Sunset over the Cherry Orchard

by Jo Thomas

  Then I hear it. The applause. The clapping. The cheering. People are on their feet. My mum and dad, even Uncle Paul. The mayor and his daughters. Everyone is clapping and there are shouts of ‘Olé!’ ‘Bravo!’ and ‘Go, Bet!’ from Olivia. I see Will, wearing the look on his face I have wanted to see for years, like I am all his heart desires. He’s finally noticed me again. I’m the woman he fell in love with all those years ago . . . and a thought flits through my head, like petals from the blossom caught on the wind. Or am I? it says. And disappears.

  Esmeralda walks into the middle of the floor and turns to the musicians.

  ‘So you have seen the dances,’ she says, and the room hushes and falls silent. ‘I have to say congratulations, Antonio. I didn’t think you would be able to get the girl to move, so you are to be commended.’

  ‘Hey!’ I hear my mum again, with her new-found voice, being loud and proud.

  ‘But clearly our dance was far more accomplished, so we are the winners of this dance-off,’ Esmeralda announces. She looks at the two musicians sitting either side of Pedro, the aficionados he has arranged to be here.

  ‘You wanted me to teach her to dance: one dance. I have done that. I win,’ Antonio says.

  ‘Pah! A sevillana. It is hardly even flamenco. It is a folk dance!’ she spits with disdain. ‘True flamenco takes years to learn. It cannot be performed by a beginner. You lose!’ She throws up a hand, dismissing him.

  Heads start to lean together around the room, debating the argument, murmuring in agreement and disagreement.

  Antonio walks over to Esmeralda, lifting his head and chin, making him seem like a giant. The room falls silent again, the atmosphere crackling with anticipation. I bite my lip. I can barely breathe.

  ‘You may have all the technical moves,’ he says slowly. ‘But Beti has the one thing you will never have . . . she has the duende, the soul. You may be able to dance the steps, but Beti feels them. You cannot learn the duende, you cannot teach it. You either have it or you don’t . . . and Beti most definitely has it. What you saw here was real flamenco.’

  Esmeralda’s composure suddenly drops, and she lets out a shriek of frustration. Felipe steps up next to her.

  ‘We performed true flamenco. Yours wasn’t real—’

  ‘Not real?’ Antonio cuts him off and raises an eyebrow. ‘Ask any one of this audience how real it was, if they felt it in here,’ and he puts a hand to his chest, ‘in their soul. That is real flamenco!’

  The crowd bursts into more cheers and applause and whooping. Esmeralda looks around the room, then points at the band.

  ‘You are aficionados,’ she says. ‘Tell him! He cannot win over what we performed here.’

  ‘The bet was to teach one dance,’ Pedro says with a smile. ‘He has done what was asked.’

  ‘But is the sevillana flamenco or just a folk dance?’ asks the drummer.

  ‘How will the music and dance survive in a modern age if we do not embrace the new?’ says the second guitarist sitting on the other side of Pedro. And suddenly the whole room erupts with people throwing in their opinions. Arms are being waved. People are shouting in Spanish. The musicians are up on their feet. Members of the audience surround Antonio and Esmeralda as opinions are aired, loudly and all at the same time.

  ‘I don’t understand what’s going on!’ I shout to Miguel.

  ‘Some are saying it is not traditional flamenco; others are agreeing with Antonio that it is about the soul of the dance, the duende, rather than just the steps. No one can decide who is right.’

  I can’t stand it. The noise, the shouting, arms waving. I couldn’t bear it if he lost out now. I suddenly feel hot, really hot and dizzy. I go to make a run for the double doors, pushing my way through the crowds standing there and throwing myself out into the night air.

  ‘Beti, wait!’ I hear a voice but I don’t stop, running on instead into the orchard. It’s stopped raining at least. Everything is wet, but feels fresh. Like the start of a new day. Clean and cleansed. A new beginning. I stand barefoot amongst the newly stripped trees, breathing in the cool air. Getting rid of the fruit has left them lighter, more upright. It’s as if they’ve rid themselves of what’s been weighing them down. There are no expectations on them any more. They can simply be trees.

