by Jo Thomas
‘Can’t you ask Valentina? See if she thinks it’s a good idea?’
He is talking quietly to the horses, stroking their necks. The young colt dances around, sidestepping him. But finally he settles, and Antonio slides the bridle over his head with very little objection. Then he starts to walk back towards me.
‘Valentina is still catching up with her work in the harbour. Meetings and stuff,’ he tells me, even though I haven’t asked about her whereabouts. ‘She has an apartment there. We are both happy keeping our lives separate.’ He nods to indicate that he’s given enough away as he leads the young horse out of the gate.
‘So you’ll ask her about the party?’ I say hopefully.
Suddenly the colt explodes in youthful exuberance, leaping and dipping and kicking out. Antonio holds on to the young horse, following him and letting him blow himself out before leading him into a smaller paddock. Then he turns and looks at me.
‘And what do you get out of this party? Why so insistent?’ he frowns, putting me on the spot. I look back to see that Miguel has his headphones on and is oblivious to our conversation.
‘It . . . it’s my cousin. It’s her birthday,’ I say with a sigh that I didn’t mean to come out.
‘The one who was here the other evening?’
‘Yes.’ My shoulders drop at the memory, but I get the feeling Antonio is almost enjoying it.
‘The one who wanted me to wash up?’ he carries on.
‘Yes, yes . . . just a misunderstanding.’ I try and move things along.
Antonio turns to the horse and urges him forward into a walk with a clicking noise in the corner of his mouth. The horse suddenly dips and jumps and kicks again, leaping this way and that. Antonio follows the animal, giving it its head, and slowly pulls it back towards him, soothing, talking in gentle tones but never letting go of the rein, no matter how many times the animal dips and rears, until miraculously it starts to walk along the worn track. As it strides out, at first it tosses its head and pulls on the rein. Antonio speaks calmly, settling it again, and the horse slowly starts to respond, finally dropping his head and forming a beautiful curve like the black stallion.
I watch in wonder, and glance over to see if Miguel is watching too. But he isn’t. He’s hunched over the nets, hood up, checking his phone with one hand. The horse now seems to be going steadily through its paces on the track, making the transition from walking to trotting and back again, its mane flowing with each rhythmic step. And then suddenly Antonio turns his attention back to me.
‘Like I say, what’s in it for you?’ he asks not taking his eyes off the colt. I’m still in awe of him working his magic with the young horse.
‘Er . . .’ I try and refocus on my own dilemma. ‘Well, more hours basically. If I’m organising and planning the party, I can make up my money now that I’m not needed at the burger bar down at the harbour.’
‘Whoa,’ he tells the horse, and it obediently and surprisingly comes to a standstill. Antonio takes his eyes off it for a moment and looks over at me. I hold my breath. Is he going to agree? A ripple of excitement runs up and down my spine, making me shiver. Then he lifts his chin, clicks in the corner of his mouth and the horse sets off again with a dip of the head.
‘I’m sorry. It’s not possible.’ Antonio’s focus is back on the horse.
‘What?’
‘It’s June. Nothing can happen in June. It’s the cherry harvest.’ He nods towards the trees. ‘This is what is important around here. These trees and the harvest. The restaurant will close. I need all the hands I can get. If I don’t focus on my harvest, I could lose everything. I can’t have any distractions.’ His face darkens, and something tells me I really shouldn’t ask any more. ‘However . . .’
‘Yes?’ I feel a skip of hopefulness in my dipping spirits.
‘If you want more work . . . What with the sprinkler system broken, I have to do everything by hand. So if you need extra hours, I will pay you to water the trees for me. That is the water bowser.’ He nods towards the orchard, where a big rusting orange barrel on wheels is sitting.
I sigh. ‘Gracias,’ I say.
‘De nada.’ He nods in reply.
Extra hours is what I need. I just hadn’t expected it to be that. What on earth am I going to tell Olivia? Right now she thinks I’m organising her birthday party. And how on earth does a water bowser work?
