Sunset over the Cherry Orchard

by Jo Thomas

  He reaches out a hand and takes the money jar while the horse stands patiently still.

  ‘Go and do it! Grab your dreams and don’t let go! I should have done this years ago. But at least I’m here now, not still sitting at home thinking “Is this it?” and “What if I’d gone?” You can’t live life with “what ifs”; you have to follow your heart!’ I tell him, feeling hot and suddenly a little teary.

  ‘No one has ever done anything like this for me before,’ Miguel says, then he suddenly leans forward to hug me and I have to practically catch him before he falls off the horse altogether. Once he is safely back in the saddle, he puts the jar in his bag, slung across his body. ‘Thank you, Beti. I will never forget this. I will pay you back somehow.’

  ‘Just go! You’ll be amazing,’ I tell him. ‘And bring me the change!’ I call after him, remembering my mum sending me off to the shops. I never did give her the change, and she never asked either. I wave him off down the lane, and then turn and text the chefs from the market for Bonita, feeling a huge swell of pride in my chest.

  As I reach the final little slope up to the finca, enjoying the sun on my neck and shoulders, I look up. My heart lurches and then starts to thunder loudly. Antonio is waiting by the barn.

  ‘Buenos días, Beti.’

  I blush. I’m not sure if it’s because of what I’ve just told Miguel to do, or what I’m doing for Bonita. Or that I remember how I felt dancing with Antonio last night and the dreams that followed.

  ‘Buenos días, Antonio.’ I press send on my final text and shove my phone in my bag, next to my big, full notebook.

  ‘Are you ready to pick up where we left off last night?’

  I bite my lip nervously, still thinking about my dreams. He looks at me with his dark brown eyes, as if trying to read my thoughts.

  ‘Ready to get your man back?’ he asks, and the dreams evaporate like the early-morning mist that weaves its way through the trees in the cherry orchard before the sun comes up; in its place, something more tangible. Will. Beti and Will. The perfect couple, back together, as it used to be. More than anything, though, I realise I want to learn this dance for Antonio and Miguel, for their home and their future. I’m terrified of doing it, but then I remember Miguel making his secret plans to see Sophia. Some things are worth getting over your fear for, I think.

  ‘I am,’ I reply.

  ‘Let’s get to work then.’ He opens up the door to the big space waiting to be filled with music and dance again. Pedro the guitarist is there waiting, sitting by the fireplace, just like when he played for Sophia and Miguel.

  ‘Hey, Pedro.’ I smile warmly at the man who has given Miguel his purpose in life. Antonio must have been to the harbour and asked him to come.

  ‘Hola, Beti.’ He smiles broadly back from under his big white moustache. I can see the gaps where teeth once were. His rosy cheeks are covered in white stubble that matches his thick wavy hair. His arm is slung over his guitar, which rests on his thick thigh clad in faded jeans. ‘I have heard a lot about you, Beti,’ he says, and plucks a few notes with a flourish and a twinkle in his eye. I am terrified but excited all at the same time.

  I slide my feet into my shoes, loving the feeling they give me. They make me stand tall. They make me feel that I can do this.

  Chapter Forty-four

  The next morning, as if sensing my return, the watering system splutters, spits and dies for good, judging by Antonio’s fury as he stands over the pump, shouting, before finally kicking it and throwing up his hands.

  ‘Looks like it’s back to watering the trees by hand,’ he tells me, coming to find me on the terrace of my finca. ‘But the harvest shouldn’t be too far away now. Maybe two weeks at the most.’ Just after the dance-off in eight days’ time. ‘The longer the cherries can stay on the trees, the better.’ He looks up at the sky, as he seems to be doing constantly now, checking the clouds and the weather.

  For the next few days, I stamp and count my way through the orchard, waving the hose in the direction of the trees as I mark through the dance. Miguel, when he’s not pulling the bowser, claps and occasionally shouts, ‘Olé!’ when he thinks I’ve done well. It’s all hands on deck. Antonio is in the orchard too, checking the nets stay intact, making repairs, helping with watering.

