Sunset over the Cherry Orchard

by Jo Thomas

  We both take a moment. He’s the first to speak, quietly, and it makes my skin tingle.

  ‘But you have it in you to dance this dance. I know you can. We have just the final verse to learn, the most heartfelt one. It won’t be easy, but you can do it. This is when you learn to be a flamenco woman with pride in her heart and passion in her belly. You will learn to hold yourself with confidence at all times, to invite your audience to look at you. We will teach your man Will that he can look but not touch, no matter how much he desires you, until you permit it. He will be begging you to take him back, praying for your forgiveness and determined never to stray again.’

  My skin is now on fire. I am zinging with anticipation. My eyes are wide and my breathing shallow, making my chest rise and fall.

  ‘Become a flamenco woman,’ Antonio continues, and every word makes me come alive a little more. ‘You have already shown you have it in you. Remember how you felt in the cherry orchard and how you stood up for Miguel? That is passion. Feel it. Use it.’

  ‘But you told me I knew nothing about flamenco and your ways,’ I say as quietly as him, like the calm before the storm, feeling like I’m just about to go on the ride of my life. Sick, terrified and excited beyond anything I have ever known.

  ‘I was wrong. I’m sorry. We may not be from the same tree, but we come from the same root, you and me. We have loved and lost. Use it when you express yourself. Let him come to you, but do not let him touch. As in the dance, give a look to invite him to you, and then snatch it away. Until you know he wants you more than life itself. You will help me safeguard my home and I will help you get your heart’s desire. It’s a deal. You want him back? I will show you how.’

  I look at his softened face and then at the dress.

  ‘I know my grandmother would think you are a worthy person to wear this.’ He holds it out to me and I take it, a lump in my throat.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, my voice tight with emotion.

  ‘Put it on,’ a smile spreads across his face, ‘and let’s see how it makes you feel.’

  A shiver runs up and down my spine.

  Chapter Forty-two

  I come down from the upstairs apartment as carefully as I can, lifting the folds of fabric to my stomach and placing my feet deliberately in the red and white shoes that Antonio bought me. I’ve brushed my hair and retied it into a pleat.

  In the bar, the shutters are down and the chairs and tables pushed back to the wall. Antonio has lit small tea lights from a shelf behind the bar and placed them along the polished counter and on the tables, giving the whole place a soft orange glow. This is how it should look, I think, and my stomach does a quick stamp, stamp, like it’s started practising the dance without me.

  Antonio turns when he hears me and I swear he catches his breath.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he says finally, holding out a hand for me to join him in the middle of the bar area.

  I feel like a butterfly: light, beautiful, yet with wings that could take me anywhere.

  ‘Thank you. And for this.’ I hold up the front of the dress and look around.

  He smiles another rare but very attractive smile. ‘You deserve it. You are a beautiful woman,’ he says, and my stomach starts up its dance again.

  ‘Now, let’s get to work!’ He gives a single, firm nod, and with a CD playing, we begin putting the final verse of the song in place. There in the soft candlelight he shows me the steps.

  ‘This third verse is more extravagant. After the first verse of meeting, the second of sussing each other out, now it gets passionate. This is where we use the foot stamps and your fire.’ We dance in the candlelight, looking into each other’s eyes, moving around one another as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  Suddenly there’s a banging on the patio doors, making me leap out of my skin, shattering the moment. Is it Will? Valentina? Esmeralda? Have the villagers heard about our plan to dance?

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ I hear the familiar voice and I feel like I’ve been caught throwing a party while my parents are away.

  ‘What’s that banging, Harold?’ says a second familiar voice, making me smile.

  ‘Beti? You all right, love? Don’t worry, we’re coming in!’ The shutter door rattles as the key goes in and the shutter starts to wind up. There on the other side of the patio doors are Harold and Brenda.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ says Brenda, looking around at the candlelit bar. She takes in my dress, and then catches sight of Antonio.

  ‘You’re a day early,’ I laugh. I’m just so relieved it isn’t an angry Valentina thinking we’re up to no good – which we aren’t, I tell myself firmly. We’re just practising.

