by Jo Thomas
Their smiles are infectious.
‘Agreed!’
And suddenly my impossible task looks like it might just be doable. The three of us gaze at each other, the excitement palpable.
Nothing can stop this happening now.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘You want to hold the party in the old barn next to the finca?’ Antonio asks.
‘Yes, it’s perfect, and well out of Valentina’s way,’ I explain.
He rolls his head from side to side thoughtfully. ‘That place hasn’t been used in years,’ he says. It’s clear that he can see the advantages of me keeping the party away from Valentina and the restaurant, but he’s still reluctant to agree.
‘Miguel has offered to help me.’ I nudge Miguel, who nods enthusiastically.
‘Yes, no problem.’ He smiles widely.
‘OK, OK. It’s a deal. But Beti . . .’ Antonio stops me in my tracks as he slides the bridle off the sweating horse he has been exercising.
‘I know, I know . . . No flamenco!’ I hold up my hands and feel myself blushing guiltily.
‘Now let’s get to work putting on the rest of the nets. Very soon the drop will come – that is the time when many of the new buds will fall and we will know exactly what kind of a harvest we will be having this year. Let’s pray for a good one!’
As we all nod in agreement, I feel that Antonio and Miguel are finally on the same page, dancing to the same tune. If not quite in harmony yet, they’re moving closer.
I can’t wait to tell Brenda and Harold my new plan . . . It’s going to be brilliant, and I know they’ll be excited for me. I can’t help but feel in celebratory mood. Plan Butterfly Bar is firmly back on track!
Antonio has returned the colt to its paddock and Miguel and I have started walking up to the barn when we all stop and turn at the sound of an old car belching its way into the car park. Miguel stands and stares. Then he says, ‘Oh no.’
The handbrake is yanked on with a crunch and the car doors slowly open. Antonio straightens up and stands very tall. Valentina comes out on to the veranda to see what’s going on, her heels making a clicking sound. No one moves as a Cuban-heeled boot appears out of the driver’s door. It is followed by a man dressed in a tight-fitting black shirt and thigh-clinging jeans with a big ornate black belt. He slides out and looks around, nodding appreciatively.
From the passenger door emerges a woman with long dark flowing hair, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans with high-heeled shoes, a scarf around her shoulders with long tassels hanging over her upper arms and elbows. She stands with her chin held high, looking around slowly, like a meerkat taking in its surroundings. No one moves; no one speaks. We stand watching as the wind whips up the tassels on her scarf.
It’s as if tumbleweed has rolled into town, signalling that trouble is close behind. The man grabs the heavy belt around his slim hips and pulls it up with both hands. Then the couple approach the veranda, where Antonio joins Valentina, his good mood completely evaporated.
‘Who is that?’ I whisper to Miguel.
‘That,’ he says with a huge sigh, ‘is my mother, and her partner, Felipe. What on earth could they want?’
We look at each other in dismay, knowing there is only one reason for her to be here: to take Miguel home.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Miguel and I come to stand with Antonio and Valentina on the terrace.
‘Are you going to send me back?’ Miguel whispers to Antonio.
Antonio spins round, and for a moment the two of them stare at each other.
‘Do you want to go back?’ He nods towards Miguel’s mother and her partner, who are still taking in their surroundings.
Miguel looks like a young boy, scared. He gives a tiny shake of his head.
‘Then absolutely not!’ Antonio says with force, and I see Valentina’s lips purse.
Antonio puts his arm around Miguel’s shoulders and draws him to stand beside him. I see Miguel relax a little. Valentina, on the other hand, tenses some more.
‘Esmeralda, what brings you here, away from the city?’ asks Antonio.
‘I’ve come to see my son, of course.’ She smiles at Miguel but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t move forward to hug him, like I’d expect a mother to do.
I see Antonio’s fingers tighten on Miguel’s shoulder, and my stomach twists into a knot. I may only have known this little family for a short time, but somehow, they matter. I step forward to stand beside Antonio.
