Two Old Fools in Turmoil

by Victoria Twead

  “Never mind,” he said, taking one hand off the steering wheel and patting mine, “being back in El Hoyo with you is the best present.”

  “Oh dear,” I said, guilt painting my face red. “Actually, I didn’t get you a present…”

  “I know,” he smiled, “but I still meant what I said. Do you want me to stop at Marcia’s shop?”

  “No, thank you. I’m too tired. I don’t feel up to a long conversation now. Perhaps we’ll pop down tomorrow and pick up our mail.”

  “Good idea. I think an early night is in order for you.”

  I yawned and agreed. Just now, all I could think of was curling up in bed.

  The village square was empty, as were the streets, but that was normal for a week day. I noticed that the four ornamental trees, one in each corner, had buds about to burst into life. And who was that figure sitting on the bench in the far corner? I thought it was Geronimo, but he didn’t look up.

  Joe slowed the car down to a crawl as we passed Lola Ufarte’s cottage and prepared to park outside our own. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her front door close, but not before I glimpsed a face at the window. It wasn’t Lola Ufarte, neither was it a child. The face belonged to a dark male, and I thought I recognised him.

  “Joe, did you see the new priest just then? In Lola Ufarte’s house?”

  “No, I didn’t. Honestly, Vicky, you’ve been in the village for thirty seconds and you’re already imagining things. Now, come on, let’s have a cup of tea and something to eat.”

  As I rested my cheek on the pillow that night, a host of unbidden thoughts crowded in.

  How wonderful it was to be home, and in our familiar bed.

  What time was it now in Sydney?

  Had I really seen the young priest in Lola’s house, or did I imagine that?

  Why shouldn’t there be an innocent reason for his visit, anyway?

  But my main thought was, I wonder what Joe wants to talk about? Had he noticed some serious repairs that needed doing?

  “Vicky, there’s something quite important I want to discuss with you in the morning,” he had said when I kissed him goodnight.

  “Can’t we discuss it now?”

  “No. Get a good night’s sleep. It will keep.”

  Normally, I would have badgered him to tell me immediately, but I was light-headed from tiredness and yearned for sleep.

  As my eyes closed, I couldn’t help puzzling over what it might be.

  But I didn’t ponder for long because I was asleep within seconds.

  I doubt there are many rooms as dark or quiet as our cave bedroom. When I awoke the next morning, just for a moment, I had absolutely no idea where I was. I had grown accustomed to the early morning noises of the Sydney household. The raucous dawn chorus, including the Happy Birthday bird’s song, had all become familiar to me. But here there was silence.

  The bed was empty, so Joe must have already got up. I found him in the kitchen making coffee.

  “Morning!”

  “You certainly slept well! A full twelve hours! Do you feel better?”

  “Thank you, yes. Now, what is the thing you wanted to discuss?”

  Joe passed me my coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, opposite me. He reached for my hand and looked straight into my eyes.

  My heart began beating a little faster as I read the signs. Whatever he was going to say now was serious.

  “Vicky, this visit to the UK has been a bit of a wake up call.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “My health. I have COPD, and, like I told you, there is no cure for that.”

  “I know, but we can keep it at bay with exercise and a good diet, and your meds, of course.”

  “Yes, but there’s also my high blood pressure. I could have a stroke at any time.”

  “Not if you take your meds!”

  “True, but now it seems that it’s possible I may be also diagnosed with prostate cancer.”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t have that!”

  “Vicky, we are not getting any younger. We need to plan for the future.”

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “We need to be realistic. We’ve lived in El Hoyo for eleven years now, apart from that year in the Middle East. I know it’s hard,” he took a deep breath, “but I think the time has come to leave.”

  I snatched my hand out of his.

  “What? Leave El Hoyo? Why? Almería has a perfectly good hospital, if we ever needed it! Carmen next door says it’s a fabulous hospital.”

  “I’m sure it is. But if I had a stroke, how long do you think it would take an ambulance to reach me up those winding roads?”

  “You’re not going to have a stroke!”

  “Maybe not. Vicky, all I’m asking is that you think about it. I’ve thought about little else lately, and I think we should leave while we are in full possession of our faculties. Imagine if one of us became really ill, or died. How would the other one cope alone? We don’t have family here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you sound as though we’re about to crumble and die any second! We’re only in our sixties.”

  Joe didn’t answer. He knew he’d sown the evil seed of doubt, and that I would keep turning it over in my mind, wrestling with it, picking away at it.

  I looked down at my hands, and saw they were trembling.

  Outside the kitchen window, a song thrush landed on a branch of the grapevine. As always at this time of the year, the vine looked dead, but I knew the tight buds were developing and lush, green leaves would burst forth within the month. The bird opened its beak, tilted its head back and sang, a perfect silhouette against the blue March morning sky. How melodic and polite it sounded compared with the squawks of the parrots I had left behind in Sydney!

  No, leaving our home and El Hoyo was unthinkable. I couldn’t even bring myself to imagine life under English grey skies again. No, we were happy here in El Hoyo, where the sun could be relied upon and the blue sky stretched to the mountain tops.