  ‘At least once this party is over,’ I tell him, tipping my head to the barn, ‘you’ll have enough for a new watering system.’ I remind myself to check the bar prices for drinkers who want something other than the sangria and wine on offer. The bar alone could be a big money-spinner. ‘Olivia and Gav will be here the day after tomorrow. Then you’ll get the cheque.’

  ‘If there’s anything left after I’ve paid the party planner’s wages,’ he grumps, but I know he’s teasing. He has far more important things on his mind, like whether or not he will still have a farm and restaurant this time next week. And that is down to me, I know it.

  I practise, practise, practise until my arms ache and my feet throb, whilst double- and triple-checking the drinks supplier, the caterers and the entertainers, and dealing with the numerous emails from Olivia about who likes what food and who doesn’t get on with who.

  I take deliveries of the frozen meals from the British chefs without anyone seeing, much to Bonita’s relief. The meals are tasty and exactly what they should be, even if the local customers don’t quite appreciate shepherd’s pie and sausage and mash. With everything safely stored in the big freezer and knowing that Bonita’s job is safe, I practise all over again, my red shoes never leaving my feet, giving me the courage and the confidence I need.

  With the party and the dance-off just a couple of days away, Antonio is preoccupied with the trees and the weather, riding out, checking each tree and its fruit for ripeness. Miguel, on the other hand, is getting ready for his big competition with Sophia.

  ‘Wish me luck,’ he says as he sneaks down the stone steps from the apartment, ducking out of view of Antonio, who is in the orchard, pulling down the branches and inspecting the fruit.

  ‘Oh, come here.’ I pull him to me and wrap him in a great big hug. ‘Now, do your best and have fun!’ I tell him, feeling surprisingly choked. When I release him, he’s smiling.

  ‘Thank you, Beti, for everything.’ He gives me a peck on the cheek and I hug him all over again. ‘We will pay you back. I promise.’

  ‘You’ve got everything? Shoes, jacket, address of the B and B, bus tickets for you both?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ He laughs, then tries to contain it so he doesn’t attract Antonio’s attention. ‘I have everything. I’m meeting Sophia at the harbour. We catch the bus from there.’ His face drops with concern. ‘What will you tell Antonio?’

  ‘Leave Antonio to me. You just go!’ I give him a gentle push in the direction of the drive, and he doesn’t need telling twice. With his rucksack on his back, he jogs off, turning to give me a little wave and then making a run for it to the square. Once he has disappeared, I return to the orchard and Antonio.

  ‘Was that Miguel I heard?’ he says, studying the branches.

  ‘Erm, yes. He’s . . .’ For a moment I have no idea what I’m going to say. ‘He’s got a bad headache. A migraine, I think.’ I start to warm to my story. Despite feeling bad about lying to Antonio, I’m feeling excited for Miguel. ‘I’ve told him to take some painkillers and go to bed. Get an early night. He’s been working hard, here in the orchard and with the horses,’ I finish.

  Antonio looks at me with his chocolate-brown eyes and nods in agreement. ‘Although I’m not sure he’s got the hang of horsemanship quite yet!’ he says, and breaks into a lazy smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I suddenly feel excited all over again and laugh with him at the thought of Miguel trying to hone his riding skills on the kind, faithful mare.

  ‘I’ll look in on him later,’ Antonio says. It is almost a throwaway comment, but my dancing heart suddenly lurches and stumbles
.

  ‘No need,’ I say quickly. ‘He says he’s just going to go to sleep. He’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to finish the evening watering.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand. You’re right. No point in disturbing him. The sleep will do him good.’ Then he looks at me and says, ‘Thank you, Beti, for everything.’ And I blush, knowing I’m deceiving him. I feel tears well up in my eyes. I’m going to miss this place, these people. And much as I hate to admit it, that includes Antonio.

  ‘Here.’ He reaches into the tree, its boughs heavy with fruit, and picks a cherry and holds it out to me. It is shiny and bright red and looks like a heart. ‘Try it,’ he urges. ‘This is the fruit of our labour. Literally!’ He smiles again. ‘It was why I shouted at you on that first day, when you picked the branches.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’ My cheeks colour.

  ‘You weren’t to know.’ He shrugs. ‘I was sorry too. That’s why I brought the branches and left them for you. They were already broken. I thought you might as well have them.’

  ‘The branches on my doorstep? That was you?’ My eyes widen.

