by Jenny Twist
She remained staring at it a little while, fighting down the panicky feeling that seemed to be taking her over. She must have done it before she got into bed, she told herself, after I’d already locked it - and then she forgot.
She walked over to the balcony and looked down. Not on a precipice on this side, but still quite a climb. Maybe not too difficult for a young, fit man though. What was she thinking! The whole idea was preposterous.
“Come on,” she said. “Get up. I’ll put the coffee on and then we can explore the village.”
****
Actually, they didn’t get out till nearly an hour later. Heather insisted on having a huge English breakfast. Alison just had a piece of toast. Watching Heather eat was making her lose her appetite.
But they got out at last and walked two streets over to the street where Miss Blacker had stayed. This wasn’t as easy as you might think. All the streets went up and down, rather than from side to side and to get to a parallel street you had to go down steps or through narrow alleys which came out in unexpected places. But at last Heather announced they were in the right street and they climbed back up to the top.
“It would have been quicker to go down to the plaza and then back up,” Heather said, pulling at her trousers which kept slipping down as she walked.
“Well never mind,” said Alison, smiling at her. “We’re here now, and I rather enjoyed seeing all those little secret nooks and crannies, didn’t you?”
“I did rather.”
The last house was in a similar position to the one they were staying in, right at the top of the street, clinging to the edge of the precipice. This house, however, was tiny compared to theirs. It had two storeys and, Alison guessed, just one room on each floor. Oddly, the front door was decorated with flowers and there was a large red cross painted on it.
“Whatever do you think that means?” Heather demanded, as Alison went up to the door to examine it more closely.
“God knows. It’s reminiscent of the plague, isn’t it?”
“Do you think June got something infectious and they locked her in there to quarantine her? Maybe she’s still there.” Raising her voice, she shouted, “June, are you in there? June?”
A door on the balcony of the next house flew open and a small dark woman shot out and began screaming something in rapid Andalusian Spanish.
“What is she saying?” Heather whispered.
“She said, ‘What do you think you’re doing? Can’t you see the sign on the door? This place is cursed.’ Sorry, didn’t get the next bit. Then ‘Go away- Go on – shoo!’ I think she means business.”
The woman disappeared and a moment later emerged from the front door brandishing a broom. She bore down upon the two girls, making wild, sweeping movements and the two turned tail and fled down the street to the plaza.
“Bloody hell,” Heather said, taking a large gulp from a glass of lager. “I thought she was going to beat us to a pulp.”
Alison was still laughing at the sight of her friend’s ignominious flight – huge legs wobbling and loose top flapping in the breeze of her own passage, stopping every so often to hoist up her trousers, which seemed determined to fall down.
“We could have taken her on, no trouble,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “She just took us by surprise, that’s all – Bloody hell!” She stopped, her eyes wide, as she suddenly remembered. “Mantequero. She said the house had been cursed by the Mantequero. And I’ve just remembered where I’ve seen it before.”
Heather put down her glass and gave Alison her full attention.
“Have you ever read the books by Gerald Brennan?” Heather shook her head. “Well, he was an Englishman who came to live in Spain after the First World War. He lived near here, as it happens, in Bubión. And he had lots of aristocratic arty-farty types coming to visit him. People like Virginia Woolf. Anyway, one of his cronies wandered off by himself one day and nearly got himself killed by a bunch of peasants who thought he was a mantequero, which was a creature that sucked the fat from your bones.” She said this last bit in an urgent whisper. “That’s what it is. That’s what they’re on about. Not a grocer at all. It’s a kind of – well – vampire.”
Heather, who had been listening in fascination, cracked out laughing. “It’s a bogeyman. Bloody hell, I wouldn’t have thought anyone would have believed anything like that in this day and age.”
“But something must have happened,” Alison insisted. “Something must have happened to make them think it was the mantequero. And it must have had something to do with Miss Blacker.”
She fell silent, thinking of the house at the top of the hill, decorated with flowers, like the scene of a murder or a fatal accident. And that huge red cross painted on the door, marking it as a plague house.
“Oh Heather, I’m really afraid someone may have killed her and they thought it was the mantequero.”
“Rubbish,” Heather said cheerfully. “She probably got some bug that made her lose a lot of weight and they thought it was this bogeyman chap who sucks your fat off, and they sealed up the house to stop him getting back in. Christ, she might still be in there. Still recovering,”
Alison gave her a withering look. “What, after six weeks? I don’t think so.”
Unabashed, Heather went on. We should try to get in and see whether she’s there.”
“What? What do you mean - break in?”
Heather shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “Well, not break in, exactly. Just, you know, have a look around, see if there’s a window open or a door round the back.”
“And break in,” Alison finished for her. “There won’t be, anyway. It’s not possible to break into a Spanish house. Look at them. All the windows have iron grills. And I can tell you now” - she was waving her hand wildly about and Heather, afraid she would knock the glasses over, leaned forward and grabbed them – “all these houses only have one door. The back is built into the mountain. I lived in one just like that in Granada. If you locked yourself out you either had to wait for someone with a key to turn up or call the locksmith.”
