They cruised into Santa Justa station, with its wide, modern concourse and impressive selection of shops, but it was the Plaza de Armas, the original station, its Neo-Mudéjar yellow brick building, with the typical horseshoe arches and arabesque tiling outside, that had Anna snapping away with her camera, marvelling at the magnificence of the Clock Tower.
‘So you’re liking your wedding anniversary present, then,’ Austen said smugly and she laughed, holding his hand in the taxi during the short trip to the hotel he’d chosen for them.
‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ Anna exclaimed in delight, when the taxi drove through the old Jewish quarter, with its narrow winding streets and pastel-painted buildings, to the elegant, yellow-bricked façade of their hotel, a pale vision in the light of the mid-morning sun. White-painted French windows opened onto ornate wrought-iron balconies. An elegant mansion with a slightly French ambiance, oozing character, the Petite Palace was a delightful choice for their few days in Seville.
The interior, all cool greys and marble arches, with a magnificent atrium, gave respite from the intensity of the midday heat. They checked in and were delighted with their cool, contemporary-designed room, the white muslin curtains fluttering in the welcome breeze when they opened the French doors.
‘This hydro massage shower has so many controls it looks like something from the bridge of the Enterprise,’ Austen informed her as he explored the bathroom, while Anna unpacked her case and hung up her clothes.
‘Did I choose well?’ He came back into the bedroom and put his arms around her. Austen had taken the advice of one of his golfing pals, and chosen the hotel because it was within walking distance of the old town, where he knew Anna wanted to explore.
‘We have to go to The Giralda. The Almohad minaret is one of only three left in the world,’ she’d informed him, as she’d sat researching places of interest to visit on their trip. They’d view the magnificent Cathedral of course, but the place she was most longing to visit, the Royal Alcázar Palace and its stunning gardens, would be the highlight of their visit, she’d assured him.
‘You did great. I love it. This is the best wedding anniversary present ever!’
‘Here’s something else you might need with all that sun on your face.’ He opened his case and rooted under his shirts to hand her a gift box. ‘Tara wrapped it for me,’ he added, enjoying the look of surprise that brought a glow to her eyes.
‘I was wondering. It’s very posh with the ribbons and bows,’ she laughed, tearing off the paper to find a box with a selection of her favourite face creams and body lotions. ‘Green Angel! Oh you’re the best.’ She threw her arms around him, thrilled at his thoughtfulness. ‘The seaweed and collagen creams are so rich, and the body treatments are so pampery I love what they do to my skin.’
‘Me too,’ he smiled, drawing her even closer.
‘Do you like the camera I bought you?’ She’d bought him a Leica X Vario. Conor, who shared his father’s interest in photography, had given her advice on which one to choose. Anna was delighted to buy it for her beloved husband, wanting him to have a really good camera that she knew he wouldn’t buy for himself.
‘I love it almost as much as you,’ he teased, but he was chuffed with it and had protested that she’d spent far too much money on him when she’d given it to him at the start of their holiday.
Anna nestled in against him as his arms tightened around her and he lowered his mouth to hers in a long, slow, tender kiss that left her in no doubt that despite their ups and downs, he loved her as much as he always had, and she loved him.
When she looked back on their trip to Seville, it was as though they’d been cocooned in a bubble where the trials and tribulations of real life didn’t exist and they forgot about their family commitments, recessions and financial losses.
A second honeymoon, Austen had called it, and, during the afternoon siestas – when the city shut down and people disappeared off the cobbled streets and a somnolent silence descended – in the cool of their shaded hotel room, they had made love, and laughed and teased each other like the young lovers they had once been, before snoozing until late afternoon when it was as though a switch was flicked and the hum of chat and laughter and the clack, clack of heels on stone brought the city back to life again.