  ‘Yes, of course. Who else could it have been?’ He looks bemused.

  I throw my head back and laugh. I never thought it was him. But then there’s a lot about Antonio I never realised. Like how someone so big in stature can be so graceful on the dance floor. He is always there for me, making sure I don’t fall, and if I do, that he’s ready to catch me. Now that’s what a partnership should be about, I realise. Being there for each other in case you stumble and need saving. Utter trust. Valentina, I think with a sigh, is a very lucky woman to have this man by her side. Is that how I feel about Will? I suddenly wonder. But before I can think about it any more, Antonio breaks into my thoughts.

  ‘Come on, try it!’ he instructs as firmly as if he’s teaching me flamenco, holding out the cherry to me. ‘They are ready.’

  I take it from him and bring it to my lips. I bite, and its juices are released on to my tongue. It’s like an explosion of flavour in my mouth. It’s firm on the outside, and soft as anything inside. And sweet! So sweet! I take a bite from the other side and shut my eyes. It is so full of fruity flavour, reaching into every corner of my mouth. That’s what a cherry should taste like. I’ve never eaten anything like this. It isn’t like the cherries I’m used to. This is on a whole different level. I feel as if my taste buds have come to life . . . a bit like the rest of me feels.

  ‘That’s why these cherries are so extraordinary,’ he says, and I slowly open my eyes to find him staring at me. ‘Sometimes we think we have tasted the perfect cherry, until we find one that really is special. That’s when we know for sure that the others were just poor imitations.’ He keeps his eyes on mine, and for a moment I wonder if he’s still talking about cherries. ‘It doesn’t look different from the others; it’s not any bigger, or better, or more colourful. It’s what’s on the inside that counts, and you know it as soon as you taste it. Like falling in love.’ He’s still looking at me, and every part of me wants to fall against his broad chest and stay there for ever. But I don’t. I swallow, still savouring the flavour in my mouth. Even though the cherry has gone, its taste is imprinted in my memory and will forever remind me of how I felt here. Special.

  Was that how I felt when I fell in love with Will? Or were we perfect from the outside only? ‘You know it as soon as you taste it.’ I hear Antonio’s voice in my head.

  I fleetingly think of Miguel getting on the bus with Sophia, and send up a silent prayer of love and luck to them both. What they have is special, like the cherry, I can feel it.

  ‘I should get up to the barn, check everything is in place,’ I say, wanting more than anything to stay in the cherry orchard with Antonio, remembering his hot breath close to my lips the day we danced here, but knowing that’s a taste I will never get to try again.

  ‘I’ll catch you up,’ he says, and heads down to the farmhouse.

  I push open the doors, and take a moment to look around the barn. It is perfect, even if I say so myself. Everything is ready. It has been cleared, then cleaned and scrubbed to within an inch of its life. The tables are set around in a club style, and there is room in the middle for the acts. I have tapas and sangria for when the guests arrive, and have booked Sophia and her friends as waitresses. I haven’t told Antonio that, but he won’t be anywhere near the party so he won’t know. It’s not like he’ll want to come along and join in with the fun!

  The shelves are cleaned and lined with glasses. The jugs are ready for the sangria. The hog roast is booked. I look down at my list on the table by the door. Tick, tick, tick. I feel a huge surge of pride looking at what I have achieved. I realise I’m actually quite good at this. All those years of planning engagement parties and weddings has paid off! I can organise events! I smile to myself.

  And while Olivia and her guests are listening to Maxine doing her Cher act, and enjoying the disco afterwards, we will be in the restaurant for the dance-off. Just Antonio and me, and Esmeralda and Felipe. Oh, and Pedro, who will be playing his guitar, plus a couple of flamenco aficionados who will act as judges. Pedro has organised for them to come and they understand it is to remain a complete secret.

  ‘Hey.’ Antonio arrives at the barn slightly out of breath. ‘You’ve done a fabulous job here.’ He stands and looks around as if drinking it all in. ‘It’s just like it used to be. Here.’ He holds something out to me. I look down. It’s the picture. The one I broke.

  ‘I had it mended,’ he says. ‘I think it should go back where it belongs.’ And he points to the wall above the fireplace.