Antonio felt the tug on the lunging rein, him at one end, the colt at the other, the two of them working together. He glanced across at Beti, who had walked over to talk to Miguel. The boy was still sitting on the ground working on the nets, but he had pulled out his headphones and was showing her what he was doing. She seemed to be able to talk to Miguel far more easily than he could. In fact, she seemed to be able to turn her hand to pretty much anything. He’d seen how she’d saved the day at Pedro’s mother’s eightieth.
He looked at her again. He would have liked to agree to the party, as a way of thanking her and making sure she stayed on. She was certainly a good worker. But he couldn’t have any distractions during the harvest. He’d taken his eye off the ball once before and nearly lost the lot. It must never happen again. The farm had to come first. He had to make sure that nothing threatened it. Not the birds – he looked up at the electricity wire where they were gathering – not a themed party at the restaurant, and certainly not Miguel’s mother. He’d had another message from her, and a letter as well, from a solicitor, repeating in formal language that she wanted a divorce and half of everything. Of course! Now that she’d seen the photographs Miguel had sent her, she suddenly thought she was on to a big payout!
He finished by working the colt the other way around the circle and then led him back to his mother, who fussed and nuzzled him on his return. The young horse was coming on a treat. It would be a shame to sell him. He had something special about him; Antonio could feel it.
He looked over to where Miguel and Beti were standing together, looking at the water bowser, laughing and joking about it. He shook his head. Horses he could understand; his son, on the other hand, was a completely different challenge. Other than that fleeting moment when they’d got the pump to work, he couldn’t connect with him at all. He had no idea what he was thinking. Did Miguel want to be here? Did he want to go home? Or was he planning to make a new life for himself somewhere completely different? Antonio needed to find a way of getting to know him.
He turned and walked back to the pump in the middle of the courtyard. If he couldn’t get the cherries watered, he wouldn’t have a harvest to pick or a farm to fight for. He flicked out his foot in frustration, and the pump shuddered, chugged into life for a hopeful moment and then fell silent again. Thank God he had extra help in Miguel and Beti. He watched as the two of them turned on the hose and attempted to spray each other. She was intriguing. Totally eccentric! There was that evening with her cousin for starters, and he’d heard her talking to the cat as well. Who was she really? And what was she doing living here on her own, watering cherry trees and washing up? He knew nothing about her, but she might just be the answer to his prayers. If she could handle a water bowser like she could Bonita in the kitchen, and if she could keep Miguel from getting into any more trouble, she might just turn out to be a godsend.
Chapter Twenty
‘How often have we got to do this?’ Miguel huffs as he pulls the trailer whilst I walk behind sprinkling the roots of the trees.
‘Well, Antonio said they need to be watered every couple of days, what with the heat here. There are four fields. How many trees?’
‘Three hundred and fifty,’ Miguel sighs.
‘So, if we do this field now and the next one this evening before the restaurant opens, and then the other two tomorrow, we should be about right. And then we have to finish netting the trees once all the blossom has gone.’ I think back to the branches I picked on my first day here. Every branch will bear
fruit for the harvest. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it at the time.
The wheels on the trailer squeak as they turn. There is a gentle hiss as I spray the roots, trying to remember Antonio’s instructions about how long to keep the water on each tree before moving on to the next one. ‘Un, dos, tres . . .’ I mouth. Above me, the birds are chattering on the wire, as if passing on the locations of the best cherry-picking locations this season.
‘So how are you settling in?’ I ask as Miguel moves the bowser on to the next tree and I follow. Ana the cat has come to join us, darting up and down the tree trunks. ‘How are you finding life here in Colina de Flor?’
‘It’s boring. There’s nothing to do here!’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say nothing exactly.’ I look at all the trees we’re going to have to water by hand. Still, I’m very grateful for the wages.
