by Alan Parks
“Venga, venga!”
Ramon was telling me to go with him. I’m not sure what use he thought I would be, maybe just moral support, but I jumped on the back of the tractor and we slowly made our way up the hill. Ramon was talking at me the whole time. I got the feeling he was trying to bond with me, maybe saying something along the lines of “Women, eh!” He still had a can of beer with him, although I’m sure the chances of getting stopped by the police were on the slim side.
When we reached the top, Ramon Jr had already fixed a rope to the front of the car, but I was instructed to climb down the hill and help push it backwards away from the tree. There was steam coming from the radiator and it looked in a bad way. The tree, however, was unhurt. Amazing!
Ramon Jr and I manoeuvred the battered car away from the tree and Ramon fastened the rope to the back of the tractor. He started to pull the car up the hill, stopping every so often to readjust the line to avoid the trees on the way up. Eventually we got it to the top and I jumped back on the tractor.
“No, no,” Ramon wagged his finger at me. “En el coche,” as he made a steering action.
I had to sit in the car and steer it so it didn’t go off its line. It took ages to get it all the way up to the house and once there I had to have a drink with them. After that Ramon Jr dropped me back at the house, where I expected to find Lorna waiting and wondering where I was. Nope. Just a note: “I guess you’re with Ramon, I’ve gone to bed.”
The following morning I slept in, but when I went out to the gate later on, there was a bag of vegetables tied to it. Loads of tomatoes, courgettes and potatoes, their way of saying ‘thank you’.
On the occasions we have spoken to them since, the incident that night has never been mentioned.
Chapter 11
Expats
“Damn! It’s finally happened,” I called out, casually flicking through the TV channels with the Sky remote control. Each one was giving me the same response. No satellite signal is being received.
Now, in truth we don’t actually watch all that much TV. In the summer we don’t watch any at all, because our only TV goes in the guest apartment and anyhow, I am so paranoid about using up excess electricity when we have guests here that I wouldn’t dare turn on the TV. But until now we had always had the option of watching it if we wanted to. We didn’t have all the fancy Sky channels, the movies or the sport, but we did have the basic channels 1, 2, 3 and 4, plus the extras that come with them.
“What’s happened?” Lorna asked.
“The TV signal’s gone. All we have left are some shocking US channels full of reality TV. Oh, and Challenge, which seems to be reruns of Wheel of Fortune from the 1980s.”
“Oh well, we knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”
True, we did. We had heard the rumours for months, that the UK satellite which beamed all our channels was being upgraded and the zone that it covered would be much smaller. In fact, it turns out that all the expats living out of the UK had been getting a free ride anyway. We shouldn’t be picking up BBC as we don’t pay the TV licence any more, and apparently Sky is illegal. The people that do sell Sky here have to register the boxes to UK addresses as Sky don’t have a licence to broadcast in Spain.
Every so often we had been given a date when the new satellite would be turned on, and on that date fate would always ensure that something went wrong. It did occur to me that a group of determined expats might be sabotaging the new launch, but I’m sure that wasn’t the case. In any case, now it had finally happened. I switched the TV off and sat down at the laptop.
Well, you would have thought the end of the world was occurring. The forums and Facebook were bubbling with rage from hundreds of seething expats, unable to get their fix of Coronation Street or Eastenders. People were already saying that they might have to consider moving back to the UK if they couldn’t sort something out so that they could watch Downton Abbey.
Overnight, the sharks were circling. Adverts started appearing for new-fangled internet systems, costing hundreds of Euros to install, and the expats were snapping them up. We just made do with Wheel of Fortune.
***
We decided to have a drive into Cordoba. We needed to pick up a few bits and pieces from the DIY store, and we needed to get out.
“I want to drive today,” Lorna said.
She hadn’t driven in ages and today she wanted to get back behind the wheel.
I think usually I’m a pretty good passenger. I try not to feel nervous when I’m not in control and Lorna is a very competent driver, but when I’ve been the only one driving for months on end, I find that I have got comfortable with that and I become a little nervous in the passenger seat.