  “I don’t want to move back to England.”

  “No. Not England. Australia.”

  I sat up straight. He had my full attention. I didn’t even notice the thrush fly away.

  “Pardon?”

  “Australia. You see, that’s the other thing. I know how much you miss Karly, Cam and Indy, you talk about nothing else. Wouldn’t you like to be there permanently and watch Indy grow?”

  “Of course, but…”

  “Well, it’s my wish that we go and set up home in Australia. I want to see you settled and happy, and I think now is the time to do it before my health gets any worse.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. I tried hard to absorb what Joe was saying but only felt rising panic. Joe reached for my hand again.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I really believe it’s what we ought to do.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t say another word about it now,” said Joe. “Have a think. Come on, we should walk over to Marcia’s shop and collect our mail.”

  I nodded dumbly, finished my coffee and we set off. It felt good to walk down our street hand in hand again after the time apart.

  “I hope the airport doesn’t phone while we’re out,” I remarked, in an effort to banish the thoughts that spun in my head.

  “They’ll leave a message,” said Joe.

  The square was deserted, but old Marcia was in her shop.

  “Oh, you’re back!” she exclaimed. “Did you enjoy your stay in Australia?”

  “We did, thank you.” We hadn’t told her that Joe had gone to the UK. Joe didn’t want anyone to know about his health worries. “We came to see you and collect the mail. How has the weather been this winter? And how are you?”

  Marcia beamed at us, reached under the counter and pulled out a stack of letters.

  “Just my knee playing me up a little, thank you. At my age I expect that. These letters are all yours. Just bills and stuff, I think.” Nothing pass
ed Marcia’s scrutiny. “The weather has been very good. The nights are still cold, but my sons have made sure I have plenty of firewood for my stove. You know I usually stay down below with my sons until Easter, but this year I have returned early.”

  “Gosh, Easter is only a month away,” I exclaimed. “How quickly this year is flying past already.”

  “Ah yes, the ladies in the village are deciding on the flowers that will decorate the church at Easter. Which reminds me, the new young priest, Father Samuel, has started a little Sunday school for the children. It is already very popular with the little ones. They play games, paint pictures, and Father Samuel gives them a little bon bon when they leave.”

  Clever Father Samuel, I thought. Knowing the kids in the village, I imagined only the bon bon bribe would draw them into extra schooling.

  “Now more families are going to church, knowing their children are in good hands, learning things instead of fidgeting in the pews. Of course he had help with setting it up and running it every week,” continued Marcia dryly.

  “Oh? Who’s helping him? Can I guess? Is it Lola Ufarte?”

  “It is,” said Marcia shortly. “And I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”

  She had a point, but perhaps religion would help keep Lola Ufarte on the straight and narrow. Somehow, I doubted it.

  “And how is everybody else in the village?” I asked.

  I saw Joe roll his eyes. He knew I was fishing for gossip. I was dying to know whether Geronimo and Valentina were together again, and Marcia didn’t disappoint.

  “Everybody is well,” she said, “but Geronimo tries my patience.” She tossed her head, sending a hair pin flying.

  “Why? Is he back with Valentina?”

  “No, he is not, silly boy. Madre mía, he just moons round the village with a long face. The good thing is that he has stopped drinking, but he will not approach Valentina again. I say to him, ‘Go and talk to Valentina!’ but he just shakes his head and walks off.”

  “Do you know how Valentina feels?”

  “Yes, she comes to my shop every day with the mail. She pretends to be all cheerful and carefree, but I see her looking round for Geronimo.”

  “Perhaps she should approach Geronimo?”

  “Bah! I suggested that, but she said if he was interested, he would make the effort and try to speak with her.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I could knock their silly heads together,” exclaimed Marcia, and another hairpin slid out of her silver hair onto the floor.

  “Oh well,” I said, “let’s hope they get together soon.”

  “Well, are you satisfied now?” asked Joe as we walked back up the street.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you satisfied now you’ve had your gossip fix?”

  “Oh, stop it. You know those two would be happy together. They just need to see sense, that’s all.”

  “Hmm…” said Joe. “I wonder if the airport has tried to phone you?”

  But they hadn’t.

  I phoned them, but was told my suitcase hadn’t been found. Now I was worried. They advised me to email Iberia Airlines immediately, which I did.

  I thought hard about what was in the case and suddenly remembered my camera with all those pictures I hadn’t yet downloaded. There was my scruffy journal, packed with notes for my next book. There were toiletries, an alarm clock, the power cable for my computer, my black leather Filofax which I have had for twenty years and contains everything, and a little box of my most loved earrings and necklaces. When going on holiday, one takes one’s favourite clothes. All mine, and my shoes, were in the suitcase, lost. The clothes I had bought in Australia were lost. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

  I couldn’t manage without the basics, like underwear, a hairbrush, some toiletries and changes of clothing, so we drove down the mountain and went shopping. We also shopped for food, and by the evening we were both tired. I’d thrown together a pork casserole that required very little attention so I suggested we take a glass of wine up to the roof terrace and watch the sun go down.