‘So . . . this is your girlfriend, Valentina?’ Esmeralda nods to me and looks me up and down, making me feel about as small as a mouse.
‘No . . .’ Antonio begins, but Esmeralda isn’t listening.
‘I am Valentina!’ Valentina declares, and Esmeralda gives her the same assessment, though this time a little less disapproving.
‘It’s a long time since I’ve been here.’ She struts around the patio and then looks up at the farmhouse. ‘I see nothing much has changed.’ She glances over towards Antonio’s barns, where a huge pile of logs is waiting to be chopped. There is a bridle hanging on the gate. ‘Still mad about his horses, I see,’ she says, addressing no one in particular.
I wish I had the nerve to say yes, he’s amazing with horses. That I’ve seen how he is with the stallion that was left for dead, how gentle he is with the mare and firm but fair with the young colt. And how desperate he is to find a way to connect with the son he’s only just met. But I say nothing. I feel like a schoolgirl in front of a bully, waiting to be dealt my punishment.
‘Glad to see you’ve got rid of all the old farm stuff. At least it looks as if it’s trying to join the twenty-first century.’ She looks me up and down again. ‘Who are you? Staff?’
I don’t respond. I’m too angry to speak, fury bubbling up in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea why I feel so defensive of Antonio, but I do. How dare this woman talk to him like this? Miguel’s shoulders have dropped, along with his head. Just like when he first arrived here. Gone is the laughing boy that I have got to know. He’s back to being that closed-in teenager, shunning the outside world.
I know Antonio has sensed it too.
‘What do you want, Esmeralda?’ Like a prisoner waiting for their sentence, we all want this over and done with.
‘I told you, I came to see my son. He sent me pictures.’
‘Which you never responded to!’ Antonio’s nostrils flare.
‘I wanted to see for myself what kind of a life you were making for him here.’ She lifts her chin. ‘Not much of one by the looks of it. But still . . . as long as he’s not in trouble.’
‘He’s not coming back with you.’ Antonio cuts across her in a raised voice, barely containing the fire that is obviously burning inside him. He may not know Miguel that well yet, but it’s clear he feels passionately about him. Miguel snaps his head up and looks at him, for the first time with a glint of admiration in his eyes, and unexpected tears spring into mine.
But instead of arguing with him, Esmeralda throws her head back and laughs. Then she stops just as suddenly.
‘Oh, I think he’s served his punishment now. He won’t cause me any more trouble.’
Punishment? She threw him out, called Antonio, knowing he’d take him in, as punishment? She didn’t send him here to spend time with Antonio, but to teach Miguel a lesson? Shock reverberates through the air. I have never heard anything more hurtful!
Antonio’s knuckles whiten as he grips on to Miguel’s shoulder. But Miguel’s head isn’t drooping any more. He’s holding it high, just like Antonio, their profiles mirroring each other as I glance sideways at them.
‘You’ve seen he’s well,’ Antonio says. ‘You can leave. There’s nothing else here for you.’
I’m so infuriated and enraged, my heart is pounding like it’s trying to punch its way out of
my chest. Let’s hope they do just that. Leave! Leave us all to get on with the lives we’ve started to build here. And suddenly it strikes me that I am building a life; a life without Will. This is just me here; just Beti. Not Will’s fiancée; not the girl with three failed engagements under her belt.
I wish Esmeralda would go, but more than that, I wish she would hug Miguel, tell him how much she loves him. Tell him how proud she is of him. But she doesn’t. Instead she says to Antonio, ‘I am still your wife. And I have needs. With Miguel old enough to leave school, we are free to travel. We want to go on the road again with flamenco, follow in the footsteps of our forefathers and be free spirits.’
‘Fine, send us a postcard,’ Antonio says dismissively and turns his back on her.
‘Like I say, Antonio,’ Esmeralda’s voice is slow and controlled, ‘I am still your wife and I need to collect what is mine.’
Antonio turns back slowly. Does she mean Miguel? Surely he won’t let that happen?