  ‘Harold had had enough,’ says Brenda, bustling through the door with her big beach bag. ‘Said the beer was rubbish, as was the weather, and we’re worn out being babysitters twenty-four seven. I mean, I love the kiddies and my daughter, but God, it’s hard work! We’ve come home for a rest. What’s going on here?’ She looks around at the candles again with a beady eye.

  ‘Um, well, we’re practising. For a surprise for my cousin’s birthday party. No one must know.’ I hate myself for lying, but I can’t think how else to keep this secret. ‘This is Antonio, from the cherry farm where I live and work.’ Antonio nods to Brenda and then Harold.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, love. My lips are sealed.’ Brenda gives a big wink. ‘Now, who’s for a cherry brandy?’ and she slides behind the bar, looking like she’s happy to be back where she belongs.

  ‘Ah, from my village.’ Antonio nods at the bottle.

  ‘Really? It’s lovely.’ Brenda hugs the bottle to her.

  ‘I hope there will be more this year.’ Antonio looks wistful, and I know that he’s hoping he’ll still have a farm to grow the cherries on. He looks at Brenda and Harold. ‘Nice to meet you both. I have heard a lot about you.’ Then he turns to me. ‘Valentina will be waiting,’ he says, dropping his voice. ‘Buenas noches, Beti,’ and it’s like the cherry orchard all over again, when I let passion get the better of me. A few stray fireworks, like bangers from a fiesta, go off in my belly.

  ‘Buenas noches,’ I say quietly, and shut the door behind him.

  ‘He seems nice,’ says Brenda, sipping her cherry brandy.

  ‘Nice isn’t how you’d describe Antonio,’ I tell her, tidying up our glasses.

  ‘How would you describe him?’ she asks as Harold comes in lugging two big suitcases.

  ‘Fiery, passionate, caring, would walk over hot coals for the people and animals he loves.’

  ‘Just like you, Harold.’ Brenda laughs and then looks at my dress again. ‘Cracking frock, love, though it could do with a bit of gussying up. I could do it if you like? A few fake flowers, some tassels . . .’

  ‘Actually, Brenda,’ I smile, ‘I think I like it just the way it is. No frills. A bit like me.’

  ‘All right, love,’ says Brenda, looking at her watch. ‘It’s late. You’d better stay here tonight. You won’t get a bus at this time . . .’

  After a good old catch-up, I fall asleep on the sofa in the apartment, not counting steps this time, but feeling like I’m dancing free. Only I’m not dancing with Will like I’ve dreamed of in the past; this time I’m with Antonio, and I’m dancing on air.

  Outside, on the side street next to the precinct, beneath the orange glow of the street lamp, Antonio leaned his back against his truck. This way, he thought, I can help her get her fiancé back, and then she won’t fall in love with me. She mustn’t ever know how he’d started to feel about her, and neither must Valentina. He must concentrate on Valentina. He had never been the man she wanted him to be. This would just confirm to her that he had been running away from commitment for years. But even if he wasn’t with Valentina, he had nothing for Beti. This time in ten days, he might have lost everything – his home and his livelihood.


  He took a big breath and suddenly had a strong urge to be back on the farm, drinking in the night air under the big sky, not surrounded by concrete towers blocking out the sky and the smells from the hills behind. He climbed into his truck and drove away from the harbour, trying not to replay their dance over and over in his head.

  Chapter Forty-three

  ‘Bye, love! Thanks for everything!’ Brenda waves me off with a hug and a kiss as I leave the bar with my backpack the next morning. I look around, but Will is nowhere to be seen, and I wonder where he is. We wouldn’t have met yesterday if it hadn’t been for the row at the farm and Harold feeling homesick. It seems like fate has brought us back together again, and now Antonio has a plan for me to win back everything I ever wanted.

  I turn and look at the bar as the bus pulls up. I can see the Facebook status now – me and Will standing in front of the Butterfly Bar, smiling, thumbs up: ‘Made it!’ I won’t have to tell my family about yet another failure after all.

  I drink in the familiar route up from the harbour. When the bus pulls up in the village, the driver wishes me his usual cheery ‘Adios!’ and I step out on to the narrow whitewashed street.