  I put my head in my hands. I’ve blown it. It’s all been for nothing. What now? I force myself to look up and open my eyes. The clouds are beginning to roll away, and behind them the sun is starting to set. The stunning colours fill the sky; fiery reds, warm oranges and brilliant yellows glowing on the horizon, reaching out towards the cherry orchard.

  Suddenly I hear a rustle behind me and spin round.

  ‘Will?’ I say, surprised.

  ‘I called after you,’ he says. He smiles. ‘You were amazing in there. The Beti I remember, the one I fell in love with.’ He walks towards me. His shoes and trouser bottoms are wet from the long grass.

  A voice pipes up in my head again. Am I that same Beti? Or have I become someone completely different? Someone who doesn’t worry about what people think; who does something because it matters to her, not because she thinks it’s what she should be doing. Someone who listens to her heart.

  ‘Take them off.’ I nod to his wet shoes.

  ‘What?’ He looks puzzled.

  ‘Take them off. That way you can feel the earth’s rhythm. Everything has a natural rhythm. A natural place, a natural fit. You just have to listen with your heart rather than your head.’

  ‘OK . . .’ he says, unsure, but slips off his socks and shoes anyway, bouncing on one foot and then the other. ‘Cold, ah!’ He hops around some more, and then walks right up to me and takes my hand. I wait for my heart to quicken. Is this it? Did our dance actually work? Does he want me back more than anything?

  ‘You really were amazing in there,’ he says.

  A smile starts to spread across my face before dropping. But I blew it, I think, and hang my head. He places a finger under my chin and lifts it. I look up, his familiar face now close to mine.

  ‘I know what I did was wrong, Beti. The money and Freya. And I understand now what a fool I’ve been. I should have stayed. I should never have let you go. I know I’ve been an arse,’ he says, making me laugh through the tears that seem to be rolling down my cheeks, ‘but I never stopped loving you. I just got scared. Panicked. And when I blew it, well, I thought you’d never want to see me again anyway. But then when I got your message to come tonight, well, I wondered if you might be feeling the same way as me. The way I’ve been feeling since I saw you in the Butterfly Bar. I can’t stop thinking . . .’ he swallows, ‘that there might still be a chance for us.’

  ‘Beti?’ I hear Olivia’s voice from the barn door. ‘Your mum sent me to see if you’re OK. She’s stuck behind a table arguing about true flamenco and can’t get out.’

  The colours of the sunset are creeping slowly across the sky towards us, pushing the remaining clouds aside.

  I take a deep breath, hesitating for a moment. Is this what I really want? Because if it is, I have to grab it now.

  ‘Think about it, Beti, we could still be the dream team. You and me. Here in Spain. We’ll find the money somehow. And your mum and dad love me!’ he tries to joke.

  ‘Actually,’ I look back at the packed barn, the argument still rumbling on, ‘I think I might have got the money.’ Miguel has sold tickets to almost everyone in there.

  ‘Beti?’ Olivia calls again.

  Will looks at me, suddenly serious. ‘I never did ask you properly, but ever since that night in the Butterfly Bar, I’ve realised what I need to do.’ His eyes are so familiar, but are they filling me with fire and passion? I’m not sure any more. Maybe I’m just a bit unsettled by the dance-off and the row. I should get back in there, check on Antonio and Miguel. I turn to go.

  ‘We’ll talk later.’

 
‘No.’ He grabs my wrist. ‘I have to do this now.’ He kneels down in the wet grass.

  ‘Will, are you OK? Are you in pain?’ Alarmed, I wonder if there’s a doctor in amongst that arguing bunch inside.

  ‘Beti?’ He looks up at me, wincing as the wet seeps into his jeans. ‘I should have done this years ago. Shown you how much you mean to me. But I’m doing it now.’

  ‘Huh!’ There’s a sharp intake of breath from Olivia, who has come out to find me. ‘He’s proposing! A proper proposal! Here! In the cherry orchard! Just like I thought Gav was going to!’ she says with a sob for everything she’s lost.

