by Jo Thomas
‘I would be proud to see you dance,’ he finally manages with a crack in his already gravelly voice.
‘This is not what we agreed!’ Esmeralda interjects. ‘The farm will be sold and you, Miguel, will come back and live with me. You can dance on tour with us, be part of the act.’
‘And don’t I have a say in this?’ Miguel challenges her.
‘No, you must do what we feel best!’ She nods to Felipe.
‘Let the boy dance!’ Antonio roars.
And the room silences.
Miguel looks to Pedro and nods, then he leads Sophia on to the floor and we all move back, making room. The candles flicker as if sensing the atmosphere, setting the stage for the youngsters.
The singing begins, and the beat of their heels starts up, showing the world what is in their hearts. I think mine might burst with pride as I watch the pair with Antonio by my side, feeling happier than I’ve ever done before.
Chapter Fifty-three
The applause and calls of appreciation are deafening as the dance ends. Antonio steps forward and embraces his son. The pair hug each other long and hard, and it says everything about how they feel about each other. Then he takes Sophia’s hand and kisses it, telling her how proud he is of them both. And then he hugs Miguel all over again.
Esmeralda approaches.
‘You are a fine dancer. We have obviously taught you well,’ she claims. Antonio goes to react, but instead steps back and lets Miguel talk.
‘I dance because I listen to my soul,’ he says, dismissing her claims. ‘And there has been one person who has been there for Sophia and me, encouraging us, supporting us, helping us live out our dreams. Even giving us everything she owned in the world to make this happen.’ He runs his hand over his suit. ‘Gracias, Beti, from the bottom of my heart.’ He leans over and pulls me into a hug, and I couldn’t feel prouder if he was my own son.
The crowds are moving in to congratulate the couple. The rising stars of tomorrow, everyone is saying, traditionalist and progressives alike. Even Gonzalo is clapping Miguel on the back. Cameras are flashing, and I just know that the performance is already out there on every social media site going.
‘So, it is agreed,’ Pedro shouts. ‘Our winners are Miguel and Sophia. And may we see them dance much more in the future!’
‘And!’ Miguel tries to quieten the applauding crowd, standing on the chair vacated by Pedro to be heard. ‘As I understand it, I have just won a farm.’
Antonio looks momentarily shocked, but nods in agreement. ‘It was the bet,’ he agrees.
Miguel breaks into a big smile. ‘I want to give the farm to my father, the Horse Whisperer, on three conditions: that the cherry variety will always stay the same . . .’
‘Sí! Of course!’ bellows Antonio.
‘That I can stay here and this be my home for as long as I want it.’
‘Of course.’ The beam is widening across Antonio’s face.
‘And that this barn is opened again as a place for flamenco, where people can come and perform and see other dancers, like in my great-grandparents’ day.’
This time Antonio is so choked by happiness, he can hardly speak. ‘Sí!’ he manages eventually, his whole being full of pride and love for his son. Then he turns to me. ‘You made this happen, Beti . . . Gracias,’ and he looks down at me with a wonderful softness in his eyes.
Suddenly a bell rings out and we all move outside to see where it’s coming from.
It is Bonita, standing by the back door, calling everyone to the restaurant: ‘Paella!’
Like a trail of fireflies, we pick up candles and lanterns from the tables and walk down the path to the terrace, where two huge pans of paella are waiting on a long table. We set the candles down around the veranda, and I run in and bring out the fairy lights from the barn, throwing them over the nearest tree and switching them on, while Pedro strikes up all over again.
Esmeralda is standing by her motor home with Felipe. ‘If you don’t come with us now, you will never have a home with me again,’ she is telling Miguel.
‘He has a home here, for life,’ Antonio says, standing next to Miguel, who is holding Sophia’s hand. ‘Miguel?’
‘I am staying here with you, Papa,’ he says, and puts his arm around Antonio’s shoulder.
As the red tail lights of the motor home disappear down the drive with a squeal of tyres, Antonio and Miguel walk back towards the veranda together.
