The Reluctant Expat: Part Four - Settling Down

by Alan Laycock

  “Hola, Natalia,” I said when she finally released my hand.

  “I want a word with you, Alan,” she said, her sharp brown eyes peering at me from beneath her new fringe.

  “Yes, I gathered that. Oughtn’t you to greet everyone first?”

  “I know them all only too well, and there’ll be time enough for pointless chatter later. I believe you’ve begun work on the hotel.”

  “Yes, well, the builders have. I was there yesterday and they’re working like demons. They’ve already ripped up the tiles in the–”

  “Good, so I expect it’ll open on schedule.”

  “Yes, I think so. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m interested in what you do, Alan.” She smiled ingratiatingly. “I often ask after you when I speak to Mamá on the phone.”

  “Yes, and I always ask her what you’ve been up to. How are your studies going?”

  She frowned. “I believe you’ll have a key role in the hotel once it opens.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. They want me to do something, but I don’t know what yet,” I said, wondering where this was going.

  “You’ll probably be in charge of the place.”

  “Oh, I doubt it, and I don’t think I’d want to be anyway. I’m not a hotel manager.”

  “You can do anything if you put your mind to it, Alan.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t wish to run a hotel.”

  Her bottom lip jutted out and she blew on her fringe. “I’d like you to find me a job at the hotel, Alan.”

  “Ah, yes, well, they’ll be busy in summer, hopefully, so I could ask Angela, the owner, if she needs anyone then.”

  “No, I mean a full-time job.”

  I gawped. “What? What do you mean?”

  “I’m fed up of studying, Alan. I’ve grown out of it already and it’s leading me nowhere.”

  “But I thought you wanted to become an anthropologist and travel the world.”

  She angrily swept back her fringe, which didn’t suit her anyway. “Pah, that’s just an empty dream.”

  “But why?”

  “I met an anthropology graduate before Christmas, working in a shop. He saw a book I was carrying and told me that he’d finished his degree four years ago.”

  “And?”

  “He told me it was hopeless, that there are never any jobs or research posts. He pointed out that the whole department are old people of over forty who are just clinging to their jobs.”

  “But that’s just your university.”

  “He applied for posts all over Spain and didn’t even get an interview.”

  I remembered Inma telling me that when she finished her psychology degree she knew there was little hope of finding relevant working. I also recalled her telling me that her daughter was far keener than she had been. Just then she entered the room, but on seeing Natalia’s gloomy face and me scratching my head, she halted.

  “We’ll want to come in here soon,” she said softly, leaving a bowl of salad on the end of the table.

  “Ten minutes, Mamá.”

  “All right,” she said, pulling the door to behind her.

  During those few seconds my brain went into overdrive and I cleared my throat in preparation for my pep talk.

  I smiled. “Well, Natalia, do you know what I think?” I said, buying myself a few more seconds.

  “What?”

  “Que tú y yo… that you and I must speak English together from now on,” I said, switching to it in mid-sentence.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” she said scornfully in Spanish.

  “A lot,” I said in English. “This former student you spoke to in the shop, does he speak good English?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in English.

  “Ha, I bet he doesn’t. Your English is quite good, but you need to become fluent before you finish your studies. That way a whole world of opportunities will be open to you, literally.”

  She sniffed. “Hmm.”

  “I’m sure that out in the… field, English is the main language,” I said, having seen archaeology and other documentaries in which folk from several non-English speaking countries chatted away in that tongue.

  “Yes, I believe it is.”

  “Well then?”

  “Oh, I’m just a little tired of it all. The lectures, my own projects, always anthropology all the time. I have no time for anything else,” she said, still in English.

  “I think you need to relax a little. You have over three years still to go. Leave your projects for now and just do the course. Meet some different people, go out more, do some exercise, disconnect,” I said, warming to my subject, but fearing the usual rebuff.

  She pursed her lips, then tutted pensively seven or eight times. “Well, perhaps I am being a little…”

  “Hasty?”

  “Yes, hasty. I think I do need to meet different people. The other students in the faculty are quite depressed.”

  “Depressed or depressing?”

  “Depressing. They don’t really expect to become anthropologists. They joke about what they will do when they finish. They think life is a game, or that their parents will look after them forever.”

  “Your English is really good, and I bet theirs isn’t. Just take it easier for a while, then in the last year start applying for jobs and postgraduate courses everywhere.” I heard shuffling outside and feared a stampede of hungry relatives. “The world is your oyster, Natalia.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you, Alan, you’ve made me feel more positive.”

  “I…er, hope so,” I said, her inscrutable expression making me still fear a dismissive quip.

  “Let’s sit down, as I want to speak more to you,” she said, pulling back a chair about halfway down the long table, ushering me onto it, and sitting by my side. “Enter!” she cried in Spanish, whereupon they all loped or shuffled in.

  Inma placed her cardigan on the back of the chair next to mine, before helping her mother and a sprightly aunt to bring in the platters of meat – both cooked and cured – and dishes of vegetables. A brief hush fell while everyone served themselves, but conversations were soon resumed, including mine with Natalia.