  ‘Beti, will you do me the very great honour of marrying me? I love you, and seeing you here tonight, like this, has made me realise how much I never want to let you go.’ He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a gold ring with a tiny diamond in it, holding it up to me. I can’t help but suddenly think about my money he lost playing poker, and wonder how he’s been able to afford to buy a ring. But I quickly try and push the thought away. This is everything I wanted. Nan would be happy for me, wouldn’t she? This is what Antonio helped me get back. This is what Olivia was desperate for.

  I look down at the ring, clearly meant to replace my nan’s one I’ve been wearing all these years, waiting for my heart to jump-start into life and patter away excitedly. But words fail me. I can hear Olivia sobbing gently as she’s led back into the barn by one of her friends who’s come looking for her.

  ‘Would you mind if I stood up now?’ Will says, wobbling on one knee and grimacing ever so slightly at the wet patch spreading up his leg.

  ‘No . . . I mean, of course.’ I help him to his feet and he puts his arms around me.

  ‘So is that a “no”, or an “of course”?’ His smile wavers. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s put all this behind us.’ He pulls me close so I’m right up against him. Still I’m waiting for my heart to quicken. ‘Let’s show everyone we’re still Beti and Will. Just like we planned. Running our own place. With your organisational skills . . . I mean, look what you’ve done here tonight. And with me out front . . .’

  ‘I quite liked being out front,’ I surprise myself by suddenly saying.

  ‘Well, yes, of course.’ He falters, then smiles again. ‘We’ll be a team. Please, Beti, let’s go back to where we were.’

  ‘And Freya?’

  ‘I’ve told Freya we’re over. We were just passing through each other’s lives on the journey of life,’ he says expansively. In other circumstances it might have sounded romantic, but here in the cherry orchard it just comes across as a bit cheesy.

  ‘Really? You really want this?’ I ask, getting my thoughts back on track.

  ‘More than anything,’ and he smiles widely and looks at me just like he used to when we were first together. ‘This is the Beti I fell in love with.’

  I try and turn my thoughts to the excitement of those nights: the energy, the chemistry, the lovemaking – or was it just sex, carefree, fun sex before real life kicked in in the form of rent payments, microwave meals and who was doing the washing-up? Did I throw myself into organising our wedding to try and disguise the fact that we weren’t in love at all?

  ‘Actually, Will, I don’t think I am the same Beti you fell in love with. I think I might be a whole new Beti.’

  ‘I’ll happily take the whole new Beti,’ he says, and finally he kisses me. His familiar lips back on mine, the way I’ve dreamed about for weeks. At last I’ve got everything I wanted. The money for the bar, and Will back at my side, kissing me, desiring me. This must mean we were meant to be together – that he’s the one after all.

  I wait to listen to my heart, to hear its rhythm. For it to burst into life just like it did in the dance with Antonio. But nothing. I listen again. Come on, fireworks, where are you? That big rocket that was getting ready to take off when I was dancing with Antonio, where are you now? Still nothing. My eyes spring open and I see Will’s face, his skin, his eyelashes, and behind him, the fiery red of the sun setting in the sky. So bright it’s like a signal, reminding me there is something beyond this, beyond where I am right now.

  He pulls away and grins lazily. ‘Now can we please get off this wet grass?’ He laughs and takes my hand.

  ‘In a minute,’ I say, and don’t follow as he tugs at my hand. He cocks his head questioningly. ‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll catch you up. I just need a moment to think, take this all in.’

  I look out at the clearing sky, and then turn back and watch him walk away. That casual swing to his walk. Everything I wanted is right there. Now. For the taking.

  ‘Life isn’t about what you own, it’s about who you are.’ My own words come crashing back to me, and I look towards the barn, where there are still hands flying and voices raised. It’s not about the Butterfly Bar, or getting Will back. It was never about that, I realise. It was about finding me. And standing here, right now, in the sunset over the cherry orchard, I think I might have done just that.