‘I’m sorry. That must have been hard. Feeling you had to choose,’ Antonio says.
‘It was never a choice, Papa. It’s what’s in here,’ and letting go of Sophia’s hand briefly, Miguel bangs his chest and gives a soft smile.
Guitars are playing and people are eating and mingling. Mum is with Craig, talking about Sophia’s dress. Dad is talking to Harold, who is eating a big bowl of paella and declaring he’s never tasted anything like it all the time he’s been in Spain. I hear him say that he’s decided he would now like to be known as Hernando, which makes me laugh. Bonita is offering Gonzalo some of her cherry and almond cake. Olivia and her coven and Brenda are sitting with one of Sophia’s friends, a waitress for the evening, who is showing them how to roll their hands, little fingers first, and lift their elbows in an impromptu flamenco class. Then the drum begins and the singing starts and the whole place comes alive with clapping, and Sophia and Miguel take to the dance floor in the middle of the veranda. Even Suerte is dancing about and showing off, trotting and swinging his mane around the paddock with the colt in tow.
‘I realise now why you had to do this; my apologies for my objections,’ says the mayor, taking Antonio by the hand and watching as his daughters learn the sevillana from Miguel and Sophia. Everyone is joining in: the schoolteacher, the young priest. Frank is dancing with my mother, then Rita and Maxine. Bonita beams as she dances with Gonzalo. The boys from the band are finding their way around flamenco too. The whole place is alive and I couldn’t feel happier.
‘Beti?’ I turn. It’s Will, come to stand beside me and watch the dancers. ‘So I’m guessing it’s a no. We’re not back on then?’ he says with a resigned sigh and slumped shoulders.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, because I am. ‘I really wanted it to work. I wanted you to notice me. I wanted you to look at me the way you used to. At least I thought I wanted that, but it wasn’t right. It’s just the natural rhythm of life.’
‘Could I try again? Kiss you again?’
‘No!’ I laugh in surprise as he leans in to me, and put up a hand. ‘We might have wanted it, but you can’t choose who you fall in love with. You’ll find the one.’
At that moment a little red car pulls into the car park and Valentina gets out and stares at the heaving restaurant. She takes in the music, the singing, the smiling faces and the big dishes of paella. Then she walks over towards where I’m standing with Will.
‘Who’s that?’ Will whispers. ‘Jeez! Looks spiky!’
‘Ssh!’ I tell him as Valentina climbs the steps and stands in front of me.
‘You! You did this!’ It’s not a question. It’s a statement. ‘You had a better feel for it than me. You understood it – and him – more than I ever did.’
‘I’m sorry, Valentina. I didn’t mean for it to happen,’ I tell her.
‘I know,’ she says quietly. ‘Here.’ She holds out her hand, and my flamenco shoes dangle from her fingers. ‘I took them. I’m sorry too. I thought . . . I thought if you couldn’t dance, then you wouldn’t fall in love, like he has been falling in love with you from the moment he first set eyes on you. I knew it straight away – the way he looked at you. I couldn’t stop it, even though I tried.’
I catch my breath and glance round for Antonio, who looks over at me at exactly the same time.
I take the shoes.
‘Thanks, but I didn’t need them.’
‘Good. I’
m glad. You came to Spain and found what you were looking for. It might not be what you set out to find in the beginning, but perhaps it found you. It is what we are all looking for, after all.’ She raises a pencilled eyebrow at Will.
‘Erm . . . can I get you a drink?’ Will offers, his charming self once again, and Valentina accepts. The two of them walk towards the bar, introducing themselves. I wish Will all the luck in the world. He and I just weren’t meant to be. Otherwise we’d have made it happen a long time ago. Will wasn’t the one, but he was part of the journey, and I wouldn’t change it.
The whole town is here, dancing and clapping. The mayor’s eighty-year-old mother is a demon at flamenco, dancing like she was eighteen all over again.
‘Best party ever,’ Uncle Paul is saying as he and Rita attempt the sevillana too. ‘We should go to lessons back home.’
‘I’d like that,’ she says. ‘We haven’t done anything together in years.’