“There’s a balcony, though, isn’t there?” Heather said, looking back up the street. “You could climb onto the balcony and get through the window.”
“What? Me? I can’t believe you’re saying this. I’m a teacher for God’s sake. I can’t go around housebreaking. And what about the nosy neighbour? Do you think we’d get away with climbing up the front of the house without her raising the alarm? It’s insane.”
“I just thought” –
“Well, you can think again. You want to break in, you do it yourself. I’m having nothing to do with it.”
They relapsed into sullen silence just as a large ginger cat strolled into the square. Alison felt a sudden overwhelming longing for Jessica. Will she remember me when I get back? she wondered miserably.
Then, just when she was feeling at her lowest ebb, she had a sudden image of the enormous Heather shinning up a drainpipe and started laughing again. Heather joined in.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m an idiot. There won’t be anything there worth seeing anyway. We’d do much better chatting up the old geezers in the bar. Come on, let’s get some lunch.”
She stood up, tugging at her trousers again. “I don’t know what’s the matter with these. The elastic must have gone.”
****
That evening, they once more repaired to the bar. It looked exactly the same as before, the door wide open to the elements, the old men hunched round the stove, playing dominoes. But this time when they walked in, Rafa greeted them with a smile and the old men gave them curt nods of greeting.
“Same again?” said Rafa.
This time the girls joined in the game of dominoes and Heather, to the surprise and delight of the old boys, demonstrated an unexpected flair for the game. There were cries of ‘Olé’ and ‘Bravo’ as she triumphantly laid down the winning domino for the second time. “Where did you learn that?” Alison d
emanded. Heather shrugged. “I’ve never played it before. It just seems sort of obvious. Maybe it’s beginner’s luck.”
As it turned out it wasn’t that lucky. The winner was expected to buy a celebratory drink. Alison narrowed her eyes. Maybe they were letting her win? But that was uncharitable. She was sure they were not so devious as that.
Eventually the conversation veered round to the mantequero again and Alison strained to concentrate on what they were saying, which had a disastrous effect on her game.
“Paco Cubano said he heard him calling again, but he didn’t try to get in.”
One of the other old men, the one who had made the sign of the evil eye the night before, said, “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Well, you’re deaf, aren’t you, and anyway, it was at the other end of the village. Up the top end.” Alison tried to catch Heather’s eye, but she was selecting the next domino, blithely unaware of the turn the conversation had taken.
“Near us?” she asked, unable to keep the nervous quaver out of her voice.
“Aye, muchacha. Up there. Near where he was before.” He glowered at her from under bushy grey eyebrows. “You did heed what Rafa said last night, didn’t you? You locked all the windows and doors?”
“Oh yes,” Alison hastened to reassure him, remembering uncomfortably the open window in Heather’s room. “What do you mean, where he was before?”
“When the fat English lady was here.” He looked meaningfully at Heather. “The other fat English lady.”
Some of the others looked over and gave the old man warning glances, but he ignored them. “It was at Christmas, or thereabouts,” he said, stopping to light a cigarette and taking an unconscionably long time to find his lighter. “A very fat English lady.” He paused to take a long, appreciative drag on his cigarette. “She wasn’t so fat when he’d finished with her, though.”
“José,” one of the other men said, warningly.
José gave him a dismissive glance. “Here’s these two chicas,” he went on, as if no-one had interrupted him. “One of them as fat as butter, coming here with no idea of what is going on.” He leant over and spat into the hearth. “And nobody’s telling them.” He turned back to Alison. “You,” he said, pointing a trembling finger at her, “are in danger and your fat friend is in even more danger. He likes them fat. She will call to him. You keep your doors and windows locked and don’t go out after dark without a couple of strong men beside you.”
“What happened to her?” Alison whispered. “The other fat English lady. What happened?”
“What happened?” the old man repeated furiously. “What do you think happened? He killed her, that’s what happened. He sucked every bit of fat off her body. When they found her she was nothing but skin and bone.”
Alison drew in her breath. She felt sick. Even though she had suspected right from the beginning that something dreadful may have happened to Miss Blacker, somehow hearing it boldly stated like that was a terrible shock. Heather, suddenly aware of the change in the atmosphere, looked up. “Are you all right? You’ve gone white.”
It was all Alison could do to answer her and, when she did, her voice came out in a strange, whistling breath. “He says she’s dead. He says the mantequero killed her. He says” – she stopped and burst into tears.
Heather got up from her seat and came round the table to sit next to her friend. “It’s just a legend,” she said, putting her arm round Alison’s shoulders and speaking in the sort of soft, soothing voice people use to calm children. “He’s not real. He can’t actually be real, can he? You know that.”
Alison gulped and nodded.
“So it must be something else. Something else happened. Just keep talking to them and sooner or later someone will say something that makes sense.”
José, having achieved exactly the effect he was hoping for, patted Alison’s hand in an avuncular manner. “Never you mind, Guapa. You’ll be quite safe as long as you don’t let him in.”
