Sunset over the Cherry Orchard

by Jo Thomas

  Valentina is already in the barn when I arrive, and I swear she catches her breath when she sees me walk in, but quickly shakes it off.

  ‘I see you are the same shape and size as Antonio’s grandmother,’ she says, looking me up and down. ‘Obviously it would have been too big for me.’ But her words don’t touch me. Nothing seems to when I’m dressed for flamenco. I feel just wonderful. And with my red shoes on, I’m ready for this.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Antonio says from the doorway, and Valentina snaps her head round and glares at him, nostrils flaring.

  ‘Yes, well, if you dance as well as his grandmother supposedly did,’ she says with a slight sniff, looking around the barn like she has a bad smell under her nose, ‘we will win this stupid bet and we can finally be married. I could transform this place. Change its fortunes.’ Antonio doesn’t respond. There is a strange, uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. Pedro looks at me and raises an eyebrow. Antonio stares at the floor while Valentina prowls around the barn, her hands on her hips, inspecting every bit of the space. I can’t read his face, but I can sense he’s not happy. Eventually she shrugs.

  ‘Not bad. I will get it painted when this is over and you’ve gone.’

  ‘What? You can’t paint these walls!’ Without realising I’m doing it, I fling my arm out in the direction of the posters advertising events here at the club, the yellowing, aged walls that feel to me so warm and full of life.

  ‘I will get it painted,’ she repeats. ‘Bright, modern colours. Maybe even use the place for our wedding.’

  Antonio’s fists curl and clench into tight balls.

  ‘We are here to dance, not to discuss paint schemes,’ he says. He is like a bubbling pot on the stove, about to simmer over.

  Miguel arrives, still grinning, and takes a seat in the cool shadows of the barn at one of the tables. He runs his forearm over his hot brow and sips from a water bottle he’s brought with him.

  ‘Ready?’ Antonio asks me quietly. I nod that I am, and we take our positions. I’m shaking, and I’m not sure if it’s anger at Valentina’s disregard for Antonio’s grandparents’ legacy, or fear at the idea of performing in front of an audience, albeit a small one.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ Antonio whispers, and I glance down at my red shoes.

  Pedro starts to play and sing, and I look back up into Antonio’s eyes, feeling like I’m about to either fly or fall flat on my face. As we begin the dance, I am counting out the rhythm in my head. Antonio’s eyes barely leave mine, or mine his. I can hear the singing and the guitar, clapping from Miguel and my own heart beating, but then a chair scrapes and I am aware of Valentina walking around us, scrutinising, mercurial and moody. I stumble.

  ‘Keep going.’ Antonio catches me and urges me on. ‘Feel the music. Let it into your soul.’

  But all I can feel is Valentina watching me, judging me. Her eyes boring into me. I try and count louder, focusing harder on my footwork. Un, dos, tres . . . un, dos, tres . . . But it’s no good. This time I crash into Antonio as I turn the wrong way, hitting him in the face with the back of my hand.

  ‘Pah!’ she says loudly, tossing her head, and I stop.

  Antonio lowers his hand from his cheek. ‘Listen to me, Beti. Look at me.’ He takes hold of my hands and gets me to look into his eyes. I’m beginning to panic. I don’t think I can do this. ‘Listen to me and trust me,’ he says firmly, letting go of my wrists. He claps his hands and counts, ‘Un, dos, tres. Un, dos, tres,’ evenly and firmly, reminding me of the set rhythm. ‘OK?’ he asks me with a smile, his eyes not leaving mine.

  I can see every line of his face. The redness where my hand landed. The stray curl springing up and down across his forehead. The hope and encouragement in his dark eyes. It is a look I will remember forever. No one has ever looked at me like that before. Making me feel I’m the only person for miles around. Making me feel ten feet tall. As though if I were to fall, he would be there to catch me.

  ‘It is useless!’ Valentina shouts, throwing up her hands.

  ‘I think it would be best if you left, Valentina,’ Antonio says evenly, without taking his eyes off me.

  ‘Fine. Get the girl to practise harder. You will lose everything! I’ll come back when she can actually do it.’

