by Jo Thomas
‘Well then, leave me to run the restaurant. This has nothing to do with you or the farm!’ She throws a dismissive arm towards the barns and paddock.
‘But I will need pickers,’ Antonio tries to reason.
‘Then get pickers. But not my waiting staff. There must be others.’
He sighs deeply, realising that he’s losing ground.
‘Then . . .’ Valentina holds up a hand, red-painted nails like talons, and silences us. How does she do that? How can she make everyone look at her like that? If I did that, no one would even notice. ‘I will look at the diary and get back to you. A big budget, you say . . .’
‘Yes.’ I nod.
‘Then perhaps it will be good for this place.’ She gives a tight smile, then nods and turns away, her dark shiny hair swinging, her pert rounded bottom bobbing up and down in her tight jeans, and her pointed high heels making a rapping sound on the tiled floor.
‘Um . . . there’s just one more thing, Valentina . . .’ I call after her. She stops and turns back slowly. I glance at Antonio for support, but he’s holding his hand over his mouth, almost as if he’s hiding a grimace.
I turn away from him. He thinks I can’t do this. Well I can, and I will.
‘The thing is, Valentina, about the party . . .’ She narrows her eyes, giving me her full attention. ‘The thing is,’ I repeat, ‘it has to be me.’
‘Sorry?’ She cocks her head to one side with another tight smile, like a praying mantis enticing its prey.
‘It has to be me organising the party and, well, hosting it.’
For a moment she doesn’t say anything. The words hang in the air.
‘You would be organising the party?’ she says, as though unable to comprehend what I’m saying.
‘Yes,’ I confirm. ‘Because she’s my . . . friend.’ I swallow.
The air practically crackles with disdain. ‘You are the washer-upper? No?’
‘I am,’ I confirm, and swallow again.
‘Absolutely not!’ she says.
‘But—’
‘The subject is closed. I run this restaurant. Your job is to wash up, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stick to that. If not, there are plenty of others who will.’
She stomps down the steps and round the back to the apartment, instructing Antonio to bring her bag up from the car.
I turn to him and he holds his palms upwards and tilts his head, a sympathetic smile at the corners of his mouth.
‘She means well. She’s just . . . she is still cross because I didn’t tell her about Miguel. She is feeling like her nose has been pushed out of joint. She’ll calm down.’ He folds his hands over his wide chest.
‘I don’t know why you put up with it!’ I mutter furiously.
‘It is her that puts up with me,’ he tells me evenly. ‘I am not known for my commitment – or should that be success? – when it comes to relationships. I like things the way they are. Why change? Why spoil what we have? I thought things were fine. But Valentina, she wants more.’ He looks over to the sheds, changing the subject quickly. ‘Now, I have a pump to try and mend, and hosing to replace.’ He starts down the steps from the terrace, then turns back. ‘I’m sorry about your party.’ And then he jogs over to the barns.
It’s over. It’s not going to happen. I don’t have any other ideas to get the money together. I’ve tried everything. My throat tightens and I blink back hot, angry tears. I’ll have to break the news to Olivia. And then . . . well I guess I’ll have to tell Harold and Brenda and start planning to go home. I can’t believe it. I feel like I’ve fallen just before the finish line, and it hurts like hell. It’s like all the air has been punched out of me. I thought I could fight back, make something from the ashes of disaster, but I couldn’t.
Shoulders slumped, I start to walk back towards the finca, thinking about how much I’ve loved being here. Miguel is watering the trees on his own. He looks up at me. I hope he’ll be OK, I think, feeling sad that I won’t be around to see him flourish. He just needs to find his path and hopefully he won’t get knocked off it like I have.
As I flick away cross tears of frustration, I hear a vehicle pulling into the car park. I glance around. It’s the post van. The postman leans out and hands Antonio a bundle of letters – mostly bills, if the expression on Antonio’s face is anything to go by. He shuffles through them, then shoves them in his pocket. All except one. He stops and looks at it again, then glances up and waves the letter at me.