****
That night Alison made absolutely sure all the windows and doors were locked, then she went through the house and checked them all again.
“It’s not real, you know,” Heather said, following her round. “It’s just a load of old guys getting a buzz out of giving us a scare. “You can’t really believe this.”
Alison pressed her lips together tightly and carried on testing the latch on Heather’s window.
“You realise you’re being totally OCD, don’t you?”
Alison turned round. “Look, I may be being totally OCD, but even if there is no Mantequero, and I admit it’s very unlikely, something happened to Miss Blacker and it looks like it was very unpleasant at the least, possibly lethal. It won’t do any harm to lock up.”
“It’s just . . .” Heather bit her lip, “I don’t want to spend my holiday in a state of paranoia. I was just beginning to enjoy it.”
Tears sprang up in Alison’s eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry Heather. After you’ve been so kind and done so much to help me afford it. I really am. I’ll try to be more relaxed.” She gave Heather a fierce hug.
“It’s OK. It’s all right, baby. It is worrying. I’m worried, too. But I’m still buggered if I can work out what happened.”
Oddly, Alison had no trouble sleeping that night. Whether it was because she had very little sleep the night before, or simply the reassurance of being absolutely sure she’d locked all the windows and doors, she closed her eyes as soon as her head hit the pillow and slept like a baby till dawn. She neither heard strange noises, nor did she have disturbing dreams, and when she woke up she felt marvellous. The more her mind worried at the problem of Miss Blacker, the more the whole thing seemed surreal. She half expected that they would return to England to find Miss Blacker had returned of her own accord, or at least been in touch explaining why she hadn’t returned on time.
She crossed the landing to Heather’s room to give her a shout before going down to make the coffee.
“Now the elastic’s gone in my pyjama trousers.” Heather tugged at her pyjama bottoms whilst at the same time trying to tighten the belt of her dressing gown. “Why is it that everything goes at once?”
Alison laughed. “Give me your trousers and your pyjama bottoms after you’ve got dressed and I’ll sort them out for you. I’m sure we can get elastic at the village shop but I might get away with just shortening it a bit.”
“Alison, you’re a star!” Heather grabbed her mug and took a large gulp of coffee. “Did you sleep all right last night?”
“Fine. No funny noises, or if there were I didn’t hear them. And no nightmares. How about you?”
“Blissful. Had the dream again. Oh, if only such men existed in real life.”
Heather stared ahead with a soppy smile on her face.
“Steady or you’ll want to spend all your time asleep and give up real life altogether.”
“That’ll be the day.” Heather gave a theatrical sigh. “If only. But it’s back to work in just over a week.”
“Oh, shut up! I’m trying not to think about it,” said Alison, and got up to put the toast on.
****
“That’s much better.” Heather’s trousers sat snugly at her waist, showing no inclination to slide down. Alison eyed her critically. “You don’t think it could be that you’re actually losing weight, do you?”
“I wish,” Heather said. “I gave up dieting years ago.”
Nevertheless, Alison thought she looked slimmer. She didn’t remember that Heather had a waist when she first met her.
V
The next few days seemed to pass very slowly. Alison felt fidgety. She had become determined to find out what had happened to Miss Blacker. Somebody must know and she was prepared to shake it out of them if necessary. But all she had was this preposterous story about a fat-eating vampire. She seemed to have come to a dead end and she couldn’t think what to do next.
Heather was no help at all. She had been very quiet the last couple of day
s. Doing a lot of staring into space, sleeping in in the mornings and over-sleeping the siesta, reluctant to do anything more energetic.
Alison had taken to going for long walks in the afternoons just to burn off all that pent-up energy, leaving Heather to sleep as long as she liked. In the evenings they went to the bar and Heather showed a brief reanimation whilst playing dominoes, but it was short-lived and she went straight up to bed when they got back.
Alison still found the walk back in the dark unnerving. An evening with the old boys was guaranteed to make the strongest sceptic look over their shoulder at every passing shadow. And she maintained her practice of locking all the doors and windows every night before she went to bed.
A couple of times she had walked back up the street where Miss Blacker had stayed and looked at the house from a discreet distance, trying to decide whether it looked inhabited. But there were no clues – no open windows, no smoke rising from the chimney – just the flowers round the door stirring in the breeze and that strange, disturbing cross standing guard.
She had tried to get the woman in the village shop to talk to her, trying the `do you get many tourists?’ approach, but her replies were monosyllabic and unfriendly and Alison was glad to escape. The old boys at the bar were more forthcoming.
Then one evening, when she had walked rather further than she intended, she met him.
She had been looking out over the valley at the almond groves in late blossom, pink and white and utterly beautiful, and when she turned there was a young man standing behind her. She almost screamed and put one hand to her chest.
“Hola, Guapa,” he said, taking off his hat and giving her a courteous bow. “I am Ignacio. I am sorry if I startled you. It is very beautiful, is it not?” He gave a great sweeping wave of the hand, taking in the panorama below them.