Alberto's Lost Birthday

by Diana Rosie

  Rosa looked at her son, blinking away his tears, and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, said, ‘Thank you, Father,’ to the priest.

  ‘Did your grandfather ever tell you what he did at my church?’ asked Father Samuel with a wry smile.

  The boy shook his head, swallowing hard.

  ‘Well,’ said the priest as Rosa and Juan Carlos leant in to hear the story, ‘do you remember you got a bit dirty when you were climbing the tree and I took you into the church to clean up?’

  The boy nodded seriously.

  ‘Your grandfather and I had been talking about someone who was buried in the church graveyard. The burial had taken place a very long time ago, but the grave didn’t have a headstone. It just had a simple wooden cross to mark the place. There wasn’t even a name on the cross.

  ‘I had been trying to get a headstone for the grave, but as I told your grandfather, things do not happen swiftly in an institution as large as the Church. Rightly, your grandfather considered this a poor excuse and took matters into his own hands.

  ‘When you had gone, I went back into the churchyard. There, I found that your grandfather had carved the man’s name into the wooden cross.’ He looked at Rosa and Juan Carlos and smiled. ‘Such a simple action, but it says a great deal about the compassion of Alberto.’

  ‘What was his name?’ asked the boy. ‘The man who was buried?’

  ‘Antonio,’ replied the priest, ‘Father Antonio.’

  ‘A priest?’ asked Rosa, surprised. ‘How strange.’

  Father Samuel nodded at her before continuing, ‘I have taken a leaf out of your grandfather’s book, Tino. In commemoration of your grandfather, I have had a headstone built for the grave. It will arrive and be placed next week. And I intend to say a few words – a blessing for the soul who is buried there.’

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Albertino. ‘The headstone?’

  ‘It’s very simple. I didn’t have any details other than a name. So it just says, “Father Antonio. Commended to God. May he rest in peace.”’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ smiled Rosa. ‘I wish my father could have known of your actions.’

  ‘He knows,’ said the boy clearly. When the three adults turned to him, he said confidently, ‘Apu is always with us. You said so, Mamá. And now he knows about the gravestone.’

  Smiling, Juan Carlos reached across to his son and gently ruffled his hair with his thick-fingered hand.

  ‘Father,’ said Rosa, ‘can I offer you something to eat? The whole village is here and everyone’s brought something. We too could feed the five thousand, there’s so much food.’

  Grinning, Father Samuel let himself be led towards the trestle tables laden with food.

  ‘Papá?’ said the boy, looking up at his father.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Apu is here with us, isn’t he?’

  His father nodded. ‘Yes. He is. He will always be with you and your mamá. And he will always be here on this land.’

  Together, they looked across the small plot. The almond and lemon trees, the vines and the tiny corner of flowers. And now the patch of land was filled with people who had come to Alberto’s birthday party.

  Rosa had made copies of Albertino’s hand-drawn poster and they had pinned the party invitation all over the village. She had also tracked down people the boy and his grandfather had met on their search for his birthday. And, as Señora Ortiz had predicted all that time ago, the whole village had come out for the occasion. Albertino was proud that Apu was such a well-liked person.

  While the women had covered plates in strips of sliced hams and chorizo, and prepared two large paellas to cook outdoors, the men had brought beers and wines – many home-made. The butcher had donated a whole pig – it was so big that the baker had cooked it in his oven. And Rosa and her sisters had ordered a huge birthday cake edged with nuts, Alberto’s name spelt out in blue icing.

  Albertino wished his grandfather could be here to appreciate it. Even if he was watching from heaven, it wasn’t the same as being here. He imagined Apu standing with him, embarrassed about the fuss, but secretly pleased to see so many friends and neighbours mixing happily with his family.

  The boy’s memory was broken by a frenzy of barking. Turning quickly, he saw Bonita fly past him, yapping madly. And there, tearing towards her and yelping delightedly in return, was Vito. The two dogs met joyously, bouncing noisily around each other.

  Grinning, the boy looked past the two dogs and saw Mimi walking towards him.

  ‘Aunt Mimi,’ cried Albertino, running towards her.

  When she saw him, Mimi opened her arms. He ran into them and she hugged him hard.

  Rosa and Juan Carlos approached, smiling.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming, Mimi,’ said Rosa.

  ‘It’s my pleasure,’ replied Mimi, hugging her gently. ‘How are you, Juan Carlos?’ she asked as he limped towards them.

  ‘Much better than the last time you saw me,’ he grinned.

  ‘Yes, you look much better than at the funeral, especially your walking,’ she commented.

  ‘It’s the exercises I make him do,’ teased Rosa.