I frown, puzzled. Who on earth would be writing to me here at Cortijo Ana?
Chapter Twenty-three
‘For me?’ I point at my chest, checking with Antonio. He looks at the letter again, and nods.
I walk down the hill towards him. Could it be Will? Has he returned the money? Antonio holds the letter out to me with a shrug. I recognise the writing straight away and my spirits plummet. It’s not Will. Why would it be? We’re over. He’s gone. I have to get used to it.
I open the envelope and pull out a letter on headed paper. Something falls out of it and flutters to the floor, dancing around in the breeze. Antonio and I both chase it around a bit, nearly bumping heads. Eventually he traps it with his foot, picks it up without looking at it and hands it to me. I glance at the headed paper, but I know what it is. It’s from Gav’s company. A handwritten note from Olivia. The deposit for her party, it says. Then with a huge flourish, her signature and lots of kisses.
I show it to Antonio. He raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised that my letter should contain anything that might involve him.
‘It’s a cheque,’ I tell him. ‘The deposit for the party my cousin wants to hold here. Look at it.’
He takes it from me and his eyebrows shoot up.
‘This is just the deposit?’ he asks, surprised.
I nod. ‘These people spend a lot of money on these things – birthday parties, hen parties, weddings. They want the world to see how well they’ve done in life. Show it off.’
‘How much money they’ve made, you mean. Doing well and showing people how much money you can spend on a party are not always the same thing.’
‘The rest of the fee would have followed when they flew out in June,’ I say with a resigned sigh, and point to the figure in Olivia’s note.
‘It’s a lot of money,’ he says slowly.
‘Yes,’ I reply, my frustration clearly showing. I look down at the rusting, ancient pump. ‘It would pay for a new one of those, for starters.’ Antonio pulls down the corners of his mouth and nods in resigned agreement. ‘Just think, a whole new watering system. You wouldn’t have to rely on Miguel and me to water the trees. And what about next season, if we’re not here? You’ll definitely need a new system then.’
Antonio is silent, chewing his bottom lip. Briefly I wonder where I will be this time next year. If I can get enough money together, if I can work extra hours in the orchard, washing up in the restaurant and setting up this party, I could make the money I need. This time next year, I could be in the Butterfly Bar.
‘You need a new watering system. I need the work. We both get what we want from this,’ I say persuasively.
Still Antonio says nothing. I hold my breath. Hoping.
‘Can’t she have her party another time of year, not June?’
‘No, her birthday is in June.’ I point out the obvious as patiently as I can.
He falls silent, pondering again, and I think it’s best to say nothing.
‘Why can’t Valentina organise this?’ He looks at me with his dark brown eyes, the colour of the beautiful bay horse in the paddock behind him.
‘Because,’ I sigh, ‘because it’s my name on the cheque. They think . . . they think I own this place, remember?’ I add quietly.
He nods, and I know what he must be thinking. He’s laughing at me. A blush spreads up my neck and into my cheeks.
/> ‘Oh yes. I remember now. And that perhaps . . . I am the washer-upper?’ He looks serious, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. Miguel has that same twinkle when he’s joking.
‘Yes.’ I hang my head, my embarrassment growing by the second. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I know I should have said something, but my cousin . . . well, she’s always looked down at me. I came out here to run a bar with my fiancé, but it hasn’t quite turned out like that. And I’m not ready to own up to it yet.’
‘And she thought this place was yours? You didn’t tell her the truth?’
I let out a deep sigh. ‘It’s a long story. My cousin and I, we have history. She’s always got what she wanted in life, while I seem to be constantly pedalling up blind alleys. Everything she touches just turns to gold, whereas for me, nothing ever quite comes off.’
‘And your fiancé?’ He leans against the fence, one foot on the lower rung. I stare across at the terrace and wrap my arms around myself.
‘He left me. As soon as we got here. Took the money my grandmother left me. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to put down the deposit and rent on a bar. I thought a new life in the sun was just what we needed. A fresh start. I thought that one day soon I’d be getting married – who knows, in a place like this.’ I look around as a gust of wind blows more of the cherry blossom off and it swirls around me.