  “In summer I had intended to do more anthropological research,” she said as she filled my wine glass.

  “Yes, perhaps we ought to speak Spanish now.”

  “But now I think I will have a complete break,” she went on in English.

  “Yes, good idea.”

  “And do something completely different.”

  “Yes, you should do that.”

  “Like work at the hotel.”

  I nodded, before knocking back half a glass of wine.

  She squeezed my forearm. “I’m sure you’ll be able to arrange that for me, Alan.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Because all life experience is anthropological, isn’t it?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Good, that is settled. We can speak Spanish now,” she said, and when I declared that she smoothed the way to a pleasantly passable day it was from this point that I meant, as sandwiched between her and her mother I was able to enjoy the delicious meal, followed by the typical Roscón de Reyes, a circular sweet-loaf containing little ceramic figures of the Three Kings, the Virgin Mary, sundry angels and, strangely enough, a kangaroo.

  “Take care not to eat any figures you find, Alan,” said Natalia prior to their gradual revelation. “Because grandmother uses them every year.”

  “OK.”

  “And watch out for the dried bean. It wasn’t found last year and we think Uncle Prudencio ate it on purpose,” she murmured.

  I glanced over at the tubby, red-faced man. “Does he like dried beans?”

  “No, but whoever finds it is supposed to pay for the roscón, and he’s very mean.”

  In the event, Auntie Kika – short for Francisca – found the bean, which was all right, Natalia whispered, as she owned property and was reputed to be loaded.

&nbs
p; Thus it was that my time at table passed agreeably, as when Natalia wasn’t amusing me with mainly malicious gossip, Inma was gradually introducing me to her extended family, so when we finally rose to drink our glasses of cava wherever we wished, I felt relaxed and happy to have a chat with Inma’s father, his sister María, the sprightly aunt, and her son Arturo, who was nothing like my Arturo, being a sombre, reserved sort of chap who worked as a truck mechanic. We’d remained in the dining room and conversation was general, until Arturo wandered away and Auntie María decided to go and help in the kitchen, when it suddenly became a lot more specific.

  “So, Alan, you and Inma seem very happy together,” said the lean, grey-haired man with the same sincere eyes as his daughter.

  “Yes, we are, very happy.”

  “Good.”

  “Yes.”

  “She was unhappy.”

  “I know.”

  “But since meeting you, she’s been happy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Her marriage was a difficult one.”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “You seem more relaxed and attentive than he ever was.”

  “I… yes.” I sipped my cava. “Your daughter is a wonderful woman.”

  “Yes, she is. We’ve always been proud of her.”

  “Me too, since I met her, I mean,” I said, beginning to feel distinctly hot under my soft collar, as Inma had told me that casual dress was fine, which was just as well, as I didn’t possess a tie.

  “I expect her divorce will come through soon.”

  “Yes, sometime this year, she hopes.”

  His bushy grey brows rose and fell in the blink of an eye. “I expect you’re looking forward to that moment.”

  “I… yes, I am.”

  “Good, so tell me about these old coins that you sell.”

  Relieved, I rambled on about numismatic matters for a while, impressed by the fairly subtle way he’d hinted at his – and presumably his wife’s – feelings regarding our unmarried state. Though neither of them were regular churchgoers, they’d obviously prefer us to cement our ties in the eyes of society, but until a date was set for the divorce – which her ex had acquiesced to calmly enough, Inma had told me – there was little point in talking about it. Me being me, however, and this coming hot on the heels of Zefe’s helpful advice, I knew I’d fret about it until one or other of us brought up the subject. It was this damn house-ownership business that was still worrying me, you see, and the fact that I’d brought far less to our partnership than she had, so I’d just have to hope that things went well for me financially during the coming year.

  “I’ve got a Spanish doubloon that might interest you, Alan,” Inma’s father said, as I’d been having the above thoughts, or some of them, while droning on about coins.

  “Oh, yes?”

  “Yes, just a moment.”

  Or maybe I should mention marriage sooner rather than later, just to gauge her reaction, I thought as I waited.

  “Here it is.”

  I slipped the coin from its plastic pouch and held it up to the light. “Ah, yes, Carlos IV, 1791. Hispania and the Indies, it says, so probably made at the Potosi mint in Bolivia,” I said, as although no expert in Spanish coins, I had done a little homework during the last few months.

  “Potosi, that’s right, or so my father told me.”

  “How did he come by the coin?”

  “Oh, it’s been in the family for a long time. How much do you think it’s worth?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure, but at least a couple of thousand, if not more. It’s in very good condition.”

  “Yes, I had it valued at about three thousand only last year.” He flicked it into the air, caught it, slipped it back into the pouch and smiled. “Enough to pay for a modest wedding, I think,” he said, before winking and wandering out.

  I was gazing out of the window at the darkening city when I felt a gun in my back.