  ‘She’s a tough boss,’ grinned Juan Carlos, putting an arm around his wife, ‘but I know all the hard work is paying off.’

  ‘And your hands?’ asked Mimi gently.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ replied Juan Carlos, lifting up one of his ugly hands to show her. ‘Little by little.’

  Mimi nodded sympathetically.

  At that moment, Vito and Bonita ran up to them, jumping and slathering over them all.

  Laughing, Albertino knelt down to their level and let them lick and nudge him. As he played with the two dogs, it was impossible to tell which of the three was happiest.

  Leaning over the giggling child, Mimi handed Rosa a bag. It clinked loudly and she said, ‘Just a few bottles. Not the best stuff, but perfectly good for sangria.’

  Rosa kissed Mimi’s cheek as she thanked her and delivered the bottles to Señora Ortiz.

  ‘What a wonderful party!’ Mimi said to Juan Carlos.

  Across the stretch of land, children played noisily, a group of men sang, old women dressed in black and sitting on folding chairs gossiped loudly, and other people milled around the tables filled with plates of food and paella dishes.

  ‘He was a very popular man.’

  Mimi nodded. ‘He was a wonderful friend when we were children,’ she said sadly. ‘I just wished I’d been able to spend time with him once we’d found each other again.’

  ‘Rosa says he came back from that trip a different man. He had always been content with what he had, but she said it was as if he’d received a gift he’d never expected. And it was the best gift he could have wished for,’ said Juan Carlos.

  ‘I wish Rosa could have seen his face when he saw that bottle with the date of his birth on it. And, of course, as soon as he saw the date, he remembered it. He remembered the birthday parties we’d thrown him, and gifts his father had given him. He became quite emotional.’

  ‘He was not a man who often showed his emotions.’

  ‘May I ask what happened to the bottle of brandy?’ asked Mimi.

  ‘It’s Tino’s now,’ replied Juan Carlos. ‘It was his idea to search for his grandfather’s birthday, so we all agreed he should have it. His mother and I will look after it for him until he’s ready to take it. I don’t know whether he will drink it or keep it somewhere safe; he’s a bit young to think of things like that now.’

  ‘When the time comes, he’ll make the right decision,’ said Mimi. They both watched the child racing the dogs in circles. ‘He’s a wonderful child.’

  ‘Thank you,’ smiled Juan Carlos. ‘Now, can I help you to a drink?’

  Just then, the dogs barrelled past them, nearly knocking Juan Carlos off his feet.

  ‘Tino!’ cried Mimi. ‘Don’t excite those dogs any more than they already are!’

  The boy grinned at Mimi and dashed after the ba
rking dogs, who were heading for a group of people sitting chatting.

  ‘Tino! There you are,’ said a familiar voice.

  The boy turned and saw among those seated an elderly woman with short white hair and glasses.

  ‘Doña Isabel,’ he said happily. Then the boy realized that sitting on either side of her were the gardener and his wife from Los Zorros.

  They greeted him happily with kisses and smiles.

  ‘You were playing when we arrived,’ explained the gardener. ‘I recognized Doña Isabel straight away and we have been catching up on old times.’

  ‘See what you and your grandfather have done?’ asked Isabel. ‘You’ve brought together old friends. It’s wonderful – I’m so pleased to have someone to talk to about the old days.’

  ‘We do have some sad news, though,’ said the gardener.

  The boy turned to him, a worried look on his face.

  ‘It’s not such bad news,’ smirked his wife. ‘Old General García passed away last month.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the boy. He knew he should act as if this was very sad news, but he could not bring himself to do so, so he kept quiet.

  ‘So what’s happened to the old orphanage now?’ asked Isabel.

  ‘The government has bought the building,’ said the gardener. ‘It’s not definite, but we believe they are planning to turn it into a care home for the elderly. We have already been approached about continuing to work there.’

  ‘I was hoping they would turn the building into housing for immigrants,’ chortled his wife. ‘That evil old man would be rolling in his grave if they had!’

  The boy smiled. He didn’t know what an immigrant was, but anything that made the wizened, nasty man – the man who had been so horrid to Apu – spin in his grave seemed like a good thing to him.

  Later in the evening, Albertino’s uncles hung lanterns from the trees. A wind had picked up, and both the lanterns and the nearby rosemary bushes rustled in the breeze. The women wrapped their shawls tightly around them against the chill. Tired children dozed on their parents’ laps, while the men continued to drink and sing and laugh.

  The boy had been playing with his cousins and the other children when he saw Vito trotting back towards Mimi. Bonita followed her friend, and he, in turn, followed his dog.

  Mimi was talking quietly with his parents, each of them nursing a glass of wine.

