There was movement beneath my chair and the two cats appeared at my feet again. Both of them looked at me, unblinking.
‘What?’ I asked them.
They kept staring.
Bridget Johnson walked into the room.
‘Are they bothering you?’ she asked. ‘I’ll scoot them out if—’
‘No,’ I replied quickly. ‘They’re not. I like them.’
‘Of course, they’re from the Villa Naranja!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t know how I forgot that. Rosa brought them because you were worried about them.’
I nodded.
‘Ben and Jerry,’ she said. ‘That’s what we named them, although Jerry’s a girl and Ben’s a boy. Ben is the one with the white socks. Jerry is the tabby.’
I was glad she’d worked out the sexes already. And that she hadn’t picked theatrical names for them.
‘The guests love them,’ she added, ‘but I know not everyone likes cats, even when they’re still at the kitten stage, so I’m always ready to shoo them away.’
‘Their mother was great company at the villa,’ I said. ‘It’s nice to see them here.’
‘They seem to have taken a shine to you,’ she said as Ben suddenly jumped on to my lap. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
I shook my head and rubbed the cat beneath his chin. He started to purr again. His sister lay across my feet. Bridget laughed.
‘If you’re totally sure,’ she said. ‘Can I get you anything else? Wine? Spirits?’
‘A coffee would be nice. Decaf if you have it.’
‘No problem,’ she said.
She went to get the coffee and I kept rubbing Ben. But I was thinking of Brad. And Max.
Of course, I’d never truly believed that Brad’s spirit was somehow in Banquo. I believed it even less when he’d transitioned into Ophelia. But it was strange how she, and her offspring, seemed to be attracted to me. It didn’t happen in Dublin. Keisha Washington, who lived in the apartment next door to Saoirse and me, had a black-and-white cat that occasionally jumped on to our balcony. But it didn’t stay if I opened the doors. It had never rubbed against my ankles or stared at me with that knowing look that seemed to be a feature of Ophelia’s family.
‘You’re losing it again,’ I muttered. ‘Something happens to you here. Your mind goes AWOL.’
I picked up the phone and looked at it again.
It would be stupid to reply to Max Hollander.
What would be the point?
I was about to put the phone down when it pinged again. My heart skipped a beat.
Haha, Pilar had sent. Actually, Luis Navarro was very nice when I met him. Talked about his plans for the house. Interesting.
Interesting in what sort of way? Texting Pilar was happily distracting.
He’s an interesting man.
That’s all?
‘Yes!!!! Well . . . maybe.
OMG, I texted back. Really??
I don’t know. He’s there. I’m here. And we only talked for an evening.
I sent back the laughing emojis. I was getting good at them.
Pilar and Luis. It would be amazing.
Bridget returned with my coffee and I picked Ben from my lap. He and his sister padded after her when she walked back through the hotel, leaving me on my own again. Then a group of guests came into the lounge and arranged themselves around one of the low tables. They were English and I gathered they’d been celebrating a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
Twenty-five years. How lovely it was to think of being with the love of your life for twenty-five years. To know that you’d got it so absolutely right.
Mum and Dad had been together for longer, I realised. We’d never had celebrations for them because, despite their love of parties, they always liked to mark their anniversaries by being on their own. But there was no doubt Mum was the love of Dad’s life, and he of hers. They were a long-haul couple.
I finished my coffee and put the cup back on the table. I picked up my phone.
No more messages.
I looked at Max’s again.
I’m truly sorry about my last text to you. No excuse, just bad manners and grumpiness. Are you still available to buy me that coffee?
I breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly.
No problem, I typed. But I’m back in Spain so can’t make good on my coffee offer. Sorry.
The reply came back immediately.
For good?
No. With Mum. Mini-break.
Oh. Till when?
Sunday night. Same flight home as you took when you were here. I added a smiley face.
Staying at Villa Naranja again?
No. La Higuera.
Lovely hotel.
Yes. Never thought I’d be staying in it.
