The Reluctant Expat: Part Four - Settling Down

by Alan Laycock

  I sighed and spied on Arvid’s place again. There was no sign of him, so I cycled home, not wishing to provoke Inma’s wrath by getting gossiped at in the bar.

  When she arrived home I did tell her about the hole in the window.

  “A warning shot, I think,” she said with an air of finality, so the subject was shelved for the time being.

  On the day that Inma drove to Alicante to sign her divorce papers, Juanca called to tell me that the Frenchman had bought a partially built chalet for the modest sum of €57,000.

  “Great.”

  “Yes, it’s not much for us, but Cristóbal’s drawing up plans for his architect to sign as we speak, and it seems fairly certain that he’ll do the work, so that will be a much better payday for us.”

  “Great, and the English couple?”

  “John and Susan? Well, they took the advice some imbecile gave them and went home to think about it, didn’t they?”

  “Er, yes, I believe so,” I said, hanging my head, despite being on the phone.

  “Well, they’re coming out again soon and I think they’ll buy, so you didn’t mess up after all.”

  My head rose with a jerk and I beamed. “Yes, I was sure it was the best tactic. It isn’t always good to rush people. I could see they weren’t the type for that.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Are you doing anything this weekend?” I asked, wondering if Inma might be planning to surprise me by inviting people on the sly, even him.

  “Me? The usual. Working on Saturday and sitting in my lonely flat on Sunday. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason, but try to get out and do some exercise. You’ll feel better for it.”

  “Yes, well, I might walk to the bar for a beer. Find me some more buyers, Alan.”

  “I’ll try.”

  By then I was calling Beth every week, and although she’d given my card to a few people, my next victim had yet to call me. I say victim, but the truth was that my previous scruples about flogging houses seemed to have disappeared. The Frenchman, who I’d met only once, had got a bargain, and I sincerely thought that Spain was the right choice for John and Susan, as they were eager to leave their increasingly crowded Northamptonshire town and they both hated cold, rainy weather. He’d even emailed me to say that they were taking Spanish classes, which pleased me a lot, as you know my feelings about learning the language. All in all I was happy with my lot, and Malcolm had promised to tell me if Angela wished me to do any specific tasks at the hotel, as I still felt that I owed her one after my dismal attempt to play a part I was eminently unsuited for. During our last game of pitch and putt he’d told me that a trickle of genuine guests had begun to stay and that for the moment he was holding the ‘extra’ guests he had lined up in reserve, which was good news indeed.

  Juan expected to be doing some driving for the furniture company soon, as the ex-jailbird had decided to go it alone – driving, not committing fraud – so I’d tag along with him on his trips, though he had no plans to repeat the onerous drive to Vitoria. Northwards Inma and I would certainly head, however, as we were already planning a belated honeymoon to Asturias and Cantabria in early summer, and we’d head up north with Cathy and Bernie another time too. I’d bought a William IV gold half sovereign as a pre-wedding gift to us both and would put the rest of the contents of the cornflakes box in our soon-to-be-opened joint account, so I really couldn’t have been happier.

  24

  “I really couldn’t be happier,” I told Cathy and Bernie as he parked their Ford Focus near the town hall.

  We climbed out and Cathy adjusted the white rose in the buttonhole of my new blue jacket, before straightening the silk tie that Bernie had tied for me. There wasn’t a soul outside the town hall and I suggesting going inside to find the office where we were to be unceremoniously hitched.

  “No, let’s hang about here till they arrive,” Cathy said.

  For the next ten minutes I felt that we made a strangely overdressed trio as the townsfolk went about their business, but when Letizia came whirring around the corner, tastefully adorned with a couple of small bunches of flowers and piloted by Inma’s father, my heart leapt, as there was Inma, soon stepping out in an off-the-shoulder, peach-coloured dress which showed off her delectable curves marvellously. Natalia being Natalia, she was wearing a black dress to celebrate the fateful day, but it fit her like a glove and brought out her femininity like never before, despite her new, strangely jagged haircut. I stood there beaming and waving, until Inma’s mother shooed me inside, where a young chap led us into a function room, probably the council chamber. With only seven of us to occupy the twenty or so seats, the low-key nature of the ceremony struck me again, but when an older, better-dressed fellow began to officiate I concentrated on his solemn words and we were soon slipping the tasteful rings onto each other’s fingers. We kissed quickly, then slightly more languorously in the corridor, before I escorted her to the 2CV and helped her into the back seat. Bernie and Natalia hopped into the front and we were soon whirring through the streets.

  “That went very quickly,” I murmured to Inma as we sat with our fingers entwined.

  “A mere formality,” she said, before kissing my cheek. “We were already man and wife.”