‘Hey! Bet!’ He calls me over. ‘This has been brilliant. I always knew you’d pull something like this off. Reckon it was me giving you a hard time that gave you the push you needed.’ He smiles, raising his arms, watching Rita snake around him. Typical Uncle Paul, I think. ‘Hope you know that I was just . . . well . . . maybe I shouldn’t have really . . .’ He trails off, but I think that may just have been an apology. I can’t believe my ears! ‘You should be proud of Bet,’ he calls to my dad.
‘Oh we are!’ my parents say in unison. ‘And Paul?’ adds my dad. ‘It’s Beti; everyone who knows and loves her calls her Beti.’ And I know in that moment that the two of them have finally stopped feeling bad about doing something as natural as falling in love.
Mum and Dad dance together as though they have been doing it all their lives, finding each other’s rhythm straight away. Their faces burst with pleasure every time they look at me. I tell them the whole story about Will and the money, and how I ended up here. ‘Your nan would be dead proud of you,’ Dad says, pulling me to him, and I know he’s right. I did it, Nan, I think to myself, and I can just picture her smiling face, making me smile too.
The whole sky finally turns a vibrant red and orange as the clouds are banished from the sky, and the town carries on partying. And as they do, Antonio slips his hand in mine and leads me away from the lively crowd up through the cherry orchard back to my finca. When we reach the rickety old veranda where Ana the cat is sleeping, ignoring us, we turn and look out at the amazing sunset that is filling the sky over the cherry orchard, enveloping us in its glow. Then he turns to me and touches my cheek, and finally lowers his lips down to mine, and the rocket that was ready and primed to blast off in my tummy finally takes off with bright lights, sparkles and the sound of strumming guitars. I can taste that first sweet cherry on my lips all over again, and I never want it to stop.
Then he opens the door to the finca, and with no words needed, he leads me to bed. We make love with the smell of the cherry orchard lingering on the sheets, and I know I am finally home.
Chapter Fifty-four
Antonio and I sit on the veranda of the restaurant counting the takings from yesterday’s peña. Some of the crowd finally left in the early hours, whilst others slept in their cars and camper vans in the car park.
‘It’s enough to buy your bar,’ Antonio says. ‘Not just the rent and deposit, but the whole lease!’ and he pushes the money bag towards me across the table, in amongst the coffee cups and pastries, and a big bowl of juicy cherries.
‘But I don’t want a bar,’ I say, thinking about Harold and Brenda and worrying about how I’m going to break it to them, but for the first time ever knowing exactly what I do want. I push the bag back towards him. ‘I want a new water pump, and new pipes for a whole orchard too!’
‘No, a bar!’ He pushes the bag back towards me, his hand over mine.
‘A water pump!’ I push it back, but he resists and laughs.
‘It was your dream, though, you told me, to get a bar in the harbour. Beti’s Bar.’
‘Things change. Dreams change. What you thought you wanted isn’t always what’s right for you.’
‘How about you get a water pump with a bar thrown in?’ Miguel joins in, pointing up towards the barn.
We look at each other and smile, agreeing that Miguel really does have more sense than either of us.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ Antonio asks, his frown returning.
‘Yes,’ I tell him. I’ve known ever since I woke up this morning in his arms where I want to be. I have never been more sure about anything.
‘Are you going to keep another one of those big notebooks, like for Olivia’s party?’
I laugh. ‘No. No more mood boards or party planning files. I’ve learned that you can’t plan things in life. I’m going to trust my instinct. How about we agree to just go with what life throws at us . . . live for today, not the plans we make for tomorrow,’ I say, and he leans across the table with a slow smile and kisses me with the same softness as he did last night, making me go tingly with the memory of it. I have tried to plan everything in my life to date, even making mental lists about why Will was the perfect partner for me. But everything has its natural rhythm in life; you just have to listen to it.
‘As long as there is a flamenco fiesta next year. A celebration after the cherry harvest, remember?’ Miguel adds.
‘Agreed!’ We both smile at him.