  The woman from the souvenir shop is putting out the board draped with scarves. She smiles and waves at me in recognition, and I raise a hand back. I call a greeting to the taverna owner, who is setting out tables and chairs in the square, then stroll up the lane beside the church and in through the white stone gatepost. As I make my way through the line of cherry trees, I breathe in deeply. It feels good to be back, I realise. As if I’m coming home.

  Ana the cat comes trotting down the path, meowing loudly and noisily, as if telling me off for being away. She weaves around my legs, entreating me, and then darts away as I try and stroke her. She is like a flamenco dancer, appearing aloof but knowing her own beauty, dipping her head, inviting me in and then snatching herself away before I can touch her. Finally, she lets me rub her head, and when I do, she purrs happily, shedding her cold indifference and letting me know she forgives me.

  As I walk up past the restaurant, I hear raised voices. I stick my head in to say hello to Frank, who kisses me with unexpected gusto on both cheeks. Even Bonita looks pleased to see me back, smiling before she starts complaining loudly about Miguel’s lack of washing-up skills. I’m surprised to see them there in the daytime, and Frank tells me with a grimace that Bonita is working on Valentina’s new recipes.

  ‘They are impossible!’ Bonita cries. ‘No entiendo! I don’t understand them!’ Her face starts to crumple and she mops it with a tea towel.

  ‘Valentina has told her to learn how to make these things, “toad in a hole” and “beef in a wellington”, or lose her job,’ Frank tells me, shrugging and shaking his head.

  ‘What? But that’s terrible! Can I help?’ I put my rucksack down on the floor behind the back door.

  ‘Can you cook these things? You are British,’ says Bonita, suddenly brightening up.

  I shake my head. ‘Sadly, cooking has never been my strong point. I can do burgers on a grill, to a timer, and that’s it.’

  Bonita’s shoulders slump again and the tears begin to slide down her face.

  ‘Years I have worked here. Practically all my life. I worked for Antonio’s grandparents cooking proper rustic meals, like my mother taught me, but now . . . This is impossible.’

  ‘Look, don’t be upset. I think I might be able to help. I met a British couple in the market. I’m going to use them for Olivia’s party. They’re both chefs. They do private dinner parties for the holiday villas, but they also sell tapas at the market and home-cooked ready meals for holidaymakers. I’m sure they’d be happy to help. I could get them to supply frozen portions, and you can send it out on plates as if it’s your own. No one need know. Especially not Valentina. And I’d get us a good price for a bigger order. I’m sure we could make it work. Tell you what. In return, you could make them some of your almond and cherry cake!’

  She brightens up, dabbing her face. ‘It may not be what the customers want here, but it is what Valentina wants, and it could save my job,’ she says gratefully. ‘Gracias, Beti.’

  I smile, grab my rucksack and pull out my phone, making the call as I walk towards the zigzag path that leads to my finca. As I do, I hear a commotion from the horses’ enclosure. I turn back.

  ‘Miguel? Is that you? Are you OK?’

  ‘Hey, Beti! You’re back! Yes, fine,’ he calls, sounding slightly strained.

  A moment later, he appears from round the corner, bouncing around in the saddle of the grey mare, Mamá.

  ‘Whoa!’ he says, pulling on the reins like washing lines, so he has to lean right back, nearly tumbling off the horse’s hindquarters. I grab hold of the rein, while Miguel rights himself in the saddle and shortens the reins.

  ‘Hey! Great to have you back!’ he beams, still looking very unsteady.

  ‘It’s great to be back,’ I say, and I realise I mean it. I’ve missed them all. ‘What are you doing up there? I didn’t think you could ride.’ I’m still holding the horse and patting its beautiful rounded neck under its long wavy mane.

  ‘Antonio needs help with the horses. So that’s what I’m doing.’ He waves a hand at the mare and nearly topples out of the saddle again.

  ‘Really? I thought you were terrified of them.’

  ‘Some things are worth getting over your fear for,’ he beams, and winks.