This day was no exception. It had been playing on my mind that Frank’s tyres were getting pretty worn and two recent punctures, as well as having to replace the expensive back tyres had got me wondering about the front ones. I was hoping they would last until the ITV, which is the Spanish equivalent of the British MOT, or Ministry of Transport vehicle test.
We were trundling along the motorway, thankfully on a straight stretch, when there was a loud bang, a grinding noise and Lorna momentarily lost control, but she had it back almost instantly. One of the tyres had blown. I hit the hazard lights and we slowed down. As luck would have it, we had just passed the entrance to a service station when the tyre had blown, so we pulled into its exit lane and got out to inspect the damage.
The front right-hand side tyre was shredded completely. Although we were on a pretty safe exit road, I wasn’t very happy to change the tyre there. We opened the boot to retrieve our triangle and yellow vests that we are required, by law, to wear in case of a breakdown.
The triangle was missing, as was one of the vests. I couldn’t risk getting fined again by the Guardia Civil; they seem to delight in fining us at every opportunity. To date, I have been fined for speeding, which I accept, but also for a dirty number plate and for carrying windows in the back of my car instead of a trailer. According to the officer, there was a grave risk of my head getting chopped off. Both of these got me €80 fines, but if I paid earlier, they were reduced to €40.
“You stay here, wearing the vest,” I said to Lorna “and I’ll wander up to the garage and buy a triangle and another vest.”
I walked as fast as I could, up the exit road and into the service station. I wanted (needed) to get there before I was spotted by a Guardia patrol. Much like any other garage on the motorway, this one was attached to a restaurant, and I entered the shop part and headed for the spare parts department. It was ancient - the stuff that was on display looked as though it had been there for 20 years. I managed to find a triangle, although it was not in a packet and had no price on it. I couldn’t find any vests, so I took the triangle up to the counter.
The man on duty didn’t know the price, so had to make about three phone calls before it was decided to charge me €6 for the triangle. They had no vests in stock.
I walked back to Lorna, and en route I laid out the triangle to warn people that we were there.
“OK, if you give me the phone I’ll call the insurance people and get them to send out someone to change the tyre and you walk up to the garage and have a drink,” I said to Lorna.
So I stood in the hot sun and made the phone call to the insurance company. They were very good and when I explained what had happened they agreed to send somebody out as soon as possible to change the tyre. All I could do was sit on the crash barrier in the sun, and slowly start to cook.
After about 45 minutes the phone rang. It was the English speaking man at the insurance company.
“We have had a phone call from the man we sent to change your tyre. He has been waiting for 30 minutes for you at the station. Where are you please?”
“What? I’m on the exit road!”
I could hear the man relaying the message in the background. Just then, I saw a big yellow tow truck pull out of the service station, turn on his flashing orange lights a
nd come down the road towards me.
About ten minutes later the spare tyre was back on Frank, having been used far more recently than I would have liked, and I was able to go and collect Lorna. The first thing we did was drive to a Chinese shop and buy a new triangle (you’re supposed to have two) and two new yellow vests. It seems like it is best to be prepared for the worst.
For our part we tried to look at the positives in the situation. It was positive that the tyre had blown on a straight bit of road, and that Lorna had managed to stay in control. It was positive that Frank would now have a full set of new tyres, which would be one less thing to worry about when the ITV rolled around again, even though it had cost us €500 we really didn’t have spare. Finally, it was positive that we were both still alive to tell the tale. It could have been far worse.
When we got home, out of habit I flicked on the TV.
“What’s on?” Lorna called from the kitchen.
“Wheel of Fortune!”
I turned the TV straight back off.
Chapter 12
New Arrival
At the start of the previous May, Lorna’s daughter, Frankie, announced that she was pregnant with her second child, Lorna’s third grandchild. Frankie was no longer with Chris, but had been with Jordan now for over two years. It was news that Lorna wasn’t expecting, and to make it even more difficult, the dates for the birth looked like falling around Christmas. This meant Lorna and I had to have a conversation. The due date was given as the 12th of December, and as everyone knows, babies are often late. Lorna was concerned about leaving me in Spain on my own for Christmas.