‘So, no wedding,’ he says in his direct way.
‘No, no wedding. Just years of planning.’ I sigh again. ‘I shouldn’t get engaged. As soon as I start to make plans, it all goes wrong. I was engaged before, you see, but it didn’t work out.’ I give a hollow laugh. ‘My instincts always seem to let me down. I haven’t even told my parents that he’s left me. I thought that if I could earn enough, take on the bar on my own, maybe,’ I swallow hard, ‘maybe he’d come back.’
The realisation hits me hard and shatters the protective casing I’ve been building up around my heart over the past couple of weeks. I didn’t even appreciate that I wanted him back until now. I take a deep breath, allowing the fact to sink in, before carrying on.
‘But even if he didn’t come back, I would have achieved something. I would have my bar to show for it. I wanted to feel my nan would have been proud of me, that I hadn’t wasted the money and opportunity she’d given me.’
I shut my eyes to stop them stinging. Who am I kidding? I can’t go through life pretending I’ve finally made something of myself. It’s never going to happen. I’m going to have to go home and confess. I open my eyes, then put my hand out to take the cheque back and stuff it in the envelope.
‘We all have history. It makes us who we are,’ Antonio says finally, and I can’t help thinking there are hidden depths in those dark eyes that I know he’s not going to share with me. ‘As we get older, we learn to listen with our hearts,’ he places his hand on his, and looks over at Miguel, then back at me, ‘and not with our heads.’
But my heart is too busy noisily breaking in half to make any sense of what he’s said.
‘Look, I should leave,’ I say. ‘It was a moment of madness, this party thing. My stupid pride getting me into trouble again. But,’ I take a second and breathe, ‘I have loved being here, seeing the blossom, meeting the market traders in the harbour, watching you work with the horses and getting to know Miguel. He’s a really great kid.’
‘You seem to have got to know him a lot better than me. He’s still angry with me for leaving him in the first place. I never wanted to be without him, but I don’t know how to tell him. I thought having Valentina back might help, that she might be able to make friends with him too. But maybe,’ he pauses, choosing his words carefully, ‘maybe Valentina is more of a . . . businesswoman.’ We both can’t help but give a laugh, releasing all the tension in the air.
‘Look, organise your party,’ he says, handing me back the cheque.
‘Sorry?’
‘Go ahead. Organise your party.’
‘But . . . but what about Valentina?’
‘I’ll square things with Valentina,’ he says. I have no idea how he’ll manage that, but I don’t ask. ‘Just . . . just stay out of her way.’
‘OK, no problem,’ I tell him, still shocked by his change of heart. My plan, my new life, has suddenly been shoved back on track. ‘I should be able to cover the costs from the deposit, and then that way the final cheque will be profit,’ I gabble. My head is suddenly popping with ideas and I have a spring in my step. I’ll get a new notebook! I may not want to organise another wedding as long as I live, but this . . . well, this is a birthday party, and planning parties is what I know how to do best.
‘Keep a note of your hours and I’ll pay you for that and for the watering,’ Antonio says. ‘Oh, and Beti?’
‘Yes?’ I hope he hasn’t suddenly changed his mind.
‘No flamenco!’
‘OK, no flamenco.’ I smile and nod. I don’t want to ruin this. He’s agreed and that’s all that matters.
‘And do me a favour in return,’ he adds a little more seriously. ‘Keep an eye on Miguel for me.’
‘Of course,’ I reply firmly.
‘I hope this party gives you everything you want.’
I suddenly feel a little prickle in my eyes, not of sadness, but of hope.
‘I hope so too,’ I say gratefully.
‘Now go and help Miguel with the watering, and I’ll break the news to Valentina.’
‘What news?’ I turn to see Valentina standing out on the terrace, like Elsa the ice queen surveying her land, and I swear Antonio gives me the tiniest of winks. But I’m not waiting to find out how she reacts, so I turn and run to join Miguel at the bowser.