  ‘Miguel, I’m so sorry about what happened in the barn. I wasn’t thinking when Antonio started heading up there. It was my fault. I was . . . distracted.’ I can’t think of any other way of explaining what happened between me and Antonio. ‘I’m sorry you and Sophia won’t be seeing each other any more. I thought you were the most amazing dancers I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen a lot, but you were . . . well, just beautiful together.’

  ‘No worries, Beti. It was bound to happen sooner or later.’ He suddenly looks downcast.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask, looking up at Miguel. He sighs, deeply.

  ‘There is a competition, a few miles away. In a town where flamenco is allowed!’ he says with sarcasm. ‘Pedro, the guitarist, he thinks we should enter. We could begin to make a name for ourselves, and maybe even the start of a career. But we can’t go.’ He shrugs again and the corners of his mouth turn down. ‘Antonio would never allow it.’

  I think for a moment. ‘I could cover for you,’ I suggest. ‘Say you’ve got a headache. That you’ve gone to bed early.’

  He shakes his head. ‘We would need to stay overnight. It’s a long way and there are no buses late at night.’

  ‘You could be back here early in the morning,’ I say. ‘It would be fine.’ There I go again, weaving a web of untruths! But it would be worth it, surely. It could change everything for him. ‘And Pedro thinks you have a chance?’

  ‘He says we have a real chance, not just at this competition but as dancers known throughout Spain. He thinks we could go all the way,’ Miguel says sadly.

  A thrill of excitement goes through me like a shooting star.

  ‘Then you must go!’ I tell him.

  Again he shakes his head. ‘It’s impossible. We would need clothes, shoes and money for buses and hostel. I have none, and I can’t ask Antonio. Not with how things are. He has enough to worry about, with the horses to feed, the cherry harvest, and your dance-off too . . .’

  ‘You have to find a way to keep going. You and Sophia are so good. I’m sure you’ll find a way of getting your dream if you keep at it,’ I say, wishing I could help.

  ‘And like I say,’ he says deliberately and slowly, waggling the reins, ‘some things are worth getting over your fear for.’ He raises his eyebrows at me as if willing me to understand what he’s saying.

  Slowly the euro starts to drop. ‘Oh . . . and would you be going far on the horse?’ I ask.

  �
��Hmm,’ he says. ‘Maybe just to the next village.’

  ‘To the next village where Sophia lives?’ I break into a smile, and Miguel suddenly looks around seriously, clearly worried that Antonio might hear. ‘Well, have fun and stay safe,’ I say. ‘I mean it, be careful!’ I let go of the horse’s rein, and Miguel sets off unsteadily down the long drive.

  ‘Adios!’ I call after him, and he raises a hand but quickly returns it to the reins to try and stay in some sort of control.

  I smile. I’m happy for him. Despite understanding why Antonio is so against flamenco, I’m glad that Miguel and Sophia are still dancing. This is a wonderful opportunity for him. A possibility of a whole new life, away from gangs and away from his mother. This could be his chance to find his own way, instead of trying to do what others think he should do. He’s risking everything to meet Sophia, to follow what’s in his heart. Something I should have learned to do a long time ago, instead of always looking for other people’s approval.

  ‘Wait!’ I shout before I’ve really thought this through. I run down the drive, my rucksack wobbling on my back, warm almond cake from Bonita in a tin-foil parcel in my hand. I pass Miguel the cake, put my rucksack on the floor and open it, pulling out my money jar and thrusting it up at him. ‘Take this.’

  ‘What? I can’t take that!’ He looks as if I’m a pirate handing him the black spot.

  ‘You can. You have to. This is your chance to go and make something of your life. Take the money. Buy your shoes and clothes and use whatever you need for fares, hotels and food. Make sure you eat!’ I add.

  He looks at the money jar. ‘But this is for your bar, your dream. The one you came here for,’ he says quietly.

  ‘And it still will be. Once the party happens, Antonio will be able to pay me for my hours and I’ll be fine. Harold and Brenda will understand that I can’t pay until then. With the hours I’ve put in, I’m going to have more than enough. Take the money. Take it!’ I insist. It feels good to be able to help Miguel with his dream and know I’ll still be able to have mine.