“Just go. Christmas is always difficult for you here, away from the family. I’ll be OK, and you’ll get to spend Christmas with the children and grandchildren.”
“But I feel bad leaving you over Christmas. It won’t be very nice for you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, “Rita won’t let me stay here all by myself, will she?”
“I guess not. If you’re sure. But I feel bad about it.”
So we booked the flights, leaving for the UK a few days after the due date and returning home on New Year’s Eve. This is another tough night for Lorna as it’s the anniversary of her father’s death, and her family always used to hold big New Year parties. Our best New Year here in Spain was the year we made it to Cordoba to join in the celebrations in the main square. Hopefully we will make it back there one day.
As the due date approached, I could tell Lorna was getting nervous. Frankie was the size of a house, and uncomfortable, but she kept saying to her mum, “I’m going to hang on until you get here, I promise.”
Of course, Mother Nature doesn’t work like that. On the night of the 12th our phone beeped in the night with a text message. Lorna nudged me awake.
“Frankie thinks she might be in labour, I’m going to get the laptop so I can talk to her easily.”
So Lorna brought the laptop into bed, and logged into Facebook to find out the latest. Labour had started. Frankie knew what was happening as she had been through it before with Kaci, so she also knew there was a long way to go. She hadn’t woken Jordan yet either, so Frankie and Lorna got to spend a few hours together, just the two of them through the magic of Facebook. So even though Lorna wasn’t able to be there at the birth, she was able to spend a few special hours with Frankie. The power of the Internet is an amazing thing.
That morning we had to go to the hospital for a check-up on Lorna’s iron problems. As we arrived at the hospital the phone rang, but as Lorna answered it the line went dead. She tried ringing back, but there was no reply. As we sat in the hospital waiting-room she was like a cat on a hot tin roof, she just couldn’t keep still. The room was full to bursting with people, but as soon as the phone rang she grabbed it off me and ran out of there. Everyone stared, but Lorna was completely unaware.
Baby Jaxon had been born at a healthy 7lb 5oz. Now Lorna had an anxious few days wait until she got to England for those first precious Nanny cuddles. As we’ve both said before, people are what we miss by living in a foreign country. The rest are just ‘things’, fish and chips or central heating for example, but sometimes that distance can seem insurmountable.
After a couple of days, I couldn’t wait for Lorna to get on the plane. She didn’t want to be in Spain and I wanted her to get to meet Jaxon. I assured her all would be OK, and I would manage fine on my own over Christmas, and packed her off to England.
Without the usual excitement of the Christmas TV schedule, I still had to contend with what we like to call ‘The Lorna Effect’. Things have a tendency to happen when Lorna is away and this trip was to prove no different.
The first couple of days passed quietly and boringly. As the time passes when I am at The Olive Mill on my own, I start to talk, both to myself and to the animals. Not in a Doctor Dolittle way, just more to make me feel like I have company. Sometimes the dogs look at me as if they understand. Either that or they think I’m crazy.
One morning, I could hear Arthur going berserk which normally means something unusual is happening. It could mean the alpaca boys had escaped, it could mean somebody was outside, or it could mean there was a dog about.
First I looked out of the window to check the alpacas. All present and correct and where they should be. Good. Next I looked out towards the gate to see if there was a car there. There wasn’t, but still he kept barking. So I got dressed quickly and went out to investigate.
Now this will sound strange, but on the grass verge across the track there was a dog. A blue dog. A big blue dog. I went back in.
“OK Arthur, good boy. Can you see the blue dog?”
Was I going mad? Had the isolation finally got to me?