Meeting up with all your friends?
Haven’t made plans. Just here to chill with Mum, really.
Sounds perfect.
How’s Dylan?
Doing well. Mac has been really good for him.
Glad to hear it. How’s foot?
Much better. Kept boot on as instructed. Think maybe the pain was partly responsible for grumpiness.
A picture followed. It was another X-ray. I could see the healing fracture.
Looks good. Wear better trainers and stay off the roads.
Yes, nurse.
Am not a nurse.
No. I forgot.
Though they are very qualified and would give you the same orders.
Women are always right.
There are male nurses too.
You always know the way to put me down.
I stared at the text. Was that what I was doing? I didn’t mean to. Bloody texts, I thought. They’re too stark. Too emotionless. They don’t get the sense of what you’re trying to say. They can be misconstrued.
Sorry, I typed. Was meant as joke.
No need. Obvs am still a bit grumpy.
You need a mini-break too.
Maybe.
Perhaps we can do that coffee soon?
Would be lovely.
I was the rude one, I typed. When we met last time. I flared up at you for no reason.
You’d been under a lot of pressure.
No. I was back from lovely stay in Spain. I was fine. Just rude.
You’d reached acceptance. But that doesn’t mean you still weren’t hurting.
Once again, I stared at the text. He was right. I was better, but the hurt was still there beneath the surface. It would go eventually, but maybe never completely. Because everything that happens is part of who we are. It can never be erased. It simply adds to the layers that we are made of. Although I’d gone to pieces, at first, Brad’s betrayal and his death had also hardened me. I was tougher than I’d been before. Less trusting. Maybe Max was too.
You were hurting just as much, I sent after a moment.
Let’s agree neither of us was at our best. Better next time.
Hopefully soon.
Hopefully.
He sent a smiley face.
I sent one back.
Then I went to bed.
It was a long time before I fell asleep.
Mum was awake before me the following morning. I’d slept fitfully, my dreams a series of jumbled encounters with Brad and Pep and Max and Luis. Sean made an appearance too, as did Magda Burnaia. She shuffled a pack of tarot cards, then threw them in the air so that they rained down on top of me.
‘The Lovers,’ she said. ‘It was always about the Lovers.’
That was when my eyes snapped open and I realised that the sun was slanting through the gap in the curtains where Mum had parted them so that she could go outside. I got up and put one of the soft robes on over my skimpy pyjamas before joining her on the balcony, where she was having tea.
‘Are you up long?’ I asked.
‘About an hour,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been sitting here reading Joyce.’ She nodded towards a dog-eared copy of Ulysses.
I’ve never been able to read Ulysses. I
’ve tried on numerous occasions but always fall at the hurdle of long sentences without commas that don’t make a lot of sense – at least, not to me. My last attempt had been over ten years earlier, before I’d left home, when Mum was doing a reading of the book for a literary festival. She’d spent ages practising, and hearing her say the words somehow made it seem more accessible, but when I opened the pages I gave up in despair again. I comforted myself regarding my lack of intellectual ability by deciding that the book on diagnostic imaging I was studying would have been gibberish to her. But truthfully, I felt like a failure. Especially as Gonne and Butler both considered it to be a masterpiece.
‘Would you like breakfast?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ She grinned at me. ‘I’m ravenous. If you hadn’t woken up yourself, I was prepared to dig you out of the bed.’
I laughed and got ready.
We went downstairs, where we both feasted off the lavish buffet provided by the Higuera. Afterwards, Mum said that she’d like to visit the town, so we drove into Beniflor.
I parked in my usual space, outside the supermarket, and then we walked to the town square, which was busier than I’d expected. The usual parade of people were going in and out of the ayuntamiento building, the old men were sitting outside the bar, and the umbrellas were up in front of the Café Flor where three of the half-dozen tables were occupied. It looked peaceful and unchanging, and I felt a wave of tranquillity wash over me. Then I realised that one of the people at the café was Catalina Ruiz, her pregnancy now obvious. When she looked up and saw me she smiled.
