, back through the garage towards the house.
‘He was so desperate for you not to find out about Nicholas, because he was desperate not to lose you. He loves you, Kirsty.’
My foot is on the first step to go up to the apartment, but I whirl round and turn on her angrily. ‘If that’s true, then why is it YOU sitting here now, finally telling me the truth? Instead of Harry?’ And why did he never tell me the truth, any time over the last year?
I charge back up the stairs and crash straight into Harry on his way down.
‘Kirsty! I was just coming to look for you. Please, can we…’
I push past him without even replying and march straight into the living room, grabbing my backpack from the floor where it had slid from my shoulder, forgotten about, just moments earlier. Nicholas is sitting on the edge of the sofa playing with some sort of handheld device, seemingly oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him. I gape at him again for a few seconds, unable to help myself, then go into the bedroom and, with a grim determination, start gathering armfuls of clothes and shoving them into the bag.
‘Kirsty, come on, for God’s sake – please!’ Harry is hovering in the doorway, and I can see Lorena marching up the stairs behind him, calling for Nicholas to put the tablet away and get his coat on.
Not caring that the backpack won’t zip shut and half my belongings are
still in the wardrobe, I turn to run back down the stairs again. Lorena and I pass at the top and our eyes meet for a fleeting moment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters, then I run past her back down the stairs and out into the street, flagging down the first taxi that passes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘You’re going to have to get up, you know.’
I roll over and pull the pillow over my head to block out the rough Scottish accent rudely invading my sleep. ‘Go away,’ I grumble. ‘Please just let me—’
‘No! You don’t understand – we need you to man the bar. I am driving Gabriela to the hospital. She is having… what’s the word in English? Pushes.’
I haul myself on to my elbow and frown at Ray uncomprehendingly.
‘Contractions! Yes, that’s the word. She is having contractions. The baby is coming!’
I almost fall out of the bed in my haste to pull a jumper over my head and gather up the clothes I’d left strewn across the floor last night. I haven’t even seen Gabriela yet. I was let in last night by a half-awake Ray who took one look at my shocked, tear-stained face and gave me a room key, a towel and a long, cigarette-scented hug before going back to bed again. I dimly remember crawling under one of the classic Casa Hamaca brightly coloured blankets and shivering myself to sleep, images of Harry and Nicholas swirling before my eyes until they merged into one twisted, mutated figure that haunted my dreams.
Ray is practically bouncing on the spot with impatience. ‘Please, Kirsty, we need you to help downstairs – it is already full for lunchtime. And we cannot close today, it is nearly time for Fiestas de Quito – the big Independence Day party next weekend!’ Ray bounces a little on the spot in panic.
Lunchtime?
I grab my phone and see that it’s nearly midday. There are two missed calls from Sebastian and sixteen from Harry. I ignore all of them, pull some shoes on and follow Ray downstairs.
‘Barry will be here in an hour,’ he says over his shoulder, leading me at a trot down the wooden spiral staircase to the hotel reception. ‘He knows the ropes. And the kitchen staff will help you. We just need you to keep things running until then.’ Gaining momentum as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, Ray sweeps through reception and into the bar and restaurant, me trotting to keep pace with him.