‘You know what I want, Antonio . . . And since you have ignored all my messages, I have come to get it myself.’
Antonio says nothing.
‘You need me to spell it out?’ There is a smile at the corner of her mouth, teasing, victorious, and the bubble of fury is rising in my stomach again. ‘I want what I am owed. Half of this place!’ She looks around. ‘If you can’t buy me out, you’ll need to sell and give me what is mine.’
Miguel and I both gasp. Valentina lets out a squeal of outrage.
‘Never!’ Antonio practically growls.
‘I am still your wife.’ Esmeralda raises her chin further.
‘Only in name. This place belonged to my grandparents, and their parents before that. I will never sell up! You are owed nothing.’
‘I mean it. I want what is mine,’ she replies.
And suddenly I see a passion in Antonio that I thought was lying dormant but seems now to have roared into life.
Chapter Thirty
‘How dare you!’ Antonio marches with slow, measured determination towards the pair, dust flying up from under his boots. Felipe instinctively takes two tiny steps back before steadying himself and jabbing out his chest, but Esmeralda doesn’t move an inch. She lifts her chin to Antonio’s enraged face and stares straight at him. There is a taunting smile playing round her lips, as if she is enjoying his reaction. He is looking down at her, his chin lifted too. His nostrils are flaring.
Miguel goes to follow, but I put a hand on his arm and hold him back.
‘Stay here,’ I say, feeling that if he gets involved it could turn really unpleasant.
‘I am your wife and I want what is mine. Half of this place,’ Esmeralda repeats.
‘What, now that my generous monthly payments for Miguel’s keep have stopped, you’re looking for another way to make money?’
‘What? You told me he never paid a penny towards my upkeep.’ Miguel looks at his mother, surprise written all over his face.
‘Pah!’ Antonio practically spits. ‘I suppose she told you I never tried to contact you either, never wrote or sent gifts on your birthday.’
‘She did.’ Miguel looks incredulous.
Antonio looks over his shoulder at his son.
‘I sent letters every year, with your birthday and Christmas gifts,’ he says slowly and quietly. ‘And invited you to come and stay, every year. But I was told you didn’t want to know.’
Then he turns back to Esmeralda, his face thunderous. Just for a moment, she looks uncomfortable.
‘I didn’t want to confuse the boy. His life was with me and Felipe.’ She finds her footing again and lifts her chin in defiance.
‘I told you. There is nothing for you here. You are entitled to nothing. This place was in my family before I met and married you.’ Antonio rolls his eyes up before fixing his stare back on Esmeralda. His chest is rising and falling with every quick and angry breath he draws in and pushes out.
She turns away from him, and slowly and steadily starts to walk a large circle around him, her heel hitting the ground first with each deliberate step, before rolling her foot forward, her elbows lifted, her hands on her hips, her gaze taking in the farmhouse and the veranda.
‘A place like this must be worth a lot of money, with the tourists all wanting to come to Spain.’ She waves a hand in the direction of the coast and the resorts that have sprung up all the way along it. ‘So either you buy me out or put this place on the market. It would be snapped up in no time.’
‘Never!’ Antonio spits.
‘We’ve spoken to the lawyer. You’ve had the letters.’ Felipe speaks for the first time, tucking his thumbs into his belt.
Esmeralda stops pacing and turns to Antonio. ‘I have brought up your child. We have given the boy a home for the last seventeen years!’
I grip Miguel’s shoulder, worried that this might spill over into a fight, my heart racing. Antonio clenches his fists.
‘Huh, some home!’ he says. ‘A home with no love, no warmth. A settee for the boy to sleep on in your sister’s crowded apartment.’
‘It is more than you have done!’
‘You wouldn’t let me near him!’ Antonio’s fury is suddenly unleashed. ‘You kept me away, no matter how hard I tried to be a father! You have admitted you even hid the letters I sent!’
She lets out a sneering laugh. ‘What kind of a father would you have been?’