  Frustrated tears sting the rims of my eyes. But before I can say anything, Antonio suddenly turns sharply and walks over to her.

  ‘Enough!’ he shouts, making me jump. Then he lowers his voice, clawing some control back. ‘Beti has worked hard,’ he says evenly. ‘She will be fine. She understands where all this comes from.’ He gestures around at the poster-covered walls.

  ‘Pah!’ Valentina says again, not in the least bit reprimanded. ‘She is living in the past. This whole place needs to be modernised. The restaurant and the barn.’

  ‘No,’ he interrupts her. ‘I think it is we who are living in the past. You and me,’ he adds quietly.

  She turns to look at him sharply. ‘Look at me, Antonio,’ she commands. He cocks his head, and she nods slowly, as if a realisation is slowly washing over her. ‘You never look at me the way you looked at her just now.’ She points a red fingernail at me, and my cheeks burn.

  ‘I’m sorry, Valentina,’ he says. ‘I think it would be better if you were to leave.’

  ‘I’m going. I’ll be in the restaurant.’ She turns, yanking open the barn door.

  ‘No, I mean I think it would better if you were to leave for good. Things have changed, Valentina. I’m sorry. I want . . . different things.’

  ‘But what about the business?’ She looks incredulous, like a storm is on the horizon.

  ‘Since this all started . . .’ Antonio begins.

  ‘Since you started dancing flamenco . . . with her!’ Valentina points, and I shrink away, feeling I’ve done something wrong. But all I really did was learn to dance. I just wanted to do my best for Antonio and Miguel.

  ‘Yes, since I started dancing again.’

  ‘You’ve changed. I thought you were finally going to get over your fear of commitment and marry me.’ Her nostrils flare as she glares at him.

  ‘I want different things now, Valentina. Dancing again has made me realise that. I feel alive, in here.’ He bangs his chest with his fist. ‘You wanted to manage our relationship like you managed the restaurant. It was all based on practicalities. It made sense at the time, but now . . . well, I don’t think we’re the same people any more. This place,’ he looks around, ‘this is who I am, and I’m not sure that’s the person you want me to be.’ He looks at her, his hand on his heart. Mine is pounding loudly in my ears.

  ‘But the restaurant? I am needed there. I run the restaurant!’ she says, rattled.

  ‘Bonita will cope. She always has; she will again. It is nearly the harvest anyway. Everyone will be picking soon. I think it would be best if you went.’

  She glares at him and none of us move. Then, with a high-pitched yell of frustration, she stomps out of the barn and in the direction of the apartment.

  ‘I’ll go after her, check she’s OK,’ Miguel says.

  ‘I’ll go too, see if there’s any more cake.’ Pedro follows Miguel down the zigzag path. There is silence, except for the banging of my heart; then Antonio turns back to me and lifts his head slowly.

  ‘We have work to do here,’ he says quietly. His expression is a mixture of sadness and relief, as if he has finally put down a heavy weight he has been carrying around. ‘I have my livelihood to save, my family’s home.’ He gestures towards the fields.

  ‘Don’t you want to go after her?’ I ask quietly, my heart still banging and my hands trembling.

  He shakes his head. ‘Valentina and I have been coasting for years. Maybe there was a reason I didn’t push for a divorce before now. Maybe in my heart I knew things weren’t right. But it is only now that I have realised it is time for it to end. Seeing t
his place, like this, I know I can’t hide from the past any more.’ He looks around at the posters on the walls, as if being transported back in time. ‘I would sit here, under the table, when I was a boy, watching the dancers. No one knew I was there. It feels like yesterday. I can’t keep on ignoring who I was, or who I am. Valentina wants me to be someone I am not. She wants this place to be something it is not. This place is the fabric of where I’m from. I am woven into it. Valentina would have modernised it, stripped it of its heart. Covered over the past.’ He puts his hand out and places it on the yellowing wall. ‘It is time to listen to what is in my heart. It is time to take the path I have shunned for so many years.’

  ‘But what if Valentina says something about the dance-off?’