  I touch my lips where Will’s were. They feel cold. Then I put my hand on my heart, and as I listen to its beat, I let the words slowly form in my head. He’s not the one, I finally admit to myself, and a fat tear rolls down my cheek for all that might have been. After everything, he’s not the one.

  I look back at the barn, and it hits me like a sledgehammer. I know who is . . . but will he want me?

  Chapter Fifty-two

  I pick up the ruffles of my long skirt and run as fast as I can back to the barn. Antonio is standing in the middle of the room, his wild black hair falling over his right eye. His wide shoulders are open and his big hands are clenched like dumb-bells.

  ‘Beti!’ My mum waves at me. ‘It’s terribly exciting!’ she says, totally caught up in the drama of it all. ‘Better than Big Fat Gypsy Weddings!’

  ‘Antonio!’ I cup my hands round my mouth and try and shout to him above the uproar. Someone pushes a chair over, and a woman screams. It’s turning ugly in here. Is this what happened last time, when they banned flamenco for good? I can’t let him lose his farm because of me. I can hear my heart loud and clear, telling me what to do.

  ‘No! Stop!’

  Everyone turns to look at me. A corridor in the crowd opens up in response, and I walk through to stand beside Antonio.

  ‘This man has taught me everything in the last few weeks,’ I begin. ‘Not just the moves to a dance, but to be who I am. Not to worry what other people think. He has taught me that it’s not what you have in life that matters, but who you are. And that you can’t plan life; you have to just follow the path set out for you, the natural rhythm. I have learned that you have to listen to your heart to discover who is the one for you . . . even if you didn’t expect it.’ I look at my mum and dad, who fell in love and have paid the price ever since. ‘I have discovered that when love does come along, you can’t fight it; you just have to grab it.’

  Antonio slowly turns to look at me. The fight over the dance is all but extinguished as the room turns its attention on me too.

  ‘I have realised that I have fallen in love with the most annoying, scruffy, hot-headed, unpredictable man ever. And I don’t care whether we live on a farm or have to sleep under the stars as long as I am travelling life’s path with him by my side. But I know I can’t fight this.’ I turn to Esmeralda. ‘He taught me flamenco, like you asked. He fuelled the fire in my heart to dance and fanned the flames. He taught me to listen to my soul.’

  The room stays hushed.

  ‘She’s quite some girl, your Bet,’ I hear Uncle Paul whisper, shocking me to my core.

  ‘She is,’ Dad agrees proudly. ‘Always has been, always will be.’

  ‘Very touching!’ says Esmeralda with a sneer. ‘But still, he should have picked a more traditional dance.’ She tosses her head. ‘I suggest you keep out of this. This is about family. The farm will be sold tonight.’ She throws
up a hand with her proclamation.

  There is a gasp, and the chattering in the audience starts up again.

  ‘Wait!’ comes a shout, silencing them once more.

  The crowd at the door separates, and in walks Miguel in his flamenco suit, the new one he bought for the competition. He looks wonderful! So handsome. My eyes prickle with pride. He is holding Sophia’s hand high. She is wearing a beautiful blue and white dress, simple yet stunning. Not flamboyant and showy like Esmeralda’s. The pair of them look amazing. I hold my hands together over my mouth. Antonio takes a sharp intake of breath, and I hope it’s for all the right reasons, but he doesn’t move to intervene.

  ‘If this is a family affair, then I am part of this family, aren’t I?’ Miguel glares at his mother, who suddenly looks momentarily thrown. ‘And this farm is as much about my fate as yours. It’s about my family’s heritage, yes?’ He looks at Antonio, whose eyes seem to have filled with unshed tears. He goes to speak, but no words come out. Miguel carries on. ‘As a part of this family, I want to dance too!’

  Sophia speaks up, beautiful and poised, all her shyness gone. ‘Miguel and I have been dancing flamenco. We know we shouldn’t, but we could not stop what was in our hearts,’ she says, softly but firmly.

  ‘You may not think I am ready to dance,’ Miguel continues, ‘but I have known hurt and pain and found love and a life I want to fight for. I too have found the fire in my soul!’ He looks at his father. Antonio nods slowly, with a smile of acceptance.