‘One who works hard and could have given him a life and a home! A home full of love.’
‘One who has forgotten where he came from, forgotten his roots, his passion!’
‘If anyone has forgotten, it’s you!’ Antonio explodes.
‘Me?’ She looks him up and down.
‘You were nobody when I met you. I taught you all you know.’
‘You taught me? Ha!’
‘You knew nothing about . . .’ He stops himself.
‘Say it!’ she taunts. ‘You have forgotten who you are; you cannot even say the word.’
‘Flamenco,’ he says evenly. ‘You knew nothing about flamenco before you met me.’
‘I wish I had never met you. People shunning us for your radical moves, for not sticking to the traditions. You were an embarrassment. You made a show of me!’
‘I made you. I made you the dancer that you became. People would come for miles to see us dance.’
‘And I would still be that dancer if I hadn’t had to bring up a child for the past seventeen years!’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I feel like I’m intruding, as if I shouldn’t be here, in the middle of this family feud. But I’m rooted to the spot. I can feel Miguel’s whole body shrinking back, like he’s been hit right in his solar plexus.
‘Yes, people came, but only because they had heard of your radical ways, your way of dancing. And look at you now. As soon as we married, as soon as the baby was coming, you wanted to turn your back on it all. Settle down. Be like other people. You forgot who you really were.’
‘No!’ he shouts, making me jump. ‘I shut the door on that part of my life the day . . . the day you told me you were leaving me, with my unborn child, with him!’ He points at Felipe.
Esmeralda looks between the two men. ‘Felipe is a much better partner than you. It is not called the fire dance for no reason. He still has the fire in his belly. Whereas you . . .’ she turns up her nose, ‘you would rather be watering cherry trees.’ She flicks out a dismissive wrist.
‘I have a good life here. I could have given my son a loving home if you’d let me. I am still trying to.’ He looks back briefly at Miguel.
‘I thought he didn’t want me,’ Miguel says quietly, and I squeeze him to me. ‘I thought that’s why he never came.’
‘If it had not been for him, I would have had a life of my own!’ Esmeralda exclaims. ‘I am a dancer with a name, someone people want to
see.’
‘No!’ Antonio shouts again, then drops his voice. ‘You were a dancer who people wanted to see because of me.’ It is as if he is finally saying what has been locked away for so long. ‘It was my dancing they came to see. I taught you all you know,’ he says finally and evenly. ‘It could have been anyone.’
She shakes her head. ‘If I was such a beginner, such a nobody . . .’ She is walking again, deliberate steps, heel to toe, holding one hand on her hip, the other in the air, her little finger curling first, the other fingers following. ‘If I was such a beginner . . .’ she repeats, ‘if it could have been anybody . . .’ Antonio follows her with his eyes as she walks, as we all do, as she commands our attention.
‘Enough of this.’ Antonio raises a hand, as if breaking the spell she is trying to weave. ‘I have work to do. You’ve seen the boy is safe and well. Now go! On your way.’
‘Not until I get what I have come here for. We plan to travel. Set up a flamenco troupe and go on the road, back to our real roots.’ She looks around dismissively at the farm. ‘Miguel will join us.’
‘Never! Miguel has no interest in flamenco.’
I can’t help but look at Miguel as his cheeks go slightly pink and his jaw twitches.
‘It is you who owes me, Esmeralda, not the other way round. For the years of fatherhood you stole from me. For the dancer I made you.’
‘I never wanted him. He ruined my life!’
Miguel slumps into me, his head dropping forward. I wrap my arm around his waist and stand as strong as I can, feeling his heartbreak.
‘All those years I have had to bring him up and put a roof over his head. It is time he repaid me, by dancing with the troupe.’
‘Leave! Now!’ Antonio is furious.
‘If you think you made me . . . do it again!’ she says with a wicked glint in her eyes.
‘What?’
‘Do it again. Teach someone else to dance like you taught me.’ She smiles at Felipe, who is frowning, confused.
‘Pah!’ Antonio dismisses her.