  ‘We must just keep going now. We have to stand up and fight for what we want. You, for your fiancé. And me . . . well,’ he swallows, ‘for everything I have right here.’ For a moment he holds my stare, and I wonder if he means more than the farm, Miguel and the horses. But as soon as the thought arrives, it disappears again. ‘Whether we win or lose, at least I won’t have been responsible for burying my grandparents’ legacy. You have made sure of that here. Now, let’s try this sevillana again.’

  My heart is still thundering as he stands in front of me. I smell his freshly showered body, lemon and pine mingling with the heat of the June day.

  ‘This time, listen. Listen to what is inside you, not what’s going on around you.’ He takes my hand and holds it to my chest, where my heart is beating so hard it feels like it may actually burst out from there. ‘Listen to the rhythm. Listen to what is in here. When you do, you’ll know you’ve got it right. You must listen to your heart and it won’t let you down. Trust me.’

  I look at him, and slowly he takes his hand away. Then he starts to clap, his eyes on mine, reminding me that he won’t let me fall. I lift my chin, open out my chest and listen to the beat of my heart, loud and clear, because I trust him. I absolutely trust him with my life, like he is trusting me with his.

  Chapter Forty-six

  As the dance ends, we stamp the final beat and stand breathless and elated, holding the pose, not wanting the moment to end.

  ‘You were amazing!’ His face is lit up. ‘You see! Just do it like that and you will definitely win the judges’ hearts.’ He beams, standing close to me, just like in the orchard. And for a mad moment, I wonder whether this time he is going to kiss me, and what I’d do if he did. But as the sound of blood rushing in my ears subsides, I hear a kerfuffle outside the door. It sounds like a woman’s high-pitched voice, and Miguel’s.

  ‘No, sorry, you can’t go in there,’ Miguel is saying firmly.

  Antonio and I drop our arms and stare at the door, rooted to the spot. Is it Valentina, or maybe one of Sophia’s family, unhappy about her relationship with Miguel? There is a scuffling of feet, and suddenly the door flies open.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Miguel says to Antonio. ‘I tried to stop her, but she said it was important.’

  ‘Bet? Are you in here?’

  I recognise the voice straight away. ‘Olivia? You’re early. I thought you were going to phone from your apartment.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all I need. The bossy cousin!’ Antonio says under his breath, putting his hands on his hips.

  ‘Ssh! It’s her party that’s paying for your new pump!’ I nudge him with my elbow, then turn to Olivia. ‘Still, as you can see, we’re all sorted. Everything’s organised.’ I hold my hands out for her to see what I’ve done with the place.

  ‘About that . . .’ She looks around the barn and catches her breath, taking everything in. The menus on the tables, the fairy lights strung from the rafters, even the birthday bunting around the bar. ‘It’s beautiful!’ she gasps. Then she looks back at me, her eyes wide. ‘And so are you. Bloody hell. I never knew you could scrub up like that.’

  ‘I’m just trying on this . . . costume. For tomorrow. To meet your guests. Everything’s just about ready. Caterers booked, musicians, waitresses,’ I say, slipping into more comfortable territory. ‘Let me just get changed and I can show you around if you like.’ I catch up the ruffles of my dress, showing off my red shoes.

  ‘It’s just . . . fabulous,’ she says quietly. ‘Everything I hoped it would be,’ and her voice cracks.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, and smile, all my worries and tension seeping out of me. It’s going to be OK. She likes it. Thank God! I’ve done it! I’ve pulled it off! Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Uncle Paul, I think with a big smile growing across my face.

  I hand Olivia a tissue from the box I’ve placed on a table by the door, in case of emotional speeches or sweaty foreheads when the dancing sets in. ‘Is Gav with you?’ I ask. I wonder if he’s still parking the car, or writing out the final cheque that’s paying for all of this. I’m waiting for her to dab her teary eyes and tell me he’s on his way when she suddenly breaks down into uncontrollable sobs and falls on to my shoulder. Instinctively I wrap my arms around her, then look at Antonio, wondering what on earth’s going on. He shrugs, as bewildered as me.

  ‘So let me get this straight . . .’