  ‘You do it,’ I say.

  A slow smile spreads across his face. He nods, just once, as I have come to learn is his way, and turns towards the fireplace, his footsteps ringing out, walking where his grandparents walked before him. He lifts the picture to the empty hook there, straightens it and steps back.

  ‘Where it used to hang,’ he says, turning to me. ‘Where it should be. Thank you,’ he adds.

  He looks around the barn one more time, then takes a deep breath, as if this place is where he left his heart and his hopes and dreams. Then he looks back at me.

  ‘Pedro will come tomorrow for a final practice. A dress rehearsal. We can do it here.’

  It’s my turn to nod and smile. I realise it would mean a lot to him to dance in this room once more, on this floor. ‘Now, get in touch with Will and tell him you want to meet with him. Invite him to your party. He needs to see you at your best,’ Antonio says, and suddenly I’m a bag of nerves.

  I pull out my phone and type the message, inviting him and the band to Olivia’s party on Saturday. This is it . . . this is where I finally get to go to the ball! I just hope my Prince Charming will come. Fingers shaking as I set the wheels in motion to win Will back and begin the rest of my life, I press send.

  Chapter Forty-five

  The following morning, I’m dreaming about Miguel and Sophia dancing, and then it’s not them, it’s me, and I’m as natural and elegant as they are. I’m in the cherry orchard and Antonio is there with me: stamp, stamp. Stamp, stamp. I can feel his hot breath on my neck, his strong body next to mine as we circle each other. The flavour of the cherry is still with me. The feel and taste of it on my lips, sweet and floral on my tongue, its juices reaching into the corners of my mouth. A feeling of something special.

  I come round and open my eyes, but the stamping is still there. Stamp, stamp. Stamp, stamp. But it’s not stamping, I realise with a jolt. It’s someone banging on my front door.

  I pull on my short towelling dressing gown and run to the door. What on earth could have happened that someone’s come to find me all the way up here? I pull the door open wide.

  It’s Miguel, and Sophia. I pull them in and hug them to me, home safe and sound and tumbling into the finca together, out of Antonio’s sight. They tell me all about the compet
ition, the other performers – and their win! We hug each other tightly and Miguel hands me an envelope.

  ‘It’s the winnings. It’s not much, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Keep it.’ I push it back towards him. ‘Enjoy it. Pay me back when you have more. I’ll be fine. Gav and Olivia are coming today, and I’ll be paid. I’m even going to open a Spanish bank account!’

  We are beaming at each other, standing here in my little kitchen, our arms wrapped around each other. I’m so happy for them. I have a feeling things are about to change for all of us.

  ‘You are ready,’ Antonio tells me as we stand in the orchard together later that morning. Sophia has slipped off home to her whitewashed village, and Miguel and I have been watering the cherry trees while Antonio attended to the horses. ‘Valentina has asked to join us for our rehearsal. She wants to see how hard we’ve been working. I’m sorry. She is very . . . determined for my divorce to happen. Do you mind?’

  Suddenly I’m shaking with nerves again. Give me a party to organise for nearly fifty guests and I’m fine. In fact, quite good at it! But this dance-off . . . I’m terrified.

  ‘No, that’s OK,’ I lie.

  Pedro the guitarist arrives, in a very battered old Fiat. He gets out of the car, pulling his guitar case behind him.

  ‘Buenos días.’ He nods and smiles from under his bushy moustache. ‘Ready for Saturday?’

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be!’ I say, not feeling it. ‘Café?’

  ‘Café, sí!’ He accepts the offer and adds, ‘And a little bit of Bonita’s almond cake if possible?’

  ‘I’ll check the cake tin.’ I smile and run to the restaurant.

  I deliver the cake and coffee to Pedro, now in the barn, warming up on the guitar and then disappear to my finca to get changed. I will miss my little home here, I think with a pang. After this weekend, I’ll be moving to the apartment above the Butterfly Bar. I look into the mirror in the bathroom and put my hair up. Then I add a red silk flower I bought in the market that matches my red shoes. I take a deep breath. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I bend down to stroke Ana on the terrace, willing her to bring me luck, then look out over the cherry trees waiting to be harvested and breathe in deeply, drawing in big lungfuls of fresh air.