‘You are back,’ she said as she stood up and embraced me. ‘How nice.’
‘Only for a short visit,’ I said. ‘I’m here with my mum.’
I introduced them, and Catalina told Mum that it was lucky I’d been around when I was. Otherwise her son might not have recovered as quickly from his dislocated shoulder.
‘You never said anything about that.’ Mum looked at me in puzzlement after we’d said our goodbyes to Catalina. ‘Honestly, Juno, it’s like you live your life in a bubble sometimes.’
‘She’s making it out to be a much bigger deal than it was,’ I said. ‘People do, when they get a fright. It was a pretty basic dislocation, and all I did was provide first aid.’
Mum shook her head but said nothing. I walked with her around the town, which took all of fifteen minutes – including cultural highlights like the DIY shop – then I suggested we went to Beniflor Costa for a proper walk along the beach.
‘We could visit the Arab baths tomorrow, but it’s lovely and sunny right now, ideal for the beach.’
‘Whatever you like,’ said Mum, who still seemed miffed because I hadn’t mentioned Xavi Ruiz’s shoulder sooner.
It was much easier to find a parking space near the beach in Beniflor Costa, and the sight of the blue sea and the fine, biscuit-coloured sand restored Mum’s good humour. She insisted on going down to the water’s edge to paddle and, as the sea lapped around our ankles, I explained how lots of people from around the area had apartments near the coast and how they sometimes moved to them for the summer months.
‘For the breeze,’ I explained. ‘It can be stifling inland, even though it might only be a few kilometres.’
‘How far is it from here to the house where you stayed?’ she asked.
‘Not very. Eight, ten kilometres,’ I replied. ‘But you could feel the difference. I guess that’s why Pilar’s mum wanted to sell it. A weekend home near the sea is probably a better idea.’
She nodded. ‘But you must take me to the house, all the same.’
‘It’s been sold,’ I reminded her. ‘We can’t go in.’
‘Just a drive-by,’ she said. ‘Then we can go back to the hotel, have a light lunch, and I can spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing with my book.’
‘OK.’
After we’d sat on the promenade for long enough to allow our feet to dry, we got into the car and I drove to the Villa Naranja.
I felt my heart constrict a little as I rounded the bend in the road and saw the whitewashed walls behind the green metal gate. I pulled to a stop, and we both got out of the car. That was when I realised that there was someone in the gardens.
‘Luis Navarro,’ I said to my mother. ‘The man who bought it.’
Luis had seen the car pull up and was walking towards us. When he recognised me, he looked surprised.
‘I did not expect to see you here so soon,’ he said as he reached into his pocket and took out the remote that opened the gates. ‘Welcome back.’
As with Catalina, I introduced my mother and explained about being on a mini-break with her.
‘At La Higuera. That’s very nice,’ he said.
‘Indeed it is,’ said Mum.
‘No need for renovations there.’ He grinned at me. ‘I have been doing more work here. Would you like to see?’
‘Of course,’ said Mum before I could speak.
The house was definitely more cared for than before, and not just because of my painting and varnishing and gardening. There was a subtle change in the atmosphere about it, a feeling that it mattered to someone now.
‘Have you moved in?’ I asked Luis.
He nodded.
‘It is nice to have a place entirely for myself. Well, not entirely,’ he corrected himself as a familiar cat stalked through the garden. ‘I have to share.’
‘Banquo! I mean, Ophelia!’ I hunkered down and stroked her.
‘The famous cat,’ said Mum. ‘I’m glad she was here to keep you company. But truly, Juno, I’ll never understand your affection for felines.’
‘I like their unpredictability,’ I said. ‘And the way they’re always in charge of their lives.’
She laughed. ‘Unpredictability! From my daughter who likes things to be rational, explainable and predictable. Although,’ she conceded, ‘I never would have predicted you’d have taken a summer break like this.’