  We’re sitting on the broken bench on the veranda of my little finca. I’ve slipped out of my dress and shoes and put my espadrilles, cut-off jeans and T-shirt back on. Antonio has brought cherry brandy from the restaurant and handed us each a glass.

  ‘You and Gav . . .’ I repeat slowly. ‘You’ve split up? And the party,’ the words catch in my throat, ‘is off?’

  ‘God, I can’t believe it! It’s so selfish of him! And everything here is ready.’ She swallows, as if finding the next bit hard to say. ‘I’m sorry, Bet. You’ve gone to all this work. The truth is, I saw your new life and . . . well, I suppose I was jealous. Envious of what you’ve made for yourself here. I thought the party would make me feel that I could have a bit of your life too. I suppose that’s why Nan left you the china cow. She knew you’d do something with it.’

  I suddenly feel a little pang of guilt over my white lie. ‘Oh, Olivia . . . it’s me that should be owning up. This place isn’t—’

  Antonio puts a hand on my shoulder, silencing me. ‘Beti has brought the farm back to life. She has made it what it is today.’ He looks over at the barn. ‘She is the heart and soul of this place.’

  Olivia’s mouth drops open, and for once, she’s silenced, looking up at the tall figure of Antonio silhouetted by the sun.

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that about me,’ she says eventually; and then realising that she’s spoken out loud, she clamps her mouth shut and readjusts her skirt and her uptight shoulders.

  I don’t say any more, just find myself glowing in his praise and enjoying the sensation of his warm hand on my shoulder giving me strength.

  ‘Mum and Dad are expecting a party, with guests.’ Olivia gets back to important matters. ‘They’ve told everyone on Facebook. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Your mum and dad are coming?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nods matter-of-factly. ‘And yours.’

  ‘What? Oh God . . .’

  ‘Oh, sorry, it was supposed to be a surprise,’ she says, not sounding very apologetic, just sorry for herself.

  ‘Well it’s certainly that.’ Not only are they going to realise I don’t own a bar in Spain; they’re also going to discover that Will has left me, and that by the end of the weekend, I may not even have anywhere to live!

  ‘Okaaaayyy.’ I try and gather my thoughts, work out what needs to happen next, before even thinking about the bigger implications of what on earth I’m going to say to Harold and Brenda, who have been so good and kind to me, waiting for me to get my deposit together so they can start their new life back home. And then there’s Antonio, who has just lost the biggest money-maker of the season. If I can’t even pull off a party, what hope do I have of winning a dance competition that will save his home, his livel
ihood and his livestock? I’ve let him down. There is no extra income coming in. No new watering system.

  ‘Excuse me, I have horses to see to,’ Antonio says tightly, putting down the bottle of cherry brandy on the table and turning to leave. I want to put my arms around him and tell him that just because I’ve let him down now, it doesn’t mean I’ll blow our chances for the dance-off. But can I really promise him that? My insides churn like a washing machine as I watch him jog down the pathway. I feel the excitement I have come to experience every time I’m near him these days as we dance the sevillana, and at the same time a deep sadness that after Saturday, it will all be over. I will never feel the same again as I do when I’m dancing with him. Miguel is still leaning against the terrace, looking out over the cherry orchard, biting his bottom lip, deep in thought.

  I run my hands up and down my thighs. ‘Well, I’m going to have to cancel the performers and the caterers. We can’t pay them. We’ll lose the deposits I’ve put down obviously. But I need to give them as much notice as I can.’

  ‘Owwwww!’ Olivia suddenly wails like a teenager having a tantrum, and blows her nose noisily again. ‘I thought he was going to propose. Here in the cherry orchard. With everyone watching. It was going to be perfect! Top proposal ever! What on earth is everyone going to be saying about me?’

  ‘Tell them . . . just tell them there’s been a change of plan and the party isn’t going ahead. If they’re real friends, they’ll understand.’

  ‘They really won’t. Most of them were Gav’s friends anyway – well, employees. They’re still coming over. He’s booked a party down at a beach bar for them. A staff party, tax deductible. Apparently they have topless barmaids.’