‘My turn to pull!’ I shout, stuffing the envelope into my back pocket just as I hear Valentina erupting like firecrackers on fiesta night.
Later, as Miguel and I return the bowser to the barn, I hear soft murmurings from the open apartment window. It sounds as though Antonio and Valentina have moved the discussion and their fireworks upstairs and found a way to finally agree on the matter. Clearly this is a relationship that works well for both of them in that area. If only I could say the same about Will and me. I can’t remember the last time we resolved our differences in that way; in fact, I can’t remember the last time Will looked at me as if he really wanted me at all.
As the sun sets over Cortijo Ana, I arrive to wash up in the kitchen. The CD player is silent and the music channel on the big TV in the bar is on instead. There are just a few customers, looking at their square plates with suspicion, querying and inspecting each other’s food.
I fill the sink with hot water and bubbles and turn to take a small pile of plates from Valentina. But she holds on to them tightly and raises a pencilled eyebrow at me.
‘You may have got your party to organise,’ she hisses, ‘but don’t imagine you can get your claws into anything or anyone else around here!’
Oh God! She thinks I’m after Antonio. She couldn’t be further from the truth. There is nothing about him that I find attractive. He’s moody and loud, and his hair is as unruly and unpredictable as he is. I go for smaller men, not big bears like him. I mean, look at Will: slight, funny, charming, stylish, popular. Antonio looks as if he could clear a room with that scowl. I wouldn’t go near him if she paid me!
‘Oh no, I really wouldn’t . . .’ I start, but she’s not listening. ‘Don’t go getting your feet under the table. When the cherry harvest is over and your party is done, so will you be. And don’t imagine anyone here is going to help you organise it. They work for me!’ She releases the plates and they catapult into the soapy water, soaking me and letting me know exactly where I stand: on my own, again.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘Miguel! Hurry up or we’ll miss the bus!’
Honestly! I’ve no idea where he’s been disappearing to over the past ten days, since Antonio agreed to the party. As April has
slipped into the start of May, the sun has turned up its brightness a notch, and we’ve been watering like mad. We’ve been so busy, I’ve only made it to the harbour a couple of times. But the last time we went down there, we nearly missed the bus back. Miguel turned up, out of breath, laughing and apologising, just as the driver was closing the doors. And now he’s disappeared up to his room to get showered and changed and we’re in danger of missing it again! I’m the sort of person who likes to be there in plenty of time, not leave it until the last minute. This boy is doing nothing for my stress levels.
‘Miguel! Hurry! I want to get to the shops before they close for lunch.’ I need to go to the bank and see that the cheque has cleared, and then buy a new notebook. I want to sit in the Butterfly Bar and jot down the ideas I’ve been scribbling down on an order pad I borrowed from Frank. But what I really want to do is find out what’s going on with Miguel, like I promised Antonio. Where does he go? Who is he meeting? I’ve become genuinely fond of him; he really is a great lad, funny and helpful. It would be awful if he was to get in with the wrong crowd again.
‘Hello, love!’ Brenda comes out to greet me as I pull my new notebook from its paper bag, along with a pen with a light-blue gem on the top. She puts a steaming cup of frothy coffee down in front of me. ‘How’s it all going? You look like you mean business.’ She nods to the open notebook and the blank page.
‘I do, Brenda, I do!’ I look around at the little bar. ‘I have plans.’ I can’t help but beam.
‘You look very pleased with yourself, I must say.’
‘Well, I think I might have got things sorted.’ I finally feel confident that it’s going to go ahead. For the first few days I was certain something else was going to go wrong, but now the cheque is in the bank, I feel I can talk about it. ‘I’ve found more work. I’m doing an event, putting on a party for my cousin. She wants it to be the best thirtieth her friends have seen. With the extra hours I’m going to have to do up at the restaurant, it should give me the money I need to take over from you in June!’ My cheeks hurt I’m grinning so widely.