  “Yes, we were. Where to now, Bern?”

  “Back to ours. I think Cathy’s cooked a pie or something.”

  “Right. Ha, have we any champagne?”

  “Some cava, I think.”

  “I’ll never get married,” said Natalia, who I then noticed was wearing make-up, something previously scorned by her. “I’ll never belong to any man.”

  “Your mother doesn’t exactly belong to me.”

  “Just watch him, Mamá. Don’t let him boss you about.”

  “I won’t, dear.”

  “Fat chance,” Bernie murmured in English.

  As we whirred along past fields of green fruit trees, I felt happy and hardly bothered at all by the fact that the most important event of my life was to be celebrated around their table, but when he turned into the hamlet rather than up the track, I had an inkling that a surprise was in store for me.

  “Oh, look, they’ve found out about it,” Inma said as we approached the bar, from which many familiar faces began to emerge. There was Rosa and her family, old Juan Antonio, Juan, Jesús, Arturo with a little girl, Malcolm and Angela, Álvaro, Zefe waving his stick, Cristóbal, Juanca with a youngish woman, Beth with a strapping chap, and a couple of ladies I didn’t know who turned out to be old friends of Inma.

  “I knew you’d do this,” I said, my spine tingling from top to bottom.

  “Just a few friends. We’re going to celebrate with the Murcia contingent next Sunday. Come on, escort me inside.”

  We then walked a raucous gauntlet and suffered rice to be thrown at us, as is the tradition in Spain, before entering the bar to find it decorated with flowers and strips of satiny stuff. Most of the tables were pushed together to make a long one, in the middle of one side of which we were invited to sit.

  Wonderful smells emanated from the kitchen and I asked Inma who had done the cooking.

  “Our new cook, a youngster from Fortuna. He isn’t quite as good as Randi, but he’s keen to learn.”

  “Shame about Randi. She’d have enjoyed this.”

  “One makes one’s choices. Bernie went to invite Arvid, but he didn’t want to come.”

  “No problems with the police then?”

  “No. Look, Zefe’s already collared Juan Antonio, poor man.”

  “They’re as talkative as each other. Who’s that pretty woman with Juanca?”

  “His new girlfriend, I think.”

  “What an old scamp, after his sob stories. Look, Juan and Jesús have sat down together.”

  “Yes, but why is Jesús prodding Malcolm?”

  “Uh-oh, he won’t like that.”

  Malcolm just took Jesús’s wrist and placed it gently by his knives, as he couldn’t have understood a word of his cautio
nary advice anyway, because a mere crib sheet works no miracles.

  “Look at Arturo’s lovely daughter,” Inma said.

  “Yes, little Rocío. I wonder if she’s half-gypsy, quarter-gypsy or what? I’ll have to ask him. Look at your lovely daughter, already annoying Cristóbal with her chatter.”

  “He’s smiling though.” She frowned. “Where’s his wife?”

  “Indoors, I expect. Oh, is Natalia still set on working at the hotel?”

  “No, she’s talking about travelling this summer now.”

  “Good.” I scanned the table. “I must talk to Beth and her husband afterwards. They don’t know anyone and I want them to have a good time.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  This made me think about money and I told Inma that I wouldn’t let her father sell his lovely coin to pay for the lavish spread we were about to tuck into.

  “He’s already paid Rosa, but hasn’t sold the coin. Don’t offend him.”

  “I won’t. This is nice, isn’t it?”

  “It’s just right.”

  Inma then began our first meal together as man and wife by peeling a prawn for me.

  “Ah, thank you, dear. Is this a sign of things to come?”

  “No, love, I’m just showing you how not to make a mess of it. Our marriage is going to be one of equals.”

  “How can it be a marriage of equals when you’re so much more beautiful, charming and accomplished than me?”

  She popped the prawn into my mouth to shut me up.

  AFTERWORD

  It’s been a good while since I was a reluctant expat, which is why the series has now come to an end, but I do plan to write more in the future, as I’ve enjoyed penning this rambling account. For now I’ll give the old fingertips a rest, but before the year is out I may well be able to offer my patient readers something new. As well as continuing my story, which I hope to do unless married life proves to be too blissfully mundane to write about, I also have a novel in the pipeline, a work begun during my previous life and not about Spain at all, but I’ll have to see if I think it worth inflicting on the public when I finish it.

  So, farewell for now, and thank you for reading my books.

  All the best,

  Alan Laycock

  PS: I’d like to recommend a new book called THE RIVALS by an old friend of mine, A.J. Long, and edited by yours truly. It isn’t about Spain, but it’s very amusing, especially for those of us born in the sixties.