‘There’s no one, nobody!’ He stops pulling the trailer and holds his arms out. ‘Just birds! Hello, birds!’ He waves up at them, making me laugh. ‘And horses! Hello, horses!’ He glances apprehensively towards the paddock. ‘And I’m definitely not getting near one of them,’ he says.
‘But Antonio is amazing with them,’ I say, still impressed.
‘I clearly don’t have my father’s genes. I wouldn’t know one end of a horse from the other.’
‘You didn’t do much riding growing up then?’ I point the hosepipe and start to spray. Un, dos, tres . . . I count silently in my head.
‘You could say that. Where I grew up, there weren’t horses and fields. Just gangs from different apartment blocks or families. I didn’t even know places like this existed! Even though my dad was here all along . . .’ He trails off, as if he’s said too much.
‘Is that why you came here, to see what it was like?’
He sighs deeply, as if from the depths of his soul. Perhaps, I think, depths that such a young man shouldn’t really have.
‘My mother is one of life’s “free spirits”.’ He crooks his fingers in inverted commas to demonstrate. ‘She hated living where we did. But she had family there, sisters and their husbands and children. My cousins.’ He rolls his eyes. I know how he feels about cousins, but I don’t interrupt him. He clearly isn’t used to talking about this. ‘Neither she nor her “boyfriend”’ – more inverted commas – ‘ever really worked. They are flamenco dancers. They take part in the odd show, but nothing regular. They lived in the apartment with my aunt. I slept on the settee and went to school. They said they were living there so I could get an education, and they never let me forget it. But actually it was because they had no money and nowhere to go. Apparently my mother’s career was on hold because of me. She said she could have been a huge name had she not had to take time out to bring up a child. They said it was my fault they were stuck there and not on the road, touring, dancing. I was an annoyance to them. They couldn’t wait for me to leave. And neither could I. But where would I go?’ He shrugs, seeming almost oblivious to me now, reliving his story.
‘It was noisy, crowded where we lived . . . and a bit dangerous. But it was all I knew, it was my home. And I could handle myself,’ he adds quickly. ‘It was just this one day . . . I was late. I took a short cut. Met the wrong people down a side street, two rival gangs: one my cousin and his lot, and another family from a different apartment block. There was a fight. They thought I was there for my cousin. Like I say, I can handle myself. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to fight his battles for him.’
I can see the fire behind his eyes, a deep passion that probably comes from self-preservation. He can protect himself because he’s had to, and not just from street gangs but from the bullies at home as well, by the sound of it.
‘My aunt wanted me to leave. My mother had warned that if there was any more trouble, she’d send me to go and live with my dad. And here I am!’ He holds out his arms, then drops them to his sides. ‘We’ve never even really met properly.’
My heart twists. I can see the pain burning like fire in his eyes; I can practically feel the hurt, like he’s touched a raw nerve.
‘Do you have family?’ he asks.
‘Um, yes.’ I nod reluctantly, but he clearly wants to know more, having told me all about himself. ‘Well, not children.’ It catches in my throat. ‘But my mum and dad,’ and I feel a sudden rush of love for them, realising that this is something this young man clearly hasn’t felt. ‘I have an uncle and aunt, and a cousin too. My uncle, he . . . well, he always makes me feel bad about myself, puts me down.’ I rush out the words, feeling they might resonate with Miguel. ‘We all grew up near each other. My dad and his brother worked at the same place, the same factory, but my uncle always wanted to do better than my dad: a better house, better car. He got promoted and liked to look down on my dad because of it. His daughter, my cousin, was always doing better than me, or so he told us. I tried to keep up with her, but we couldn’t afford all the things she had. I didn’t think it bothered me. But clearly it did. I spent years trying to prove to the world that I could have something lovely of my own, by planning a wedding – well, three, actually . . .’
‘Three?’
‘I was engaged to my last fiancé Will for nearly five years. And I had two engagements before that, if you can believe it!’ I find myself nearly laughing as I realise how ridiculous it sounds, saying it out loud. Five years!!