  ‘All right, we’ll get married,’ I was about to say, when I turned to find Natalia with two fingers still outstretched.

  “I’m going now, Alan,” she said in Spanish.

  “Oh, back to Alicante?”

  “No, straight to Madrid. I have work to do before the term starts.”

  “Course work?”

  “Yes, I’ve been neglecting it while heating my head with a study of the African immigrants in the south-east of Madrid. I’ll drop that for now and just go to lectures and write my essays.”

  “Yes, you do that. Don’t you want to come to stay for a few days? I can drive you to Elda station whenever you want.”

  No, I’d better get back. Good luck with the hotel.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be able to start work in about the middle of June.”

  I gulped, as I often do in Natalia’s presence. “I’ll mention you to Angela when I see her.”

  She kissed me hard on just the one cheek. “I know you will. See you in a few weeks.”

  “Bye, Natalia.”

  “Did you have an awful time dear?” Inma said as we trundled along the dual-carriageway in my Clio, her hatchback being a little the worse for wear by then.

  “Not at all,” I said, before summarising my chat with Natalia and omitting to mention her father’s hints.

  “Yes, I just told her not to be so silly, but I think you were more constructive, as she told me in no uncertain terms.” She giggled. “She’s beginning to respect you now, I think.”

  “Hmm, er, Inma?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think we ought to get married sometime, in the future, I mean.”

  She shrugged and patted my leg. “We could do, if you like. I don’t really mind.”

  I breathed a huge, audible sigh of relief. “Good, then we can talk about it at a later date.”

  She laughed. “Ha, has Papá been getting at you?”

  “Oh, not really, just a hint.”

  “Well Mamá’s been quite annoying about it, and I’m not even divorced yet.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  “I told her that we were already married in each other’s eyes, and that was what mattered.”

  I smiled. “Yes, I like that, in each other’s eyes.” I listened to the purr of the engine for a while. “In that case, I’d like to make you a wedding gift.”

  “What for? The lovely bracelet you gave me can be a wedding gift, if you like.”

  “We’re going to buy you a new car.”

  “Oh, mine’s all right.”

  “No, it’s too old for all the kilometres you do now. We’ll get Bernie to find us a newish one and pay for it from the cornflakes box.”

  “All right then, but nothing fancy.”

  “I like the watch you gave me,” I said, jingling it, as we’d exchanged gifts towards the end of the get-together.

  She chuckled. “It’ll go well with your document case, now that you’re an executive.”

  “Ha, yes. I wonder when I’ll see my bosses, and where they’ll stay.”

  “Don’t worry about that now.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  5

  “Oh, can I not stay here, Alan? The weather’s so lovely just now,” said Zefe on Tuesday morning when I went to turf him out of the annex.

  “What, while I’m slaving away in your damn flat?” I said, before recalling Juan’s lukewarm response to his ripping yarns when they’d first met. I’d seen Juan in the bar the previous day, you see, and not only had he agreed to oversee the patio, steps and railings job, but had also offered to take a peek at my proposed work at Zefe’s.

  “Aw, alright, I’ll pack my things then,” he said, shading his eyes from the sun I was about to deprive him of, as his first floor flat got no sunlight whatsoever in winter.

  As he hobbled inside like a hundred-year-old, I relented. “All right, give me your keys, but I’m driving you down on Thursday.”

  The old devil turned and beamed at me. “Oh, Alan, you’re making my waning
years so much more bearable than they would have been. If I were a religious man I’d say that you were well on the way to sainthood.”

  “Yes, Saint Muggins of Lancashire,” I muttered in English, before surveying the living and kitchenette area. “You could give this place a dust and a sweep, you know.”

  “Yes, yes, I will, later. There are the keys,” he said, before prising off his slippers with his stick.

  “In a hurry?”

  “What? No, no.”

  “Going to enjoy the sunshine in Álvaro’s den, are you?”

  “I may call round later, yes,” he said, dragging a shoe towards him.

  “Why don’t you invite him up here and sit in the sun for a while,” I said, as after a cold night it really was going to be a wonderfully still and sunny day.

  “There’s only one comfortable chair for sitting outside, Alan.”

  “I’ll get you another one.”

  “Thank you, Alan.”

  “Shall I bring our sofa too?”

  “No, Alan, another chair will be fine.”

  “Good.”

  On fetching the folding chair he asked if I’d mind calling on Álvaro and informing him of their change of venue. “He’ll know which books to bring,” he added.

  I scraped my foot on the stony ground like an impatient stallion. “No, you can walk there. You need the exercise.”

  “All right, Alan. Will we be going swimming on Thursday then?”

  I grasped my head. “Yes, no… I don’t know,” I muttered.

  “Or on Friday, if you prefer.”

  “Adiós, Zefe,” I said as I turned and jogged away.

  “Be careful when you move the bookcase, Alan, as those books are precious to me,” he yelled as I hurtled through the gate.

  “Where’s the old goat, then?” Juan asked me when I’d shown him the tiles which I proposed to stick to the floor with geometrical precision.