  The sun had already stained the sky orange, and the shadows under the crags of the mountains had deepened. Although beautiful, the sun would take all its warmth with it, and as it slipped into the sea, we would go back into the house.

  From our high vantage point, we could see the village was virtually deserted. A curl of smoke drifted from Marcia’s chimney, and also our own, as Joe had lit the kitchen fire. I caught a glimpse of Felicity, hunting in the long grass by the cemetery. But the streets of El Hoyo were empty apart from Geronimo, who trudged along in the direction of his own house. Easily identified by his Real Madrid scarf, his head was bowed and his hands were pushed deep into his pockets. He walked as though he had the cares of the world upon his shoulders. His three dogs trotted in front of him, oblivious, keen to go home to supper and bed. He opened his front door, let them in and disappeared inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

  In the distance, a deer barked, then silence fell. I peered over the wall, where the house martins’ new nest was being made. No activity.

  “I miss the chickens, don’t you?” I said suddenly.

  In the old days, we’d have heard the girls preparing for bed, bickering about who was going to perch where, and finally settling down.

  “I do, but…”

  And there it was again, the elephant in the room.

  Pork and Tomato Stew

  Magra con tomate

  Hailing from Murcia, this stewlike dish is fantastic served with chunks of crusty bread and plenty of wine.

  Ingredients (serves 2)

  A couple of pork chops, boned and cut into small pieces, or diced pork

  1 tin of chopped tomatoes

  2 medium roasted red peppers, finely diced... or about 3 or 4 gorgeous pimenton piquillos

  1 medium green pepper, finely diced

  1 medium onion - the sweeter the better - finely diced

  4 to 6 garlic cloves, finely chopped or in wafer thin slices

  1 tablespoon or two of smoked paprika

  Couple of hearty glugs of olive oil

  Splash of wine (red or white)

  Salt and pepper for seasoning

  Method

  Put the oil in the pan and bring up to a medium high heat.

  Season and brown the diced pork.

  Set the pork aside, but leave as much of the oil in the pan as possible.

  Throw in the onion, and both types of pepper.

  Sweat them gently until almost translucent and cooked through.

  Add the garlic, stir well and cook for a couple more minutes.

  Add the chopped tomatoes.

  Sprinkle in the paprika, return the pork, and season.

  Turn the heat down low so it cooks really slowly. Cover and continue for about 30 or more minutes, adding a little water if needed.

  Serve hot.

  17

  LETTERS

  The subject I had been carefully avoiding all day had reared its ugly head. I’d tried hard to stay busy and keep it at bay but I knew I had to confront it at some point. The thought of leaving El Hoyo was unbearable, almost too painful to even consider.

  The sun was steadily dipping down and I began to feel chilly. My wine tasted bitter.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” I said. I felt terribly sad. “You’re thinking that if we’re moving, we shouldn’t get any more chickens.”

  “Yes. Have you thought any more about what I said?” Joe asked gently.

  I sighed, unwilling to have this conversation. If we talked about the possibility of leaving, that would make it more real, wouldn’t it?

  “Yes,” I said reluctantly. “I have thought very hard about it. I don’t want us to leave, not yet. And I don’t think there’s any rush. Besides, it’s the worst time to sell. We won’t get much for this house because of the European economic crisis. Houses are selling for peanuts here and Australia is really expensive.”

 
“Vicky, my health is going to deteriorate.”

  “But I can look after you here!”

  It was Joe’s turn to sigh.

  “Don’t you want to be near the family, and watch Indy grow?”

  He had me there.

  “Yes, but…”

  “And we both love Australia.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I want you to respect my wish to see you settled and happy, near the family, so if anything happens to me, I’ll know you’ll be okay.”

  He had played his trump card, and we both knew it.

  We lapsed into silence in the twilight. The sun had almost disappeared from view. Despite a few remaining streaks of dark orange in the sky, the village was bathed in deep shadow.

  “Let’s wait for your results,” I said quietly. “If you are diagnosed with prostate cancer, and of course you won’t be, we’ll put the house on the market and move to Australia.”

  The sun vanished. The temperature dropped.

  I shivered, whether at the thought of what I’d just said, or because of the cold, I’m not sure.

  “Okay,” said Joe. “We’ll wait for the results.”

  I opened the email from Iberia, and read it through, my heart sinking.

  We apologise for any inconvenience we may have caused you due to the baggage-related incident that occurred on flight IB8592 of March 2nd 2015.

  Customer care is a fundamental goal for us and it is essential for us to consider each case individually in order to handle it correctly and to determine if it gives entitlement to compensation under the terms of the legislation in force.

  To help us look into your case and reach a solution, please send the documentation listed below to Apartado de Correos 36.299, 28080 Madrid.

  - Original of the PIR - Property Irregularity Report - which is the reference of the claim you made at the airport.

  - Name(s) and surname(s).

  - The number of your National Identity Document, Passport or Resident’s Card.

  - Contact telephone, e-mail and a full address, including the street, the number of the house or flat, the postcode and any other information which may help to locate the address.