‘But why? Why is your uncle so down on your dad?’
I stop and look around at the cherry trees we’ve watered and the ones we’ve still got to do. Well, I might as well tell him; we’ve got a lot of time to fill.
‘I suppose it was because of my mum really. When they were all much younger, Uncle Paul was hoping to ask her out. He took my dad along to the local dance for moral support. But when my mum and dad met . . . well, they just knew they were meant to be together. And that was that. I don’t think Uncle Paul ever got over it. He’s been punishing them ever since.’
‘And they’re still married?’
‘They are!’ I smile at the thought of my mum at home, my dad in the garden. They just fit together. Oh, that’s not to say they don’t argue – they do! They’re not perfect. But they’re meant to be together.
‘And Uncle Paul?’
‘He married Rita.’ I give a little laugh. ‘They met shortly after Dad and Mum announced their engagement, and got married just before them. A big showy do in a hotel. My mum and dad were just having a small get-together in the back room of the local pub.’
‘Are they still together, Uncle Paul and Rita?’
I laugh again. ‘Yes, they’re still together. Rita has her own hair salon, but her staff can’t stand her. She likes her gin bottle more than she likes Paul. But she also likes her house on the big estate and her daughter getting the best Daddy can afford!’
‘You’re lucky that you have parents who love you.’ Miguel has a wistful look in his eyes. ‘I mean, my mum resented me because I stopped her travelling, stopped her career. And her boyfriend? He hates me because of who my father is.’
‘Who your father is? Antonio?’
‘Uh huh.’ He nods. ‘He hates Antonio.’ The words seem to hang in the air.
As we reach the end of the row, the sun is starting to heat up, and with it the swapping of our parents’ stories slowly comes to a natural end. I go to the front of the bowser and help heave it up the hill to the next terrace, where I can see bits of the watering system’s piping that have perished in the sun.
‘And what about now?’ Miguel asks as I start to water the first tree in the row. ‘Where is your fiancé now?’
I’m jolted by the question, as if all my insides are trying to work out how they fit together. ‘Let’s just say . . . I’m trying to get over him. He . . . Will left me. Three days after we’d arrived here to start our new life together.’
‘He left you?’
I nod, wondering if I trust myself to sa
y any more. I take a deep breath. ‘And took my savings. It was my wedding fund, but we’d decided to use it to rent a bar. It kind of finished before it started, my new life,’ and I’m suddenly spilling the contents of my heart like a genie being released from its bottle.
‘So that’s how you ended up in Spain. But you’re still here, at Cortijo Ana.’
‘Yes, I’m still here. I haven’t told my family about Will yet. I’m going to rent the bar on my own. Show everyone I can do what I set out to do. And I am never getting engaged or making plans to get married again!’
‘Ha! Never say never,’ Miguel laughs. ‘And where is your bar, the one you’re going to rent?’
‘Down at the harbour. You should go down there, see if you can make some friends. I’ll take you down if you like. Show you around. I could show you the bar.’ A little surge of pride rises up in me.
He breaks into a wide smile. ‘I’d like that. Thank you.’ He nods. ‘Who knows, I may find a whole new gang.’
‘Miguel!’ I warn, sounding like my mum.
‘Just joking.’ He waves a hand. ‘I’m not sorry to be away from where I came from. I . . .’ He pauses and looks around. ‘I just don’t know where I’m going, that’s the problem.’
‘Nor do any of us really,’ I say. ‘You can only hope it’s in the right direction.’ I realise that I have spent so many years trying to plan my life, but you never know what’s around the corner. I flick the spray of water at him.
‘Hey!’
‘Shall we go to the harbour then?’ I ask as we pull the empty, now much lighter water bowser back to the old stone barns. ‘I could ask Bonita if I can get any shopping for her while I’m there. Perhaps she could do another special dish if it’s going to be busy again. That way you can go and explore without me chaperoning you.’