  ‘No,’ he heard his father say as he approached. ‘It’s not right.’

  ‘I agree,’ said his mother. ‘It’s too much, Mimi.’

  ‘What’s too much?’ asked the boy.

  The three adults fell silent in the flickering light.

  Mimi was the first to speak. ‘I have decided I would like to give your parents a gift. It will help them while your father can’t work, but it is also a gift to you – for your future.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Albertino.

  ‘My collection of wine,’ replied Mimi.

  ‘I don’t like wine,’ said the boy.

  Despite himself, his father laughed. ‘It’s not for drinking,’ he said.

  ‘What’s it for, then?’

  ‘Such a large collection of special wines and brandies is worth a lot of money,’ explained his mother.

  ‘It’s far too valuable a gift,’ said his father firmly.

  ‘Listen to me,’ said Mimi. ‘If it weren’t for a stupid mistake my brother made, I believe Alberto would have stayed on and worked at Quintero’s. I think he would have spent the rest of his life on the vineyard. It was a big part of his life as a child and it would have been a part of his future.’

  ‘But what happened all those years ago, happened,’ said Rosa. ‘You owe us nothing now.’

  ‘I know I don’t,’ said Mimi, sighing. ‘But Tino brought Alberto back to me. He gave me a friend I thought I had lost forever. All the money in the world couldn’t have done that. But a small boy with a big heart could. And now I’d like to do something for him. Please,’ she said simply, ‘let me do this.’

  ‘But it should go to your family,’ said Juan Carlos.

  ‘My family don’t need it,’ Mimi said firmly. ‘Their father left me plenty of money, and I shall leave them that when I die. And, sad though it is, they’re not interested in the history of the collection.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Juan Carlos.

  ‘Consider it not as a gift from me, but a gift from Alberto. I had decided to give him the collection after he left. I was planning to arrange it immediately and would have told him when I next saw him. But I never got the chance.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Rosa.

  ‘Really,’ said Mimi. ‘And I can’t believe Alberto would have done anything else but pass it on to the grandson who helped him find his birthday. Can you?’

  The boy watched his mother and father as they looked at each other, unspoken words passing between them. Slowly, Juan Carlos nodded to Rosa.

  The boy’s mother turned to Mimi and smiled. Mimi smiled back and the women hugged.

  Then it was Juan Carlos’s turn to hug the elderly woman. He wiped tears from his eyes and said, ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Why don’t we raise a glass to Alberto?’ said Mimi.

  Albertino watched as the three of them silently lifted their glasses to the sky.

  Suddenly, a whistle rang out and a light shot into the starry night. There was a moment’s silence before a rainbow of colours filled the sky above them.

  The children woke and cheered the fireworks, and the men – filled with beer and wine – joined them.

  Bonita bounced up to the boy and leant against him, her soft fur warming his leg. Feeling her tremble slightly at the noisy explosions, he stroked her gently and she relaxed at his touch.

  As the smoke cleared, and the crowd waited expectantly for the next volley of fireworks, Albertino noticed a tiny star glow a little more brightly in the black sky.

  ‘Happy birthday, Apu,’ he said quietly.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book would not be in your hands if not for the following people:

  The social workers, psychiatrists and teachers who believed that art could help children deal with the trauma of war. They Still Draw Pictures, a collection of drawings by children from all parts of Spain, gave me a unique and inspiring insight into life before, during and after the civil war.

  The readers, reviewers and writers of Authonomy.com who encouraged me past the first few chapters. In particular Andrew, Fred, Steve, Geffordson, Jake, B Worm, Jeff, Mary, Jane and, by association, Judy Chilcote.

  Diana Beaumont, my agent, who refused to give up on Alberto and me, despite the bumps in the road.

  My publisher Sam Humphreys, who remembered this story, found it a nurturing home at Mantle, and held my hand through every edit.

  All the friends and family who always believed this novel would be published.

  John, who gave me all the loving support I needed and a surname that fits on the cover.

  My parents Val and Tony who, through many happy family holidays, helped me fall in love with Spain.

  María Luisa, whose big laugh and warm generosity always made our family feel at home in Spain, and her husband Pascual, now sadly passed. A gardener and man of few words, Pascual left an indelible impression on my seven-year-old self, who, like Tino, couldn’t imagine a life without a birthday. Without him, neither this book nor Alberto would ever have existed.

  First published 2016 by Mantle

  This electronic edition published 2016 by Mantle

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-4472-9304-0

  Copyright © Diana Rosie 2016

  The right of Diana Rosie to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Pan Macmillan does not have any control over
, or any responsibility for,

  any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.