‘Flamenco may be about a strict pattern and a rhythm, but it is also about feeling free to go with what feels right at the time . . . a perfect combination, don’t you think?’ Antonio looks at me, and I feel the rocket being lit ready for a rerun.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then stay with me. Marry me?’ he says suddenly, reaching for both my hands across the table. ‘Esmeralda has sent a text to say she has started the divorce proceedings.’
‘I . . . I . . . But we just agreed! No more plans!’ I laugh, feeling surprised and excited.
‘No, no plans. What more do we need? Everyone who matters is here.’ He glances from me to Miguel, who looks like he might burst with happiness, and I feel like I finally have a family of my own. ‘I have spent the last three months getting to know you, Beti Winter, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You and your mad ideas!’ He smiles, and then says more seriously, ‘Now I have found you, Beti, I don’t want to spend another day without you.’
‘But I thought . . . I mean, with Valentina, you never wanted that commitment,’ I say, my mouth as dry as if it were full of sand. I can’t look at him.
‘Maybe that’s because I hadn’t found the right person. I know in my heart that this is right for me. I can feel it here,’ and he holds his fist to his chest and lifts my chin with his finger and looks right at me. My own heart responds by beating its message loudly back. ‘I know the joy commitment can bring now.’ He looks at Miguel again, and they share a smile. Then he looks back at me. ‘Think about it,’ he says, suddenly looking worried. But I don’t need to think about it. I know it’s right. No plans, just the people I care about most here with me when I marry this man; this infuriating, grumpy, loving, passionate man.
‘Yes!’ I say, quietly at first. Then, ‘Sí!’ and we both stand and he hugs me, lifting me off my feet. Miguel is running the backs of his hands under his eyes, and Bonita and Frank come out to see what all the noise is about. Frank produces a bottle of cherry brandy, and as he hands round the glasses, a car pulls up in the car park. It’s Uncle Paul, Rita and Mum and Dad. Followed by Olivia. They’ve come to thank me for a lovely day yesterday. Bonita brings out more coffee and cherry brandy, plus a plate of her cake.
‘Thank you,’ says Olivia, walking towards us. ‘You really saved my skin!’
‘You mean I saved your face!’ I find I can finally laugh about it.
‘The pictures have gone down a storm on Facebook. Look!’ She waves her phone at me. ‘I’ve ha
d hundreds of likes already! I owe you.’
‘No you don’t. I’m just glad you enjoyed it,’ I say, smiling at her shallowness and lack of tact once again.
‘Do you know, I actually did!’ A slow realisation dawns on her face, then she takes a deep breath. ‘You always did your own thing, Beti, never followed the crowd. I always admired that.’
‘Really?’ I say warily. ‘I think I wasted far too many years worrying what others thought.’ I think about the life I have in front of me now, and feel so grateful for it. I don’t know what will be thrown in our path, what the harvest will bring next year, but I know that whatever happens, I’m going to be doing it with the man I love.
‘It never seemed that way. And look, about the business with Tom. I am sorry, y’know,’ and at least she does look mildly apologetic.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I’m sure we would have realised we weren’t right for each other in the end. Maybe you just helped us along the way.’
She reaches out and gives me one of her stiff hugs, her sharp cheekbones jutting against mine as she checks her phone again. I guess that’s the closest Olivia will ever get to warmth and affection. She may have lots of likes, but I’d rather be able to feel real love and passion, I think, pulling away from the awkward embrace. And then over her shoulder I see another car pulling into the car park.
‘I have to talk to these people,’ I say, excusing myself. Suddenly I’m as nervous as I was on my first day here, when these lovely people threw me a lifeline. I have to talk to them and try and explain. I run over to meet them as they get out of the car.
‘Cracking do yesterday!’ Harold says.
‘Hi, Harold.’
‘Hernando,’ he corrects me, making me smile, but Brenda suddenly looks nervous.
‘Actually, love, we wanted to talk to you,’ she says, wringing her hands and making her rings spin on her fingers. My heart twists. They want to get a move on. They want me to hand over the deposit so they can start their new life back in the UK.