I had a drink of water and went back out to the front gate. He was still sitting there, curled up on the grass opposite, and he was still blue. I didn’t want to feed him; the last thing we needed was another dog and I wasn’t even completely sure he was real, but he was definitely blue. Of course Lorna had the camera in the UK for photos of Jaxon, but I ask you, what could be more important? Photos of a baby or photos of a miracle blue dog? I know the answer.
Now I had a dilemma and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. This blue dog looked as though he had made himself comfortable on the grass over the track and Arthur was VERY agitated. There was drool coming from his mouth and he was jumping up and down and getting angry with Blue (funny coincidence as one of our dogs is called Blue). I was worried he was going to hurt himself jumping up and down, so I tried to tempt him inside where I could close the door and calm him down, but he was having none of it.
Then, I heard the phut-phut of a campo motorbike. Thinking it was going to be Ramon Jr I went out to try and ask if this dog was one of his. But it wasn’t Ramon. It was somebody new. It was Diego.
Chapter 13
Diego
The man came around the corner on his motorbike, looking very different to most of the characters we meet in the campo. He had a portly stomach and was sporting a massive smile. There was a cigar in his mouth, a massive one too, like one of the Cuban ones you see in the movies. He had on a smart black hat and a big leather jacket over a shirt and smart trousers. He was at least in his sixties. The blue dog came to life and chased after the man.
“¿QUE PASA?” the man shouted at me. He propped his bike up and marched over to shake my hand. “Soy Diego. ¿Que pasa?”
I was a bit taken aback and still thinking about the blue dog, which was now lying on the floor rubbing its back in the dust.
“Errr, bien. Gracias.” I didn’t know what to say, my Spanish was failing me.
He gestured at the alpacas.
“Muy preciosas.”
He liked them. We had a conversation, of sorts, about the alpacas and I plucked up the courage to ask about the dog. However, I couldn’t find the words to ask the question I wanted to. Why is your dog blue? I pointed at the dog.
“¿Bien?”
“Siiii. Muy bien.” No explanation.
“Ah. No pasa nada.” It doesn’t matter. “No es problema.”
I had to persist. Even though the conversation was like wading through treacle, I needed to know why the dog was blue.
“¿Pero….como?” But….how?
He said something to me which I didn’t understand. I obviously had a blank look on my face because he acted out a spraying action.
“Aquí, aquí.” Here, here.
He took me over to the olive trees. He pointed at Ramon in the distance, driving his tractor around, towing a trailer and spraying his trees with some kind of pesticide I guess. I could see Ramon and sons wearing full boiler suits, plus masks to stop them breathing in the toxic fumes. Then Diego pulled the tree branch towards him. There was a blue residue on the leaves.
“Mira!” Look!
I understood. Sort of. I guess the dog had been following when Diego’s olives got sprayed, and got himself covered in the blue residue. I can’t imagine that it was good for him, but he didn’t seem to be in any distress.
Diego climbed back onto his motorbike, turning it around to go back up the track.
“Mañana, por la tarde. Mi casa para cerveza. T’luego.” – Tomorrow, in the afternoon. My house for a beer. See you then. Oh no. He was gone and I wasn’t going to be able to get out of this one.
The following morning I got up with a feeling of dread. I didn’t want to offend our neighbour, but I didn’t even have Lorna there as a buffer if the conversation went stale, or to finish off any food if I didn’t like it. I set about the morning chores; alpacas, dogs and a bit of tidying up to make sure the house was in an acceptable state when Lorna returned. After lunch, I had to decide when to go to Diego’s house. I thought about 4pm would be good; before it got dark, but not too late.
I hadn’t really been given any directions, just a general wave in the direction of the lake and a “Hasta mañana” from Diego, so I set off slowly. I knew it had to be past Ramon’s house, so I started following the track. I passed a turn off to the right just before the lake, but I wasn’t sure and the main track seemed more obvious, so I continued on it. I saw some loose horses on the roadside and lots and lots of pine trees around the lake. All of a sudden I could hear shouting, albeit in the distance. I looked around, but I couldn’t see anything. Where was the voice coming from? I could hear it again. Maybe from across the lake?