They had explored the splendour of the Alcázar palace, walking hand in hand through the glory of the verdant gardens with the sound of tinkling water flowing over marble fountains, and the heady scents of orange blossom, jasmine, and bougainvillea a backdrop to the awe-inspiring intricate Moorish architecture. Austen had snapped away with his new camera and his photographs of the Courtyard of the Maidens were as good as any professional would take, she’d told him proudly. Almost by accident, when they had sat down to take a breather on the steps near the Pool of Mercury, she’d noticed a recessed doorway. ‘Look at this, Austen,’ she exclaimed, leading him into a stunning, almost surreal, arched chamber, filled with golden light, reflected in a long rectangular pool of water beneath the Gothic palace. ‘The Baths of Lady Maria Padilla,’ she read as her husband framed his view and photographed away to his heart’s content.
‘I think you should build me a bathing place like that,’ Anna giggled later, at lunch, when she sipped from a glass of ice-cold bubbly Prosecco, and tucked into a feast of fat, juicy prawns.
‘I’ll excavate the garden for you, no problem. Conor can give me a hand with the arches,’ Austen said, offering her a taste of his scallops. ‘I got some great photographs today. It’s a brilliant camera, I couldn’t have asked for a better present from you.’
‘I’m glad,’ she said reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. ‘You’re always at the forefront of my mind, even if you don’t think so, sometimes.’
‘I know. I was having a male menopause moment when we had our row.’ He squeezed back.
‘No, we need to let each other know how we feel. That row cleared the air and look at us now, having the time of our life, and with so much to look forward to. We’re doing OK, Austen,’ she smiled.
‘Indeed we are.’
That night they wandered around to the big square a couple of streets away and sat, having their evening meal, in one of the many tapas bars and restaurants that surrounded it. They drank in the atmosphere, loving the way families of all ages, from children to elderly grandparents, gathered to eat and enjoy each other’s company as a peachy, pink dusk gave way to black velvet skies sprinkled with a handful of golden stars. The scent of the orange blossoms was intoxicating and Anna wished she could bottle it and bring it with her to remind her of a time of bliss when she’d left all her responsibilities and worries behind her.
In the mornings, knowing that he hated shopping, Anna would leave Austen nursing a coffee and reading a paper, to shop in the myriad gift shops that lined the narrow streets leading to the square. One beautiful Aladdin’s cave sold exquisite hand-made jewellery at very reasonable prices, and she bought two stunning necklaces for her daughters, and sneaked in a phone call to each of them, anxious to reassure herself that all was well with them and the children.
She’d promised Austen she would turn off her mobile, and just phone home every third day. She envied him that he could shut off from the family so easily when he was away. She’d been so consumed with guilt at leaving them for an entire month she’d given each of her daughters a couple of hundred euros to go towards their child-minding costs while she wasn’t there to take up the slack.
Tara always put on a cheerful façade when she phoned, but Chloe would never lose an opportunity to have a moan and then say something like ‘Lucky you, gadding around Spain, in the sun.’ If Austen had heard her saying that, he would have lost it, and rightly so, Anna conceded, annoyed at her youngest daughter’s emotional blackmail, when she’d hung up after that particular phone call.
She put the thoughts of home out of her head, and made her way back along Calle de Federico Rubio which ran along the side of their hotel, enjoying the shade provided by t
he tall buildings on the narrow street before nipping into the Petite Palace to stow her shopping and refresh her hair and make-up. Austen, when she joined him at his favourite café across the road, ordered another coffee for himself and a cappuccino for her and announced that he’d booked a horse-drawn carriage to take them along the heady scented streets, lined with orange blossom trees laden with their colourful bounty. The older he got the more romantic he became, Anna thought happily, secretly delighted at this new treat.
On the last evening of their anniversary jaunt they had gone to a Flamenco night, and the wild, gypsy music and tapping of the castanets, and the passion of the dancers as they taunted and teased and challenged each other had made her horny and she’d kissed Austen hungrily in the shadows of a narrow alley and whispered, ‘Let’s go back to the hotel and ravish each other.’