‘We are all glad Juno came to stay,’ said Luis. ‘I’m afraid Pep isn’t here,’ he added as he turned to me. ‘He is in Alicante.’
‘I didn’t expect to see him,’ I said.
Mum gave me a knowing look but I said nothing.
‘Do you want to see the place where Pilar’s great-grandfather was hanged?’ I asked.
‘Oh, yes!’ Her enthusiasm wasn’t ghoulish but born of a real interest in the past.
I brought her to the spot beneath the jacaranda, and she stood there in silence looking at it. I stayed quiet too. I could see that she was living it in her head.
‘We need to remember these things,’ she said eventually. ‘They shape our lives, our futures, our children’s futures.’
‘You are right, of course,’ said Luis. ‘But I do not want the garden to be a place of sadness.’
My mother nodded her agreement. ‘Memories are enough.’
And then Luis invited us into the house, where he offered us juice along with some nuts and olives. He wanted to give us some Navarro wine to take home but I pointed out that we couldn’t bring it in our carry-on luggage. He snorted in disgust.
‘It is so annoying,’ he said. ‘I would like to share our wines with more people outside Spain. I must contact your friend,’ he added. ‘The one who worked with the Spanish Tourist Board.’
‘Which friend?’ asked Mum.
‘Max Hollander,’ I replied.
‘Oh.’ Her expression was unfathomable as she looked at me. ‘I take it you still haven’t heard from him?’
She’d asked me once or twice already, when we’d talked about the trip, and I’d told her to stop because it was perfectly obvious I wasn’t going to hear from him and I was absolutely fine with it. The day I’d called to her and broken down in tears had been a bad day but I’d got over myself now and I was fine. I would tell her about his text, but not in front of Luis. I shook my head.
‘If you have time later today, or tomorrow, you should drop by the finca and say hello to my mother,’ he said. ‘I know s
he would be happy to see you.’
‘That’d be great,’ said Mum before I could reply. ‘My husband is thinking of writing a script about this place.’
‘He is a writer?’
‘A playwright,’ I clarified, before turning to Mum. ‘He’s not seriously thinking about it, is he?’
‘Of course,’ said Mum. ‘The Civil War story is very interesting. And I’m sure he’ll weave in a modern-day love story too.’
‘So you’re here as a research trip?’ I asked.
She laughed. ‘I’m just the actress, sweetheart. Your dad does everything else.’
I shot her a sceptical look while Luis frowned as he tried to follow the subtext of our conversation.
‘We’d better go,’ I told him. ‘Thank you for showing us around, Luis. It looks fabulous. I hope you’re very happy here.’ And then, because I couldn’t resist it, I added that I hoped Pilar would visit again soon.
His eyes narrowed, and I grinned.
‘You know lots about me,’ I said. ‘Now I know a little about you too.’
‘She is nice woman,’ he said. ‘And we are just friends.’
I’d always meant it when I referred to myself as ‘just friends’ with someone. But now I realised how lame it sounded.
‘I hope it works out,’ I said.
‘There is nothing . . . well . . .’
‘It would be so lovely,’ I said. ‘You and Doña Carmen’s granddaughter.’
‘Perhaps.’ His voice was suddenly serious. ‘But only if she was the right one for me. It is important, Juno, to know who the right one is. You must think about this yourself.’
He kissed me briefly on the cheek, then turned to Mum and told her it had been a pleasure to meet a famous actress and that he hoped she would visit again soon.
As we walked out of the house I gave Ophelia a goodbye scratch on the head.
And then I drove Mum back to the hotel.
‘What was all that about Pilar and Luis and the importance of knowing the right one?’ Mum demanded as I parked outside La Higuera.
I told her about Bridget’s belief that there was something between Luis and Pilar and she looked thoughtful.
‘I’ll have to tell your dad that. It would make his story stronger.’
‘You can’t take people’s lives and muck around with them in a screenplay,’ I protested. But Mum just snorted and said everyone was fair game to Dad – and besides, it would make a perfect ending.
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