‘And what age are you now?’ he teased, but he was as turned on as she was and they’d hailed a taxi and snogged like teenagers in the back seat before finally falling onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and half-removed clothes to ride each other with a passion that left them breathless and laughing.
The memory of this night was a gift she would return to, she smiled, lying sated and drowsy in his arms.
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked.
‘I’m just thinking this will be a night to remember when I’m on the Zimmer frame and can’t get my leg over you anymore,’ she grinned.
‘Well judging by tonight’s performance, that’s a long way away,’ Austen laughed, caressing her cheek with his forefinger. ‘Did you enjoy your wedding anniversary trip?’
‘I did, it was the best ever. Did you enjoy it?’
‘It was all I ever wanted,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Next year we’ll go to Cadiz.’
‘It’s a date,’ Anna agreed kissing him again, deliciously lethargic and ready for sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
July
AUSTEN / ANNA
Seville and their holiday in La Joya was like a dream, Austen mused glumly, washing up after his grandson’s lunch of banana and Nutella sandwiches, and his granddaughter’s mashed Liga and pear.
The amount of work: the cleaning, tidying and changing of clothes engendered by his charges had initially astonished him when he’d started minding the children first. Now he was used to it. He hefted a load of soiled clothes and a detergent tab into the washing machine and turned it on. Anna was covering annual leave in her office and he was baby-sitting. She had to go back to work more often, since the company had had to let one of the office staff go. The recession had mucked up his wife’s retirement plans too. Nothing was working out as they’d planned in those heady days when they’d driven through the gates of La Joya with nary a care in the world.
The sun was splitting the trees outside, and he’d decided to bring his grandchildren to the playground in the park, to see if he could exhaust them.
Getting them into their car seats and bringing their drinks and buggy would be another palaver. How he wished he was on the golf course in San Antonio del Mar, feeling the breeze feather his forehead, as he sent his golf ball slicing crisply through the warm scented air to the verdant green in the far distance, with the sea glittering in the background.
Instead he was trapped in unwelcome domesticity, wondering was this the way it would be for the school-going years: sitting in traffic jams day in day out, collecting his children’s offspring from their various crèches and schools.
‘Thank you, Granddad.’ Michael took a final draught of his milk and handed him the red baby cup, to wash.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ he asked, loving the way the little boy, with his wide, hazel-flecked eyes, patted his hand affectionately.
‘Yes thank you.’ Michael wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘You make great samiches. Better than Gran,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Do I?’ Austen chuckled. Wait until he told Anna that.
‘Yep, you put much more Nutella in them.’ Michael scooted off his chair and went to examine the washing machine, which fascinated him.
‘Aah, is that it?’ Austen said, deciding perhaps he wouldn’t tell his wife about his sandwich-making triumph for fear of getting a telling off about his over-generosity with the chocolaty treat.
‘Go and get your coat,’ he instructed, wiping the egg off Charlotte’s chin, and wondering how she’d managed to get it in her hair. She wriggled against his ministrations, waving him away. ‘No, no,’ she protested.
‘Give Granddad a kiss you messy girl,’ Austen instructed and his heart melted when her two little fat arms came around his neck and he was tightly hugged. How perfect it would be, if the time spent with his grandchildren were of his choosing, he thought guiltily. Was he abnormal for seeing his child-minding duties as an imposition and a chore?
He’d often heard Anna and her three comrades in arms bemoaning the lack of ‘me’ time, and dismissed it – somewhat derisively it must be said – as ‘women’s talk’. But now he was actually beginning to get it, he reflected with wry amusement, imagining what his wife and her friends would say if he suddenly announced he wanted ‘me’ time.
Unlike Anna he hadn’t been worried about retiring. He hadn’t wondered how would he fill his days. He didn’t miss the cut and thrust of business in the slightest. That chapter was firmly ended and he’d moved on to the next without ever looking back. It felt like his mind and body had given a great sigh of relief that they didn’t have to reach that intense point of drive and focus that had fired them for all those years.
Often now, though, it was his daughters and their children who made plans for him and his ‘me’ time was edging away from him before he’d had time to get used to it. And that was where his resentment lay.
After the row before their anniversary trip, and following his chat with his daughters he’d hoped the child-minding issues had been settled, but when they had come home from Spain in mid May after their month away, it was as though guilt propelled his wife to take up the reins again and once more the old resentments crept in; and this time he felt he couldn’t say anything because Anna would get stressed and her gallstones would act up and he didn’t want to be contributing to that. He worried about her, a lot, but she pooh-poohed his concerns, which annoyed him. And then there was the constant reminder of the savings they’d lost. He knew it was pointless to dwell on it, but it gnawed at him, always there to put him in bad form if he let it and today he did want to rage and lash out and take a flight to Malaga and to hell with the lot of them, Austen thought ruefully, hoisting his granddaughter out of her chair to bring her to her changing mat to change her nappy.
Perhaps he was having another male menopause moment, he decided, wondering was there really such a thing. Women could talk about this stuff so easily. Men would run a mile from it. But physically he was changing, he knew it, his muscle tone, his fitness, even though he worked on them. He was beginning to have aches in his knees. Was it because his testosterone levels were lower? He didn’t have the same unassailable energy of his forties and early fifties. Even his golf swing wasn’t as powerful, he sighed, expertly fastening Charlotte’s nappy and pulling her little trousers up over her plump, dimply thighs.
She smiled infectiously at him and Austen’s heart melted, and his crankiness drifted away. ‘Ah sure you’re my best girl, aren’t you, pet?’ he said, nudging his head into her tummy the way she loved, and chuckling at her delighted gales of laughter.
First world problems, he knew; he should be thankful for all he had. There were many who would like to be in his shoes. ‘Let’s go to the park,’ he said, putting Spain, and the golf course, and the vision of a glass of beer under the orange blossom at the table for two by the sea to the far reaches of his mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
August
AUSTEN / ANNA
‘How are you feeling?’ Austen asked, always his first question now, when he was away from Anna.
‘Ah not a bother. I’m
behaving myself, but I’m definitely having a drink or two when I have lunch with the girls.’
‘Go easy. You don’t want another trip to A&E,’ he warned.
‘I will,’ Anna made a face. ‘I’ll run Tara and James to the airport, they’re flying Ryanair, and at least it won’t be at the crack of dawn.’ She wriggled out of her high heels, plopping her hot, tired feet onto the arm of the sofa where she was sprawled talking to Austen who was sitting on the balcony in La Joya, enjoying a pre-dinner beer.
‘Great stuff. Text me the flight number and I’ll pick them up.’
‘Sure,’ she agreed. ‘Is it hot out there?’
‘Roasting. You’d hate it.’
‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘It’s hot enough here too, today, mid twenties and no breeze until about an hour ago. It’s perfect now. Any news?’
‘Wait until I give you a laugh,’ Austen said, and she wished he were home beside her, on the sofa telling her the latest gossip. ‘You know the English chap who owns the penthouse in Block Three?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well seemingly he and El Presidente had a big row.’
‘Really, about what?’
‘The parrot, what else?’ Austen laughed.
‘Oh that parrot is a hoot,’ chuckled Anna, who had grown quite fond of the cantankerous old bird who used to squawk loudly and indignantly from his perch on his owner’s balcony.
There had been some complaints about the noise, but Anna and Austen had just laughed when they heard the raucous cacophony echoing around the grounds.
‘Anyway De La Fuente stops your man, down at the bar, and the bird is on his shoulder, and he says in his most authoritative voice, “That parrot has to go”. And the other lad says, “I’ll get rid of my parrot when you get rid of that yappy little bitch of yours and I’m talking about your dog, not your wife—” ’
Orange Blossom Days Page 29
